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Some screwball no-mark in some pointless department will answer a letter to an elector, and end up saying the wrong thing about China, or single moms, or car manufacturers, or dyslexia, thinking that they’re echoing your opinion.

Then the no-mark will complain about sexism or bullying or some such artificial crime.

Then your press secretary will deny that’s what you meant and blame the no-mark, and name her.

It was never meant to be for people like us, the no-mark schmucks who could set ourselves on fire and run through a shopping centre screaming our own names without even getting so much as a second glance from anyone.

In 2001, West Ham no-mark Hayden Foxe – think a ginger Bobby Moore, only not – fulfilled his dream of becoming a somebody, mistaking a bar for a urinal and deliriously spraying his 15 pints of shame all over it.