With years of proofreading under my belt, I knew exactly the blather and bluster favoured by professional politicians.

The train was drawing into the station.

I was so relieved at the end of the journey that if I had had anything left to throw up I would have made it a hat trick of pavement pizzas.

First in the liquor composed of mordant and fustic, then in green vitriol and Roman vitriol, washed off and repeated according to the colour wanted.