At the top of the list of serious charges levelled at David Cameron by his disgruntled former donor, no allegation is more shocking or memorable than the deeply embarrassing revelation that the Prime Minister spent time at Oxford listening to Supertramp in the company of James Delingpole.

That the young PM is alleged to have smoked pot in the same incident is barely surprising, and indeed mind altering substances would likely have been required to make either stories from Delingpole's undergraduate love life or the dirgeful Wurlitzer-heavy English prog-rock even remotely bearable. While the title to Supertramp's commercially successful album Crime Of The Century is probably a claim too far in a hundred year period which saw two staggeringly violent world wars, Supertramp's musical crimes are many. This shocking revelation was delayed until after the general election, an act of small mercy from Lord Ashcroft, since news of Cameron's predeliction for Supertramp would likely have rendered him unfit for high office in the court of public opinion.

While the newspapers and twitter were distracted with less serious allegations involving class A drugs and farmyard animals, there can be little to no doubt what has been keeping the Number 10 press operation from sleeping this week. As the nation looks past the trivial fluff in Ashcroft's book, what remains is the indelible impression that we are a nation led by a man who enjoys esoteric, sentimental English "quasi-symphonic classicism" as Rolling Stone described it. The Coldplay of David Cameron's era, his enjoyment of their music betrays a dorkiness which might have cast the fight for election between him and Ed Miliband in a very different light.

Miliband may have opted for a banal array of songs on Desert Island Discs, displaying next to no musical flair with picks like Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline", but like a concealed second kitchen, Cameron hid his love for Supertramp from the voters by selecting Bob Dylan and The Smiths. This level of economy with the truth will shake voters, who are entitled to feel betrayed every time they are forced to hear the cloying words of "A Soapbox Opera" when stuck queuing at the counter of a regional petrol station.

Somewhere in Downing Street the white board will plot the media grid of stories designed to rehabilitate David Cameron's street cred. This will be a bold, and ultimately unlikely venture.

We know that Downing Street is today hosting a reception to celebrate London Fashion Week, but mingling with stylish men and women is only the start of what will have to be an ambitious project which sees David Cameron curate playlists in the same style as Barack Obama's recent summer list, and which is likely to see the Camerons make appearances at key music festivals over the next twelve months. The public will not soon forget Supertramp, but with enough pop culture references in speeches, and even a few more attempts at rapping, David Cameron's authority as Prime Minister may one day seem a little less shaky.

Don't believe us? In the 24,000 or so song selections ever made on

Desert Island Discs, only six Supertramp tracks have ever been picked. The offending stars were: Michael McIntire, Damian Lewis, Michael Ball, Jonathan Agnew, Dr Ara Darzi and David Gower.

It seems Supertramp are only really popular with cricketers and Etonians. Boris Johnson played it safe when selecting his

Island tracks, asking for the Beatles and the Rolling stones, but investigative journalists are likely to be scouring the archives for photographs of the young Johnson in the vicinity of a Supertramp 12-inch.

Many speculate that Lord Ashcroft's book was written as revenge for being overlooked in government. We suspect David Cameron has done far, far worse to Lord Ashcroft, perhaps murdering one of his pets or drunkenly threatening his wife. Nothing short of this could explain the twist of the knife that cuts so deep. If Jeremy Corbyn has any political savvy, he'll use these Supertramp revelations as the basis of a vote of no confidence in the Prime Minister. If you couldn't trust him with the car stereo, can you really trust him with the nuclear launch codes?

Follow Rupert Myers on Twitter: @RupertMyers