Lord Ashcroft must be a bit of a weirdo. I don't understand what he wants. He's got loads of money, tucked away abroad, safe from muggers and amassed without troubling the Inland Revenue, but he doesn't seem happy. He's always pestering the Tories for something to do. He seems bored. And what do bored weirdos do? Why, they collect Victoria Crosses, of course!

Well, what did you think? He doesn't just lie on the sofa eating cheese on toast and watching the rise and fall of international stockmarkets represented by the movements of a giant lava lamp. That's not nearly weird enough. This is Lord Ashcroft – he's one of a kind. When he feels listless, he makes a list – a shopping list of symbols of other people's bravery.

He assembles the trappings of the achievements of others, like buying up strangers' GCSE certificates. Maybe he does it because he's not brave enough to bring the symbol of his own achievements – money – into Britain. So instead he converts it into Victoria Crosses and carries them around like a coward.

He also keeps trying to buy his way into British politics but until recently considered the top income tax bracket, which rich people who live here properly pay, to be beyond his means. It's sad really – all those hundreds of millions and he still worries about money. So he cuts corners and does it on the cheap by donating less to the Conservative party than he'd have paid in tax. But, like a botched flat roof on an extension, it doesn't really work. The media go spare, Labour become smug, William Hague gets so embarrassed he'd rather talk about sharing hotel rooms and Lord Ashcroft has to resign again.

He doesn't give up though. This time, he's persuaded David Cameron to let him be the unpaid lead adviser to the government on its review of military bases in Cyprus. Why does he want to do that? Wouldn't it be more fun to buy up a few Tombs of the Unknown Soldier and use them to line a swimming pool?

Cameron's not keen, which is why the announcement was made under the cover of President Obama's visit, but presumably figures that, if he keeps Ashcroft sweet, the guy might be good for a few more donations. The Lib Dems hate it, not only because Ashcroft is exactly the sort of shadowy Tory influence-buyer many of them have been trying to reform politics in order to eradicate, but also because Ashcroft's appointment to such a minor role in the face of their objections is a glaring demonstration of their increasing irrelevance within the government.

Lib Dem authority, even when combined with the bad publicity that Ashcroft always brings and the ease with which a less controversial candidate could be found, has been weighed in the balance and found wanting.

A Tory source said of the appointment: "Lord Ashcroft will do a good job. He has vast experience on reorganisations." I'm sure he does, so maybe he will. He's probably quite bright and, assuming he doesn't just use the post to try to land contracts for his own companies, he's perfectly capable of working out the extent to which Britain should still have a military presence in Cyprus.

It just needs a bit of cost-benefit analysis – where the benefit is being able to kill people in the Middle East (historically one of the areas where it's been most important to be able to kill people) and the cost is, well, cost. I just hope his emotional attachment to militaria doesn't make him balk at the tough business-minded choices that he may have to make in our interests. But then it wouldn't be like him to let sentiment get in the way of money.

The plum job for a military connoisseur is reviewing troops, a task that Barack Obama was treated to last week. World leaders seldom seem to enjoy this. They never pause to feel how sharp the bayonets are or inspect the medals, as I'm sure Lord Ashcroft would. It's always like the last scene of The Birds – the soldiers standing completely still while the visiting dignitary steps nervously between them, as if afraid they might suddenly turn on him in a frenzy of violence.

It's an odd tradition, slightly tinged with the passive aggression of the mafioso. The message it transmits is that you are so welcome here we will let you inspect the means we have to destroy you. It's simultaneously a sign of trust and a threat: "Maybe you would like to grab this soldier's balls, Mr President? He won't flinch. Unless I tell him to."

But I doubt it's the physical threat that makes leaders uncomfortable – it's more like when a waiter in a restaurant asks you to try the wine. You don't feel qualified to judge and, even if you do, it would be far too embarrassing to say anything other than: "Excellent troops, thank you."

If Lord Ashcroft is still bored when he gets back from Cyprus, I've got another job for him and this appointment might get cross-party support: we could get him to design the new pylon. Whoever lands that gig is going to become terribly unpopular and very rich so, in a way, it's kinder to give it to someone who already is.

Chris Huhne and the National Grid announced last week that a new sort of pylon, better suited to carrying higher loads from yet-to-be-built nuclear and wind power stations, and less likely to piss people off, is required and so they've launched a competition. This is excellent news which I predict will be startlingly effective in improving the aesthetic of our energy network.

Of course, the new pylon will be hated, probably because it'll look awful, but it'll be hated even if it doesn't. But, as soon as new pylons start appearing, all the existing ones will be transformed overnight into "the old-fashioned sort of pylon", "the pylons of our youth", "how pylons used to be". The whole grid will be red-telephone-boxed in a heartbeat and we will gaze at our current metal-scarred landscape through rose-tinted spectacles forever after.