I’m not trying to argue that every series of Armando Iannucci’s party-political satire was so impossibly perfect that a new series would be an insult to its predecessors – in fact I truly, sincerely, hope that Iannucci proves this entire article wrong and brings Peter Capaldi back for one more series of sweary satirical mayhem. The point being made here is that the political environment in which the show marinated is one totally alien to what we’re faced with today, and isn’t one that would do any favours for a revival.

The era of Malcolm Tucker as an all-seeing, all-bollocking spin doctor began to fade away the day New Labour lost the 2010 election. That being said, the show’s third and fourth series managed to stay relevant by making light of the clash of styles between traditionalist post-Thatcher tories and young, post-internship Lib Dem junior ministers. This new persona for the show followed right through to, essentially, the Leveson inquiry. The fading relevance of Tucker and his soundbite-obsessed opposite Stewart Pearson (the “walking thought-pod”) was placed at the forefront, but now, in the same way that (spoilers) Tucker’s shady style fell so out of step with modern times that it landed him in a jail cell, the time of The Thick of It might be up.

“Let’s imagineer a narrative” Stewart Pearson, The Thick of It

The focus in politics has shifted – in the Blair era, the centre of gravity was the great bureaucratic mass of the civil service, headed up by ten-a-penny ministers, quietly humming along whilst any policy proposals were discreetly rubber-stamped by Labour’s ridiculously large Parliamentary majority.

Nowadays, with government majorities becoming a rare breed, the great theatre of politics is back where it traditionally belonged: within Parliament itself. Aided by the fact that two eccentric – and that’s putting it lightly – figures from the fringe of their parties have taken the helm on both sides of the bench, today’s political chatter is of prorogations and the order paper, not PFIs and spending. Civil servants are back in the background.

“It’s not my role to have a preference. I sell the apples. If you want me to sell the apples, I’ll sell the apples, and if you want me to sell oranges, I’ll go and tell people that the apples, the apples are shit, Ollie, they’re shit.” Terri Coveley, The Thick of It

That’s where a revival of The Thick of It would first struggle – part of the series’ genius was that it totally avoided peering inside the Commons, existing instead in the murky corridors of government departments, rife with hearsay and backstabbing. When the hammer finally came down on Tucker, in the real world the likes of Jess Phillips and Nicholas Soames were beginning to cut their teeth on public, pithy disagreements. The digital age has met Parliamentary sovereignty’s great revival with explosive effects – and the recent disintegration of the Conservative whip serves to prove that the Malcolm Tuckers of the past aren’t at the helm any more.

Then, all of a sudden, in walks Dominic Cummings, the SPAD of days gone by, directly into 10 Downing Street ready to destroy my entire argument. Although, maybe not. Cummings is an ideological puppet master, Tucker and his ilk mere “enforcers”. There’s a sinister nature to how Cummings channels Bannon in his new-right ways, but the menacing side of Tucker came more from his snarling demeanour.

“Also, drafted you a letter of resignation. Gives you the chance to say that you’re jumping before you’re pushed, although obviously we’re gonna be briefing that you WERE pushed, sorry.” Malcolm Tucker, The Thick of It

Despite Cummings, the mere presence of unelected political figures isn’t enough to sustain a comedy behemoth of the likes of The Thick of It. What Iannucci managed to do – finding parody in deeply bland, faceless political times, is not something as readily possible today. Every political pundit, bus driver, great-uncle and university lecturer has a few hours of Brexit jokes up their sleeve. Politics, in its current and public form, is lower-brow than anything a comedy writer could come up with.

In October 2017, Iannucci himself revived Malcolm Tucker for a feature in The Big Issue for an email spat with his other TV brainchild, Alan Partridge. It was brilliant, a testament to Iannucci’s ability to write characters in such a way that even email subject lines and signoffs spoke volumes. The article tackled Brexit head-on, and proved that Tucker’s sweary, no-hostages demeanour is compatible with the ludicrous politics of the modern day. I hesitate to say that this might be limited to a print medium and owed to the genius of Tucker himself as a character; whether or not an entire cast of characters could be assembled with a compelling plot for a fifth series remains to be seen, and I’ll admit I doubt it could work. But Armando – if you’re reading – please prove me wrong.

Twitter: @bm_summer