Louis is in favour of a revenue system which — instead of taxing wealth-creators — awards them credits equal to the profits their businesses generate per annum in order to stimulate exponential growth in key sectors of the economy, generating prosperity for all.

By kittens, I am — of course — referring to pet policies from the left and the right and the liberal. From universal childcare, to scrapping tuition fees, to pulling out of Europe, flat-rating income tax, and actually (as opposed to rhetorically) curbing immigration. These are the kittens that party activists frolic with in their dreams, and yet when they wake in the morning, no tiny paws pad their dozy face to softly mew in the dawn, because the party leaders have been courting the kitten-killers in order to get their kitten-killing axe-swinging vote and all the kittens are dead.

To a swing-voter, a kitten is a parasite who craps everywhere, wakes you up at all hours, then scratches away at the carpet in the corner of your living room. Swing voters — kitten-murderers — don’t understand the weirdness of people so committed to these furry shits that political parties — cat-lovers — want to introduce to every home. What’s more, that cat-lovers care so much about these balls of stinking piss that they keep ringing up or popping mail through everyone’s door, or going on national TV to tell everyone how lovely kittens are when really all everyone else wants to do is pay the rent and have enough left over to feed the kids, without risking getting their eyes scratched out by a sociopath mog.

Jenga believes the primacy of self-determination for all self-identifying groups should override the national sovereignty of existing state actors, and that a future of constant referenda will ensure eternal peace through eternal arbitration.

Anyway, in the past few years, leaders on the left have got so afraid of swing voters that they have stopped talking about left-wing kittens entirely. This has had the effect of making their activists a bit sad, but after a while, having not heard about kittens for so many years they started to forget what they were like. Kittens became like dragons! Legends!! You’d sit around a camp-fire and get Dennis Skinner to tell the grand old kitten epics, and then when Tony Benn would look starry-eyed into the distance you thought you might catch a whiff of a purr in the old magician’s words. You could fantasise all you wanted, but you wouldn’t really want a kitten, would you?

Well, actually, yes. Everyone knows the right didn’t have any kittens taken away in the 90's, and they’re doing OK. So, now Jeremy Corbyn’s banging at the front door of Labour HQ with a megaphone demanding to know where Harman is keeping the cutie-pies. You know, the ones that Prescott hid from TB sometime around 1995, after that night he’d gone around with a bin bag and some chloroform gently cooing ‘shh, shh, it’s only getting better.”

Oh, Jeremy! Hearing him speak is like having a real live meme-magnet dropped in right in your lap.

Amber argues that continued paper production is the greatest environmental threat we face, and that the government should tax paper at a special rate of 120%. The proceeds of this tax will be used to plant trees in depleted forests around the world.

To leftists, Corbyn is pure heroin, whereas Burnham’s got a well-marketed public-information campaign where he’s pitched firmly as methadone man. Cooper is a strong cup of tea. While we know deep down that we should probably be reaching for the Tetley, Corbyn just feels soo goooood.

Kendall supporters might see Liz as a double shot of espresso being pointedly ignored by a glowering roomful of people where no-one wants to wake up, but we’re not listening to those people any more.

So we’re alive again, frolicking free with our furry friends in the night-time. But deep down inside, we know the kitten-killers haven’t gone away, and at the same time those well-nurtured Tory pets are starting to look decidedly catty, eyes glinting in the streetlight as they stalk for fresh meat.