Leaving Wordsworth to his fate, I make for the back door in the kitchen, only to discover the real culprit: my toaster, billowing black smoke. And I must say I find traditional English summer dress rather fetching. If ignoring climate change would mean the maypole dances would never stop and that we could lazily drift down the Isis on punts eating strawberries and cream forever more, then I would be all for it. ‘And so, Mrs Badenoch, you may be the leader of our Conservative and Unionist party!’ Then I’d love to hear what you have to say about “Mrs T” or whatever it is today.’