As the covert party scandal unfolds, I for one am relieved that it wasn’t a bin bag covering a CCTV camera in that Downing Street shot of the Christmas quiz.

That would have been a scandalous waste of PPE.

Witnessing the defenstration of Dough Piffle will doubtless be delectable, but it won’t bring seismic change to our broken politics, because the opposition has nothing in its locker.

While it may emerge that this gang of hopeless incompetents organised five of six illicit parties, the fact they can remain unscathed after two years of presiding over calamitous responses to COVID and Brexit, it’s painfully evident that Labour themselves couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery.

As for the Liberal Democrats, well, they don’t even make it onto the radar unless one of their leaders is agonising over their pronouns or melting down about whether they’re being seen to celebrate Diwali correctly.

In time, all the shoddy Johnson antics will be spun as exactly that and will follow him out of the door, just as in any other situation when somebody is sacked. All the woes will be conveniently swept up, and the slate will be wiped clean. Labour – having failed to stack up policy alternatives – will remain a drifting irrelevance. Starmer couldn’t hit a barn door at six yards with a spunk-sodden Flangela Rayner blow-up.

Bizarrely, at a time when the nation has finally tumbled that Johnson’s leadership stock is rock-bottom, the centrist commentariat is talking up Slur Drear, who still cannot articulate what he stands for.

It’s why he hasn’t called for the albino trolley’s resignation. If Johnson gets bombed, there’ll be nowhere left to hide.