Back in the day, to truss meant to tie up the wings and legs of (a chicken or other bird) before cooking.

The prey got trussed before it got stuffed.

And now, life imitates art, as they say.

Therese Coffey, her of the Savile cigar and fist-screwed glass, is the new Health Secretary.

I’ll wager she’s got a glass fist screwed somewhere too.

And she’s the new Deputy PM – a candidate even more raabish than Raab.

Brandon Lewis, who defended breaking international law, is the new Justice Secretary, albeit in a specific and limited way.

I can’t even muster up a comment about Cruella Braverman becoming Home Secretary. But if the principal criteria for the job are to be as thick as mince and a hardline crypto-fascist headbanger, she was always going to be a shoo-in after Priti Poor fell on her sword. Or Boris’s sword. Well, one of the two. Or possibly both.

The Trojan horse anti-immigration Indian didn’t fool us the first time, but hey ho.

The greatest gift of this new, if not fresh, administration is however to imagine how those who couldn’t get into this scabinet are now going to feel

That’s gotta hurt.

And Truss in no.10 is herself not too dissimilar to when Apple injected a shite U2 album into everybody’s iTunes library.

After freeing the nation of a prime minister who’d lost our trust,Truss issues have been already cemented on day one.

And with the Opposition nowhere to be seen, it’s only going to get worse.

Deep breaths. We ride at dawn.