…he’s gone off on his fifth holiday in as many months.

First there was Cornwall back in spring.

Then there was a mini-break to Granada.

Then there was Ibiza.

Then there was Tuscany, where the millionaire eventually remembered to tip the waitress.

And this week he’s gone back to Cornwall.

From whence he has returned to London, briefly, to discuss the end-game in Libya before going back to his beach.

I’d love to say all this gallivanting is doing the nation a disservice, but I’ve racked my brains and can’t think of anything much that would be improved by this man giving it his close attention.

I can’t say I’m completely relaxed about having a Prime Minister paid £142,500 a year to do very little of any worth. I can’t help thinking he’s an Earth version of Zaphod Beeblebrox, the Douglas Adams character who was made President of the Universe purely to distract attention from the people who were really in charge.

But I suppose him being utterly disengaged – from the electorate, the nation’s wants and needs, the nuclear button – can only be better than having someone so dim he can’t open a bottle of wine without an embolism actually making decisions on our behalf.