There’s a part of London called Camden that I’ve always tried to avoid. It’s the sort of place that smells quite strongly of weed and is full of small shops selling birdseed and things with skulls on them. On a Sunday morning, people with dirty hair and unusual diets take their guitars to the nearby park and sing dreary songs about the awfulness of Mrs Thatcher and then they stop off on the way home at a cafe that sells drinks that are green and have lumps in them.

The borough sits in two constituencies; one is currently represented by someone called Tulip Siddiq and the other by that ghastly Keir Starmer chap, who, when he was the director of public prosecutions, spent his time