“YABBADABBADOO” screams Emily Thornberry, beating her fists against her plenteous chest like a gorilla as she dances around the Corbynista totem pole while dawn breaks over the plain. It’s only Lidders today, a mere sliver of a chap, no match for our club-swinging, man-eating Big Chief Thorners, 2018’s Boudica. It is said Emily Thornberry is the only woman to share a bloodline with Cleopatra, Elizabeth I and Marta Hari. It is said that Emily Thornberry never speaks to men, but when she does, she breathes fire on them and they spontaneously combust. A man for breakfast, lunch and dinner – and a dozen on a bad day.

Labour’s cavewomen assembled on the frontbench, Big Chief Thornberry flanked by eight red vixens, united in one mission: bash the woman-hating Tories! The woman-hating Tories who produced two female Prime Ministers, who beat Labour to having a female MP in the House of Commons by four years and who are yet to rule that women party members must be expelled for daring to suggest that women do not have penises. Bash them, bash the Tory men! Bash them for why? Bash them just because they are men…

Lady Nugee rose, ready to rumble, and poke little Lidders square in the eye. Scissor-hands Lidders gesticulated, his arms rotor blades, summoning courage to play David against this female Goliath (the Biblical giant who, incidentally, was also sh*t-scared of Emily Thornberry). Lids replied:

“It’s a delight to see the Rt Hon Lady in her place, when no fewer than 97 of her frontbench colleagues have been sacked or resigned.”

Oh dear. Big Chief have problem in tribe. Lidders had arrived at PMQs equipped with the only weapon capable of defeating this fire-breathing babushka, a weapon relied on by husbands and boyfriends in domestic arguments throughout the ages: the truth. With Fred Flintstone’s chappish charm he outplayed the premier woman Gladiator in Labour’s army: she soon embarrassed herself arguing for votes at 16 (just as every non-partisan adult in Britain silently thought ‘over my dead body’). She called the Cabinet a “coalition of cavemen”, but only as her arguments caved in… 

It was a bad day’s hunting, this, for the Big Chief, in her Big Chief’s Buffalo Hat. She’ll know it, too, and as the faces of her posse collectively fell, she will have sworn only this to herself. When she takes Labour’s top man down she’ll burn him with the fire of a woman scorned…