All across the House of Commons MPs looked around confused, almost concerned. What was that tremendous racket going on in the middle of the room? Had some devious backbenchers snuck up to the Despatch Box to play a noisy prank? Had the session been so soporific that they had fallen asleep and missed both parties deposing their leaders, holding leadership elections and installing charismatic replacements in their place? Had the combined wrath of the ERG and Momentum summoned up two demons from another dimension who were now engaged in a never-ending battle to the death, while opening up a temporal rift which had transported the entire building back in time to 2007? As the MPs were about to find out, sometimes fact can be stranger than fiction. May and Corbyn were actually having a decent battle at PMQs…

Corbyn, playful as ever, opened the show with a guessing game for May. What could the link between the NFU, FSB, NAO, NHF, RSA possibly be? May looked around nervously. Every foreign intelligence agency Corbyn had ever worked for? No, May could count at least 5 that were missing. Gingerbread. Could it be his codename? His cat’s name? No, far too imaginative, Corbyn’s cat was literally just called “cat” in Spanish. May scoured the room desperately for answers. What about something to do with the sheaves of corn tucked into his jacket pocket? Probably just a hearty vegan snack he’d brought in from the allotment…

Finally Agent Corn-on-the-Cob decided to put her out of her misery, deploying his bait-and-switch routine with the demeanour of a smug teacher who is rather too pleased about outwitting the students in his class, despite them being one third of his age. Universal Credit, duhhhh. Still there were precious few hints at this early stage that the firmament of time was shortly about to be rent in twain. Corbyn went back into his usual irritated office manager mode, as MPs got their pyjamas and nightcaps out. Another session of PM-Snooze on the way…

But suddenly the fabric of the cosmos started to fray at the edges. Something was wrong with the Maybot. Flashes of genuine anger started to appear. Could it be achieving sentience? Soon the Maybot started quoting personal testimonies. Had she accidentally been given a Corbinator software update? It quickly became apparent that this was no normal Maybot malfunction. As the questions started flying back and forth, both the Corbinator and the Maybot started to fizzle and spark with otherworldly energy. Near-human emotions and anger began to build in an almighty crescendo as almost natural debate started to flow between the two…

A swirling vortex formed in the middle of the room as ghoulish apparitions emerged groaning from cracks in the wall, screaming garbled fragments of two years’ worth of turgid PMQs exchanges as they were sucked into the burgeoning nether-space. As the dimensions of time and space briefly parted, MPs could have sworn they saw the giant silhouettes of a youthful David Cameron and Tony Blair swirling within the void. And then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone. Puzzled MPs exchanged a few nervous glances. Had they imagined the whole thing? Who knew. Safer to just go back to sleep and pretend the whole thing never happened. It probably won’t again…