here comes summer

The traditional opening of the rioting season is nearly upon us as the G20 approaches. Even now, effigies of Fred Godwin are being prepared to burn on the street and masks of discredited politicos are selling out in the shops. Associated Newspapers are buying up whole forests for 32-page supplements "PICTURING THE GUILTY ONES". The rozzers are rubbing hands in glee as they anticipate the overtime. Implementation meetings at Broadcasting House are rife with arguments over where the prime camera positions will be.

And the BOF has a vision, a marvellous vision. Imagine Trafalgar Square, that well-known arena of protest; pan around to the north-west corner - what do you see? Oh yes! It's THE FOURTH PLINTH, standing empty and alone, waiting for the Gormless adornment. All around, balaclava-clad figures dive this way and that, smoke and tear-gas intermingle, batons thrash soft and vulnerable flesh and, for a short time, anarchy rules. But what do we see here? A figure is mounting the plinth, a slightly dumpy, matronly-looking woman in her sixties with an eminently sensible haircut. She has a megaphone in one hand and a perfect roast potato in the other.

"Let's be 'aving you!" she cries, and suddenly all is peaceful again. Middle-England's saviour has arrived with a recipe for peace, and it's foolproof. The tumult dies, the rioters troop meekly home, and the Daily Mail now has to use all that paper it has stockpiled as petitions to install Queen Delia. Move over, EIIR, DIR is here.