The sad old Mirror is trying it on with a last ditch bid to nail champagne quaffing Tories to the Toffs mast and stitch up the hell-raising Bullingdon Boys. Calm down dears - it's only a general election. That sort of thing would never have happened in the two-faced Blair years.
Bubbly Dave has been caught red-handed with a glass of champers in hand. But only after duped Fraser Nelson handed it to him at a Spectator partay. A gift to the mobile Mirror man with a weedy copy of the Sun's 'Gotcha' splashed on the front page with glee.
Still there's always a snap of Dunky Duncan kicking around, caught quaffing bubbly traded in with points from his ration book.
How galling for clapped-out New Labour that Boy George has magically morphed and grown up into 'onest chancellor Osborne.
Time for one last roll of the dice with a stunt to ply him with drink from a Mirror mole cunningly disguised as a waiter. Big O's minders could see that one coming a mile off.
Blair man Marr tried it on as penance for asking deluded Brown about pill popping, grilling Dave on how much he's worth with a picture of the Bullingdon Boys in the background. Or rather a painting of a photograph with the original squirrelled away under copyright wraps.
Will the Mirror ever learn? Voters don't give a toss about 'Toffs'. Crewe and Nantwich showed that. They do care about who to trust after a decade of disaster and failure. Lord Snooty and his pals is mildy amusing. The Broon-ites, a downright disgrace.
The whole charade is set to be repeated again with the hair-raising Dave and Boris show and the Bullingdon Boys jolly japes broadcast on some obscure Channel 4 channel. Cripes.
The Mirror should look in the mirror. The Orange Party is waiting for the next instalment.
How about privately-educated Edward Michael 'just call me Ed' Balls or privately-educated Harriet 'just call me Hattie Harperson', er Harperson? After all, 'I'm Harriet Harman, you know where you can get hold of me.'
There must be room in the busy schedules for a prog on how working class heroes like Al Johnson and David Davis pulled themselves up by their worn-out bootstraps, after living in a cramped shoebox, sucking mud. Prescott doesn't count.
Students eh? What are they like? Not like the Orange Party's days wrapped up in duffle coat and university scarf with only a trusty pipe, cup of cocoa and copy of Karl Marx and 'Health and Efficiency' for comfort.
The Orange Party doesn't recall much bleatings about posh boy Blair and his private privileged upbringing at Scotland's Eton, Fettes. But then he was the Man of the People who didn't do his posh background - or God. Who airbrushed out that rather rude hand gesture in later photographs?
Stitching up the high and mighty is all good fun and par for the course. But in the wonderful world of the political and media class there are some real people buried in the debris of despair and desolation.
The Sun has captured that mood. It doesn't say much for the Mirror when its only hope is to bring back Piers Morgan.
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