Those 1960s polling booth stalwarts from HEMP remain, lost in a happy fog of a cannabis carnivale, where all the elections merge into one.

The election has come to this: the headline of the week was of an egg bouncing, undisturbed, off the thickly covered bonce of PM Morrison.

The TV debate was wedged between The Vicar of Dibley and a sales' show. Well, that theme made sense: Mr Morrison as the vicar, Mr Shorten as the salesman.

Negotiations about the Notre Dame rebuild will be difficult. W&D suggests Versailles as a venue: its Hall of Mirrors means that M Macron can continually gaze at his own reflection.

Fugitive Julian Assange has been holed up in the Ecuadorian Embassy in London. Which yesterday decided 2,487 days of not paying rent was enough. So Assexit it was. This will reignite as a cause célèbre.

Budget Josh eschewed the fluro-vest. And looked very sharp with his few remaining strands of hair shorn within a millimetre of nothingness. But behind him the heads were nodding furiously, with the heads sometimes interjecting with helpful cries of "hear, hear!"