James Wharton (29), the MP for Stockton South charged with proposing the Tories’ in/out EU referendum Bill, once tried to lubricate the progress of a £30,000 enterprise grant to the ex-Mayor of the Teeside town of Yarm, Jason Hadlow (Conservative), best known in the ‘Tees Corridor’ for trading in giant, sandstone penises.

On the same day (17th May) that Wharton came top in the private member’s Bill ballot, thus landing the job of fronting the party’s mildly Eurosceptic, anti-UKIP spoiler, a metropolitan Tory insider, said to be part of prime minister David Cameron’s social circle, was overheard describing local association activists as ‘mad, swivel-eyed loons.’  The latest fracas at Tory HQ sounds like a mash-up of a couple of scenes from Stanley Kubrick’s Clockwork Orange (1971) in which (1) a giant, model penis is used for sexual violation; and (2) Alex and his droogs start fighting among themselves.

There was me and my three droogs, that is Dave, Georgie and Dim, and we sat in the Metrovia Milkbar trying to make up our rassodocks what to do about Europe. Dim, also known as Jim Whart, announces he’s up for a bit of the old in-out, in-out referendum on EU membership. Better to resolve the situation, he says. Release the pent-up frustration among grassroots activists so that afterwards we can focus on that which ordinary malchick- and devotchka-voters are worrying about all the time, namely ‘the cost of living’.

When he used that antiquated phrase – viddy well, oh my brothers, ‘the cost of living’ was last spoken of before there were even videos – the bile in me started to rise. I thought I could hear the blissful music of dear old Ludwig Van urging me to visit some actual ultra-violet upon Dim and his ilk; upon all the mad, swivel-eyed loons who populate the party with their outdated, provincial customs and embarrassing clothes.

I looked across the table at Dim-Jim: still in his twenties and already the first signs of the-comb-over-to-come; veteran of the Officer Training Corps at Durham University where he studied law – making him the conservative conservatives’ conservative.  Why, oh my metrosexual brothers, is the party stuffed with such Dim antediluvians, dinosaurs who would stamp the life out of our ultra-modern, frictionless Westminster Village with their flat feet encased in socks and sandals? Watching his pudgy round face – surely the face of a boy who’s been carrying a briefcase since his first day at secondary school – I thought of the giant, model penis we had nicked from an artist’s house earlier that night, and I couldn’t stop thinking of ramming it right into him.

You see how dangerous and damaging they are? The presence of these awful people prompts frenzies of internal violence and turns the Conservative Party into a re-make of Kubrick’s destructive masterpiece.