If I was David Cameron I would have Harper and Grayling dragged into Number 10 in chains and threatened immediate execution if they cannot give an reasonable explanation of last night’s Euro vote fiasco. Harper is fairly new to the job and has yet to make an impression (any, according to my moles) on backbenchers. But this little cock up has a Gastropodian slime trail leading to Grayling. The way Purdah was handled reeks of smug arrogance, insensitivity and mind numbing incompetence. It’s got Grayling’s fingerprints all over it. Firstly, assumption in the mother and father of most political fuckups. Assume that the likes of Bill Cash who bores for Britain on the minutiae of constitutional law in relation to the EU won’t rumble a crap legal argument at your peril. Assume that the advice from a serious Parliamentary lawyer that the foundation of the legal argument is founded on candy floss won’t leak is an act of insanity. And assume that the SNP is not dedicated to destabilise and destroy the Tories at whatever cost and you are living in la la land.

And who on earth thought it was a bright idea to put up the deeply moral and thoroughly competent, Minister for Europe David Liddington, to argue the most appalling species bollocks is beyond imagination. I’d love to have been a fly on the wall at that FO meeting when he was handed that hospital pass. Actually, a stronger Foreign Secretary would have put a stop to it. I remember as a PPS at the old DOE when John Gummer was Secretary of State we had a similar request from the business managers. He told them to fuck off. And good on him because he was right and not just politically.

What sensible Tories have to remember is that Cash and the usual suspects have spent most of their lives dedicated to the destruction of the EU pretending that they want a level playing field which of course they don’t. They want to drown out any voice in favour of remaining in. And now the bloody, buttock clenchingly mind numbingly stupid ‘business managers’ have given them the moral high ground. Sound thrashings are deserved. Sometimes I could weep.

Oh, and while I’m on my high horse bayoneting the wounded what about Javid? I am beginning to suspect the cut of his jib. I know if you want to be in the circus you have to be able to ride two horses at once, but at some stage you will have to decide who to give loyalty to. And a word of advice. Matey, if you want to end up like Adam Afriyie just keep on digging. Your line manager is Osborne and unless you want the nipple clamps out and a car battery attached to your testicles do not piss him off. Sometime fairly soon you will have to come off the fence.

Now all that is off my chest I’m heading back to the beach and a cool Turkish beer. But let me share with you the sad and surreal events of this morning. We were having breakfast on the beach and a distressed young woman was on the telephone trying to call the coastguard as two hundred yards away a group of Syrian refugees had washed up. And not all that far way from that poor little toddler. I could just see them stranded on a little island. Tiny Lowry like figures awaiting help. The lady’s name was Katie. She told me that those who survived would probably end up begging on the streets. She helps run a charity helping Syrian refugees with food medicine and shelter. Have a look at their website www.carepackagesforsyrianrefugees.com A donation might just save a life.