Rule one in journalism. Never assume anything.
If your mother says she loves you – check it out.
The Prime Ministerial prance was cringe-worthy.
Frightful. Robotic. Idiotic.
Or was it?
Hacks can’t resist wordplay. And the Abba-omination, ahem, got them in the g-spot.
Even the haughty broadsheets slithered between the sheets.
But think about it.
The press corps covering the Brum bunfight thought they’d end up writing her off. Instead, they were mostly bigging her up.
Conference epitaph: Bojo wows fans – Theresa tossed aside? Hardly.
And Downing Street claimed the dear little dance was ‘spontaneous’. Yerright.
Ok, the speech itself was people-pleasing. Good times in. Austerity out. Questionable, but catchy.
Besides, neither Mrs May nor the set fell to bits this time. Definite result.
Of course Brexit tensions ran through the gathering like the writing in sticks of seaside rock.
An echo of French politicians in 1940. Squabbling, as the Wehrmacht hit Paris, about whose idea the Maginot line was anyway.
Credit where it’s due, however. The Great Survivor/Captain of the Titanic, isn’t sunk yet.
But, and they’re big buts, there are two daunting dates in this month’s diary.
The budget on the 29th. How will Spreadsheet Phil square the circle of the promised fuel duty freeze and better times ahead with his scarily short pockets?
Well before that, the next EU summit.
Toe-tapping Theresa tactfully avoided the C-word during her speech. But her Chequers plan is all she’ll have to offer in Brussels on the 17th.
As the 27 have already told her it’s unworkable you wonder how she’ll shimmy round that one.
Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! sounds like her Abba opener.
And closer? So Long springs to mind.
Peter Spencer has 40 years experience as a Political Correspondent in Westminster, working with London Broadcasting and Sky News. For more of his wonderful takes on the turbulent political landscape, follow him on Facebook & Twitter.