A young Tony Blair, long hair masking his face, dressed in thick woollen jersey, flared jeans and boots, took time out before his Finals, head-banging to Led Zeppelin’s Kashmir booming on the stereo speakers.  He was in the disused church hall waiting for the other members of his prog-rock band.  Reminiscing about last night’s steamy session with his new girlfriend Cherie, he failed to notice his fiddle-bow, Jimmy Page-style, dangerously close to the pools of rainwater collecting below the crack in the roof. 

As his bow struck the Fender Stratocaster guitar, sparks lit up the room and Tony was knocked off his feet by the electric shock.  Then, it came to him in a flash of inspiration.  He thought: ‘I should join the Labour Party and make a real difference.  Overthrow Heath’s Tories and bring in a real Socialist government.’