The vision thing

Are you bored already?  Vainly fighting the old ennui?  It all got so complicated and you can no longer distinguish the goodies from the baddies?  Yeah well, regulation of the press sometimes has that effect.

But at least Simon Hoggart has had a vision:

The whole event was a manic melange of mixed metaphors. The last chance saloon was teeming. Cameron said repeatedly that he didn't want to "cross the Rubicon". Everyone talked about "statutory underpinning" apparently unaware that "underpinnings" is an old euphemism for ladies' underwear.

I had a vision of a grizzled old prospector bursting into the last chance saloon, his corset dripping from crossing the Rubicon. "You want the carrot, stranger, or you want the stick?" asks the barman.

As the poem puts it:

When out of the night, which was fifty below, and into the din and glare,

There stumbled a miner fresh from the creeks, dog-dirty, and loaded for bear.

He looked like a man with a foot in the grave and scarcely the strength of a louse,

Yet he tilted a poke of dust on the bar, and he called for drinks for the house.

There was none could place the stranger’s face, though we searched ourselves for a clue;

But we drank his health, and the last to drink was Dangerous Dan McGrew.

And, thus, Lord Leveson/Dangerous Dan, underwear dripping and loaded for bear, moves on into history ...