The question: How do you spot election fever?
Election fever is a debilitating condition - more threatening than Bluetongue (or indeed Redtongue) - and there are clear signs of a mass outbreak. The surest indicator is the prime minister's visit this week to Iraq and the rash of photographs of Brown surrounded by squaddies. Admittedly, he wasn't wearing a flak jacket - a sure symptom of advanced election fever (or pollus thatcherus) - but his decision to wear body armour over his suit would lead most doctors to conclude that the virus is undoubtedly present.
This is, however, not the only symptom. A report by Lord Darzi on the future of the health service has been brought forward, the government has started being nice to the unions, key personnel are being recruited in marginals, and the previous prime minister (whose name escapes me) has been locked in a darkened room somewhere in Westminster.
Election fever is also rife among the Conservatives. Having talked about modernising the party for the past two years, they now speak of tax cuts, cracking down on immigrants and getting tough on crime. A move to the right (lurchus tebbitus) is a sure sign the body politic is disturbed. Even among the less febrile Lib Dems there has been discussion of "hung parliaments" - and an unconfirmed report that Sir Menzies Campbell had woken up.
Though the public have not so far been infected - and, anyway, they have built up powerful antibodies as a result of long exposure to politicians - there are signs the fever is spreading. Local MPs, rarely sighted except at elections, are delivering letters asking what voters think of the health service locally; newspapers are downplaying vital stories such as Burma and boring on about a "snap" election; opinion polls appear with absurd frequency. It would be wise for the next month not to leave your baby unattended, for fear of molestation.