I can’t help thinking that our Mr Cameron is the most dangerous man in the world, particularly if one is British. I remember with alarming clarity the  passion with which he advocated bombing Assad a few years ago, and the infantile petulance with which he reacted to Parliament’s refusal to allow him to do so. But here he is, back again, singing the same old song.

This time, surely, he has sanitised his aspirations by adding a satisfactory endgame, a happy-ever-after ending. He hasn’t? Heaven help us!  His plan, as far as I remember it,  requires Britain to bomb bits of the Middle East, possibly for several years, until Islamic State is reduced to ashes, and then to decide whether or not to take on Russia in a renewed effort to dethrone Assad. Oh dear!

My personal view is that Cameron’s only real desire in this particular aspect of his premiership is to put himself in a “Wartime” situation, so that he can be seen in the context of Churchill and Thatcher. I will show the world, he says as he gazes into the mirror, that I am just as good as they were – maybe even better. And there’s no point in telling him to get real, because he and reality have never been close.

Barmy, or what? Very barmy, very scary. What makes the prospect particularly scary is the fact that he has virtually named the day, the quite soon day, when he will take his leave of politics.  A bad-tempered and stupid child who intends to leave the nursery in a huff doesn’t bother about the mess he leaves behind. Ouch!

The rest of us are going to have to pick up the pieces. Double Ouch! And that’s  in addition to the very real possibility that he is seriously out of his depth in his European machinations.  Treble Ouch!