Britain today enjoyed a happy interlude in its apparently never-ending Conservative government, as the country experienced a twenty-two minute interregnum between the resignation of David Cameron and the appointment of his successor.
Reports of short-lived, spontaneous outpourings of joy were heard from around the country during the fleeting escape from the Tory yoke.
Children looked up, bleary eyed, from their rote-learning of subordinating conjunctions, and for a brief, joyous moment felt the warm balm of summer sunshine kissing their pallid faces.
"Mummy," they asked in tiny tremulous voices, "is this what they call 'happiness'?"
Scientists reported a freakish up-tick in sunshine and birdsong, while flowers bloomed briefly out of season, before dropping their petals as the cold wind picked up and storm clouds rolled in across the rain-flecked horizon.
The lame cast aside their crutches, taking triumphant but tentative unsupported steps towards a happier tomorrow, although most were later passed as fit to work by Atos and stripped of their benefits.
Pigs briefly slept a little easier, only for their dreams to once more be disturbed by nightmarish premonitions of unnatural Tory sexual proclivities and the thought of the UK's relationships with its key international partners resting on the diplomatic skills of Boris Johnson.
Meanwhile, the Labour Party promised to form a strong and determined opposition, if only to its own leader, and to prepare for government some time around 2028.