‘He smashes successive conkers and reaches the final. It’s against the teenager who gave him the string. Both bash away, their conkers refuse to smash. But the teenager is stronger and delivers a forceful blow. Felix’s conker fires backwards out of control and strikes him on the forehead. Instantly he drops to the ground.’

The audience shuddered at the thought, a wave of shared pain and sympathy flowed through the hall. The Leader’s voice sounded constricted when he continued. His hands came up to cover his moist eyes, then slid down to his mouth in a symbol of prayer. He paused, coughed to clear his emotions, and looked up again at the sea of faces to share their anguish.

‘Felix Zamosky died in hospital two days later. He never regained consciousness. He wasn’t able to say goodbye to his parents. They couldn’t say goodbye to him.’

His voice began to crack.

‘Now answer me this.’

His moistened eyes swept the hall; his figure seemed to swell on the podium.

‘There are no safety regulations to govern children playing conkers. Why?’

He again roamed the faces before him seeking an answer.

Because we lack the zeal to regulate conker competitions. Yet clearly this is what’s needed – full protective clothing, conkers assessed for size and strength in relation to the ages of children competing. All to be supervised by an adult monitor trained in physics, with passports produced by children to match them against same age competitors, written permission from parents, paramedics at hand.

‘The Law to encompass exclusion for any gathering of less than fifty children to ensure proper organisation. All competitions to be booked with local authorities three months in advance with suitable risk assessment and venue allocation determinants. Special regulations to ensure the disabled receive proper consideration.’

He raised his voice, a priest about to harangue his congregation.

‘After we’re re-elected, I will conduct a root-and-branch review of health and safety.’

He paused; the audience sensed he was on the brink of making a pledge.

‘There is a whole raft of legislative issues here. We will commit the resources, regardless of cost, to protecting all our citizens, all of the time. We will remove all obstacles to intensive direct social care by the State. This I promise. This is our commitment to the Nation! At One Together!’

The Russian dictator doubled up. Tears of laughter streamed down his face. Tancredi stood up and took hold of his arm. He had to get him out, but it was too late. The Leader nodded and a band of men wearing protective gloves, goggles and orange boiler suits were upon them. As one took hold of the lapels of Stalin’s coat, he sprang from his seat with surprising agility. Seconds later there was an ear-splitting crunch as Stalin brought his head into his assailant’s face, pulping his nose.

The front of the auditorium descended into a mêlée of flying fists, in which Tancredi found himself swinging with his missing arm. The Russian bear and his disabled companion were soon overpowered.