[Through a tiny RealPlayer window it is difficult to make out the gloomy interior of a top-of-the-range Executive Home in Dulwich. The scene brightens as a fluorescently-lit life-support pod opens and we catch a glimpse of a giant electromechanical hand lowering a pulsating mass of hair onto MARGARET THATCHER’s scalp. One lower petal of the pod opens and she trundles down its ramp, conveyed within a wheeled buggy, studded with black hemispherical nodules.]

THATCHER: “People of Earth, I am speaking to you from my kitchen, the centre of any well run household. I learnt at the knee of my father, Albert, the importance of a warm stove—warm with the charred bones of Communists, Wets, and Federasts—and today it is with that same warmth that I commend to you my successor: Daniel Cameroon.”

[VOICE OFF]: “David Cameron!”

THATCHER: “David Camera, a young man who will, I am sure, do great things for this nation…

[Something dark flickers behind THATCHER’s eyes.]

THATCHER: “…once he has sloughed off his soft human flesh and exposed his shining metal torso to the light of a new Conservative dawn!”

[VOICE OFF]: “Cut! Er, I don’t think those are quite the words written in the script, ma’am. Could we take that from the top again please, Lady Thatcher? And this time would it be possible for you to make that gesture with your real hand?”