Maybe this is very wrong of me but I just felt a twang of sympathy for Michael Gove. You know. That Michael Gove. The serial liar who helped give us Brexit. The woeful education secretary who, along with Dominic Cummings (remember him?), turned schools into exam factories. Yeah, him. I’ve hated him for years, that sneering, patronising, whiny little voice. And yet. And yet. Video footage appears of a pissed up Gove dad-dancing alone in an Aberdeen nightclub. And me, being a woke snowflake, I felt sorry for him.

This is not the normal behaviour, is it, of a 54 year old cabinet member, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancester, no less. I’ve been 54 and I have had my midlife crises too. I wouldn’t want footage of me like that appearing on Facebook, never mind virtually every media outlet in the land. It’s embarrassing and it’s a bit sad.

Gove, we know, recently separated from his wife Sarah Vine, who writes newspaper columns like nutters write poison-pen letters. Her prose is basically hate-speech punctuated only with punctuation. If she behaves in real life in a similar manner to her writing, it is does not require a great deal of imagination how that might affect a relationship, say one with a senior politician. Of course, I know none of this to be true. It’s idle speculation on my part. Yet I can’t help wondering if this had anything to do with Gove’s unusual behaviour.

We have no idea if he has somehow gone off the rails and his life is in chaos. Maybe he just fancied a night on the lash and a dance all on his own. But the inner me is loathe to take the piss because a part of me feels some kind of empathy. I was once married to a Class A lunatic and whilst I didn’t go completely off the rails, I could have. Luckily, I walked straight into the arms of the woman who was to become my soulmate, who I believe saved my life. I may have swayed around in some pubs at the time, but I did nothing to suggest to anyone that I was unwell in the mental health department. (Well, I was, but that’s forever and not just for divorce.)

I find myself in the very odd position of feeling sorry for Gove, although it’s entirely possible there’s nothing to feel sorry for and about. I’ve never thought of him, or his type in this awful government, of giving a toss about the lives of people he doesn’t understand. But then again, I don’t understand the upper class privileged life he enjoys. Maybe, I’m just being human.

Correct me if I’m wrong, Michael, if I have got all this wrong and you are still the horrible, lying toad I always believed you to be. I’ve probably still got some hate lying around in my system, but definitely a lot more love.,