At first I dismissed Lord Ashcroft’s new book on David Cameron, Call Me Dave, as nothing more than tittle-tattle and a bit of a hatchet-job, payback for Cameron failing to give Ashcroft a big government job after he spent millions bankrolling the Tory party. I mean, that’s the way things work, isn’t it? But reading today’s revelations in my wishy-washy Guardian, I am not so sure if it is mere trivia.

We all know that Ashcroft and his co-author Isobel Oakeshott have alleged that at a student initiation ceremony at Oxford’s Piers Gaveston Society, Cameron put “a private part of his anatomy in a pig’s mouth”, that private part being the PM’s penis, in case you were wondering, but there is far more to this potential scandal. It is further alleged that Cameron smoked “pot”, allowed cocaine to be used at his home and – just wait for this – “listened to Supertramp records in a student friend’s room.” I would rather not visualise the todger episode, thank you very much, but it doesn’t unduly trouble me, and when it comes to drugs, well, I don’t condone their use, although I doubt whether they were the first wealthy, privileged students to do a bit of Charlie in their Uni years. It’s the Supertramp bit that worries me.

I have nothing against Supertramp. The Logical Song, Dreamer and It’s Raining Again are amiable enough ditties from one of the more popular beat combo outfits of the late 1970s and early 1980s, but it’s not the Clash, is it? In fact, for that late night, lights dimmed, chilled out, roll a spliff and slump back on a huge cushion, the only record from those days was Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, or maybe Tubular Bells on a bad day. But Supertramp? Are they really the appropriate band to accompany the rolling up a crisp fifty pound note (they wouldn’t have been happy with a tenner, would they?) in order to snort a class A drug? I would suggest that, if these allegations are true – the ones about Supertramp – there are serious questions about the PM’s judgement.

Are the allegations damaging? No, not in themselves. It looks like Ashcroft has set a very low bar in terms of corroborating his allegations – only one unnamed person has said they witnessed Pig Gate – and from what I have seen it really does like the work of a bitter man with an interesting interpretation of international tax arrangements.

I shall say no more about Ashcroft because I do not want to upset him in case he comes after me. So far as I can recall, I have no skeletons in my closet that involve a pig’s head, although there was that late night incident at Ashton Gate when I found myself on the pitch in front of the East End, over the penalty spot and…you can guess the rest. Well, you would, wouldn’t you? Even though it was well over 30 years ago, I would not really want the grisly details revealed to the whole nation, nor the fact that I still own most of Gary Glitter’s early vinyl records. I had no idea he was a pervert, your honour.

The Prime Minister’s penis is of no interest to me. It is a matter for him alone. It does not appear that any animals were hurt at the alleged ceremony because the pig was already dead and the head was a stand alone object. But Supertramp; now that is serious. Someone should resign.