No one would have believed, in the last months of Lord Justice Fauntleroy's summing up, that Margaret Thatcher's left buttock was being watched from a public lavatory in Islington.

No one could have dreamed that Tony Blair would be elected Chief Vizier.

Few ornithologists even considered the inevitability of spontaneously combusting.

And yet, across the Grand Canyon, minds immeasurably stranger than ours, regarded Margaret Thatcher's buttocks with several video cameras.

And slowly and surely, they sank into a stupor.

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