A bash at politics. Ish.

Behold. Doesn't he look all Prime Minister-y and delicious? Sadly - no offence, Dave - this is not our Prime Minister.

(DING DING DING. *the crowd cheers* Fine. Not exactly the finest display of parliamentary deconstruction, but at least applaud my tentative toe dip into political waters.)

Nope. The point of this picture is because Cameron is currently making his first official visit to America, as Prime Minister, to meet the effervescent Obama. And whilst newspapers up and down the country are either lampooning or lauding the 'special relationship,' my mind jumps to a rather different place. Two words.

'Love Actually.'

Tell me you're not already there, eyes shut, bum-in-chair wiggling, humming oh so enthusiastically before belting, I CAN FEEL YOU GETTING HOTTER. OH BABY. Fear not friends. You're not alone. Then, of course, I make the obvious leap to that picturesque moment in the snowy dusk where skinny, 'still had antennae fringe hair,' Keira is gazing sadly at a stack of dreamy message boards, blushing prettily to faux carol singing as Andrew Lincoln declares his patient and undying love for her - only to receive a cold peck on the cheek. (At this point you'll find me on my knees in front of the tv, wailing, HE LOVES YOU JUST THE WAY YOU ARE, NINNY, DITCH THE LOSER UPSTAIRS.) And from there I progress to Colin Firth marching through the cobbled streets of Portugal, all dark haired and determined, proposing in pigeon Portuguese in front of the entire restaurant. Then I drift to our thwarted but delicious and bespectacled Frenchie......

And then it all goes a bit hazy from there as I simultaneously praise Richard Curtis for his impeccable taste in casting and desperately attempt to claw my thoughts back to the supposed theme of this blog. Politics. Well, Politics. ISH. Emphasis on the ish. Because as many people scowl and scorn this supposed special relationship between the UK and America; try to decipher and translate what it even means, I drift off to that speech old Hugh delivered with such gusto in the film. Where he celebrated, "Shakespeare, Churchill, The Beatles, Sean Connery, Harry Potter, David Beckham's right foot. David Beckham's left foot, come to think of it," and it sort of makes me yearn for a similarly gutsy display of patriotism from Cameron.

I don't hate America. Far from it. In fact, Obama is kind of cool in a 'can't name your policies but you don't look like you'll shag your secretary or invade a Middle Eastern country' sort of way. Nor do I think it wise to expect our politics to play out like a Richard Curtis script. (Ok. Secretly I do. A little bit.) But I do think that, as we all hold our breath for reports from Washington, we should expect a steely determination and pride from Cameron to set the tone of his tenure that reflects the English people. A people that has had their fair share of hiccups but say RECESSION SESMESSION (what, people say that) and bah humbug to the loss of Rooney's striking foot. We are the people that wait chilly months on end for the sun before stripping off to bare goose-pimply skin in our lunch break, perched on a wobbling wooden bench in a full-to-bursting park. We're determined. Yes, we moan and grumble. Snipe and complain. But we don't give up. We stay resolute.

Hang on. There's a point here. Somewhere. (Note to self : next time, STICK TO FOOD.) Oh yes...

So a message to David Cameron from me -- Stand firm. Oh and don't be afraid to channel Hugh Grant.