At 5pm sharp, my phone dinged to let me know that a new joyous missive had been received unto my inbox, from a doubtless fine fellow by the name of “David Cameron”.

That was… unexpected.

The Tories’ Prospective Parliamentary Candidate and Inevitable Next MP for Bournemouth West, Conor Burns, has my e-mail address – his all-caps subject lines are the price I pay for returning a questionnaire reassuring him that we disagree on virtually everything.

Apparently e-mail addresses harvested this way are passed on to the Conervatives’ central office / PR agency, which seems reasonable enough. But the tone of Cameron’s e-mail seems to suggest they think I’m actually supporting his Party:

Every leaflet you deliver, every pound you donate, every email you send, every friend you speak to – every extra little thing you do can make the decisive difference between winning and losing.

Good point! I’ll get leafleting for the Lib Dems right away.

Also, it doesn’t half exaggerate what’s essentially a non-issue:

After all the dithering, this unelected Prime Minister has been forced by the law of the land to call the election…

Whoa, I didn’t elect our current Prime Minister? That’d be because I don’t live in Kirkcaldy and Cowdenbeath. And the people that live there did vote for him. Just because Tony Blair had a cult of personality that made it feel like we voted for him rather than for Labour candidates doesn’t necessarily make it something that his successor should try to repeat.

The e-mail ends with an inspiring:

So let’s get out there and win it for Britain.

Win it for Britain? Well, I’ll certainly try. But somehow I don’t think my win condition – an abolition of political parties, removing politicians in favour of civil servants executing the will of the nation as established by a radical technology-driven Direct Democracy (pause for breath) – is quite what you had in mind, Mr Web Cameron.

But vote for the Conservatives? Nah, I’ll pass. I’ll vote Tory on the day Maggie Thatcher turns up at my door with the eight gallons of semi-skimmed she owes me. (Note to Tory HQ, just in case Bournemouth West ever becomes that marginal: I really will. That will be sufficiently amusing to swing my vote.)