The Tory-leaning press have found, in the immortal words of Lynton Crosby, ‘A dead cat to throw on the table.’ Despite the fact that Pigshagger has not actually done anything wrong, apart from fibbing a bit, but he’s a politician so that’s only to be expected, The Times  and The Daily Telegraph have chucked the deceased feline as a diversion. They’re clearly trying to take the heat off poor old beleaguered PS.

Saturday, both these august publications led the front page with a story of such remarkable dullness it’s hard to credit.

The Most Reverend Justin Welby, the Archbishop of Canterbury, is not the son of who he thought he was. Gavin Welby was not his progenitor as he’s believed all these years. No, Lady Williams of Elvel got jolly pissed shortly before her wedding to Gav, and shagged Sir Anthony Montague Brown, who worked for some time with Winston Churchill as his last private secretary.

This is a real ‘Who gives a f***?’ story isn’t it? I imagine Justin is a bit taken aback to find that his mum put herself about a bit in her youth, but hey ho. Nobody else really cares. It’s no reflection on the Most Rev. and is a matter of supreme indifference to just about everybody apart from the newspapers.

However, there’s an intriguing aspect to this. The ‘revelation’ that he’s not who he thought he was came about because His Reverendness submitted some oral swabs for DNA testing. These samples were then compared with hair samples from Tonyboy’s hairbrushes.

A 99.979% match is pretty convincing, but doesn’t answer a pretty basic question that it raises. Just why did His Nexttogodliness submit to the tests, or indeed propose them himself? It’s not clear what the chain of events was, but it’s not as if he woke up one morning and thought, ‘Nice day for a DNA test!’ now is it? Nobody ever said that in the entire history of DNA testing.

Then the question of why he didn’t keep schtum. It’s nobody’s business but his and his mum’s, so why he’s washing his not even grubby laundry in public is anybody’s guess.