Step, if you will, into the classroom of my alma mater, the School for the Sons of Diseased or Fading Clergy. There's our form teacher, enthusing us with a wizard idea: we are to learn about the cut and thrust of British politics by staging our own general election. Candidates are duly raised from among my schoolfellows. Your correspondent, a contrarian to the last, stands for the Worm Lovers' Party. Perhaps it is the limited nature of its platform, which largely concerns the well ...