It comes to something when you wake up to find that the Prime Minister has somehow transformed into your mother overnight. But he has been. And it's quite a worrying development.
OK, he might still look like the hulking, brooding Scot we've all come to know and, er, know over the last twelve months. He still doesn't do the idiot savant grin of the previous one. But, according the most sources, he is now channelling my mother.
When you get to my age you expect certain things from your Government. Develop and maintain some sensible fiscal policy, work towards better social integration. Uphold the law. Promote the country's interests overseas. All reasonable things, I guess.
Being told by Her Majesty's Government that I should avoid wastage by planning meals in advance and storing food properly was, perhaps, a little unexpected. But bless them for their concern. Clearly we can all look forward to the next Government campaign, "Make Sure You Wrap Up Warm" from the Department of Not Getting a Chill on Your Kidneys.
They'll be recruiting official inspectors next who'll go from door to door on a Friday night, solemnly intoning the immortal words, "You're not leaving the house dressed like that.."
Oh, hang on a minute. Phone call.....
Well, bugger me. It was Gordon Brown, asking me why he's not a grandmother yet.
(With thanks to Philip at The Curmudgeon for reminding me of The Wall and giving me a perfect headline)