IT WAS only a few weeks ago many of us - yours truly included - were demanding Dishface end his holiday and show some leadership while the nation's major cities were engulfed in riots and flame.
After 72 hours his press officer paid some attention to us and the Prime Minister left the £10,000-a-week Tuscan villa where he was having tennis lessons with a Bullingdon Club chum to come home, and promptly displayed zero leadership by reading out a speech someone else had written telling the rioters off.
It made bugger all difference, because by that point the police had had time to call people back from leave and send the lads in to knock a few heads together. Only a cynic would say that Dishface's return was carefully-timed to coincide with the planned police surge, rather than a response to the voters.
Since then he's gone off on his fifth holiday in as many months.
First there was Cornwall back in spring.
Then there was a mini-break to Granada.
Then there was Ibiza.
Then there was Tuscany, where the millionaire eventually remembered to tip the waitress.
And this week he's gone back to Cornwall.
From whence he has returned to London, briefly, to discuss the end-game in Libya before going back to his beach.
I'd love to say all this gallivanting is doing the nation a disservice, but I've racked my brains and can't think of anything much that would be improved by this man giving it his close attention.
I can't say I'm completely relaxed about having a Prime Minister paid £142,500 a year to do very little of any worth. I can't help thinking he's an Earth version of Zaphod Beeblebrox, the Douglas Adams character who was made President of the Universe purely to distract attention from the people who were really in charge.
But I suppose him being utterly disengaged - from the electorate, the nation's wants and needs, the nuclear button - can only be better than having someone so dim he can't open a bottle of wine without an embolism actually making decisions on our behalf.
I just wish he'd change that flipping shirt.