From milkshakes to Theresa's tears, life couldn't possibly be more ridiculous right now

I’m not condoning the chucking of sweet cold beverages. For starters you can never be too sure these days who’s lactose intolerant and, in any case, have you seen how much these concoctions cost? A fiver for a drink that doesn’t have booze in it!

In a week when there has been precious little to laugh at, thank goodness for former Tory MP David Mellor’s hair.

Did you see it? He was on breakfast telly and for some reason his sleek salt and pepper bob made me laugh out loud for a good ten minutes. Because this was the hair of my dreams, sophisticated and chic; this was the kind of hair a middle-aged woman could rock anywhere round the world, from Camberwell to Cannes – the only trouble being, it was on David Mellor’s head and therefore it was quite ridiculous.

Everything is ridiculous at the moment. Theresa May’s strangulated “too little too late” leaving sob was ridiculous, the flurry (see what I did there) of milkshake chucking, so typically madly British because we can’t ever really resist farce, was ridiculous. It wasn’t just the fact it was being chucked that made it ridiculous, it was the fact that it then became a “thing”, which meant certain food chains then attempted to ban sales of the stuff in sensitive areas – who else could politicise milkshakes? Only us. God we’re so ridiculous, we’re kind of fantastic. I can’t wait to see what we get up to when Trump comes over.

Obviously I’m not condoning the chucking of sweet cold beverages. For starters you can never be too sure these days who’s lactose intolerant and, in any case, have you seen how much these concoctions cost? A fiver for a drink that doesn’t have booze in it! As I said before, “ridiculous”.

And so the week ended with milkshakes being viewed with suspicion and David Mellor no doubt fighting off Timotei modeling contracts and Theresa finally chucking in the towel before scuttling off behind the door of No 10 to kick the skirting boards.

Yup, we all peaked. So, as the dust settles, let’s just spare a thought for all the professional impressionists surveying the field of wannabe runners and riders in the race for the new prime minister. Most of the boys will already have a ridiculous Boris up their sleeve but good luck to anyone trying to find anything remotely interesting about Matt Hancock. You might as well try to imitate a damp sock.

As for the female impressionists waiting to rewrite their acts, Dead Ringers star Jan Ravens must be the only woman in the country as devastated as May to see the prime minister resign. The Maybot has been a gem for Ravens over the past few years and she must be gutted to lose Theresa from her repertoire. Ditto the Scottish comic Janey Godley whose revoiced clips of “Big Theresa” speaking in a broad Glaswegian dialect have been the highlight of my Twitter timeline for months.

Of the potential female candidates, Esther McVey being mostly adenoids would be a piece of cake for Ravens, but as we all know, neither she nor soppy lettuce Andrea Leadsom stand a chance, and neither does Penny “belly flop” Mordant, however all three will no doubt be approached for jungle duty this autumn.

Because whatever happens, this country cannot resist being ridiculous in the face of chaos. Panto and reality TV can add some new names to the chew ‘em up and spit ‘em out machine.

As a stark contrast to all this complete political madness, the Chelsea Flower Show was the only thing that made any sense and even that had elements of madness to it, what with Kate and William’s kids playing nicely in mummy’s garden like Enid Blyton just made them up whilst all the other parents in the land willed at least one of them to give a sibling a clout with a handy stick. Damn Kate, she couldn’t even muster up the merest hint of a VPL, in those size ten tan-coloured culottes as she climbed up into her bird’s nest treehouse, with Will looking proudly buff below.

The Chelsea Flower Show was a class above everything else that has been going on recently – only the very creme de la creme of British celebrity was allowed in, as though some kind of bouncer was weeding out the undesirables at the gates. That said, Piers Morgan managed to get in like a slug under the netting, but for a few days the show provided an oasis away from politics. For us gawping at home (I’m told this is actually the best view) Chelsea appeared to be a milkshake-chucking free zone and one got the impression that the likes of Mark Francois would only be allowed in if he didn’t speak.

Gardens are where it’s at kids, because people behave better around plants.

If Theresa May has any sense, she should retire to her sofa with a seed catalogue and start planning what to do with her back garden. If I were her I’d concentrate on growing flowers; things like sweet pea, jasmine and roses, basically anything scented, because let’s face it, she’s going to need every bit of help she can get to get the disgusting stench of Westminster from out of her nose.