This week, David Cameron did his bit for the proverbial ‘Average Joe’ (not to mention the struggling Conservative election campaign – but then, I am a cynic) by looking about as out of place at the Dagenham Ford plant as Nick Clegg does in the streets of Whitehall. And all this while rocking the working class outfit of a hard hat and high-vis jacket, because, you know, THE PEOPLE! (Did I mention I was a cynic?)

When faced with the inevitable questions about the EU (this was also the week in which The Party Who Shall Not Be Named, for fear of inciting the fracked-off rage of the Greens, had a confusingly international-sounding calypso released in their honour, only to have it denounced by its creator within days), our good old PM made the welcome announcement that we, the British people, are his only boss. In other words, thanks but no thanks, Mr. Juncker – we’ve got this.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I am quite excited to hear this. I am in absolutely no doubt that it can be nothing but good news, and I intend to take all the new responsibility it entails very seriously indeed. Thus, I now speak directly to you, David Cameron, my newly-acquired employee and general dogsbody. My orders, as your boss, are as follows.

First of all, I would like you to ensure that S Club are actually planning to stick around as a reunited seven-piece following Children In Need (because, if they’re only intending to Bring It All Back for one night, I’m really not bothered, to be honest). I want you to make everyone stop hating on Renee Zellweger and her face, and then see about getting Topshop to make jumpsuits that look good on people who are not Karlie Kloss.

Next, I need you to introduce me to your wife (and, by ‘introduce’, I mean that SamCam and I need to be BFFs who share clothes and complain about this country’s shoddy leadership over cocktails within three months, tops). That one is kind of a deal-breaker.

After this, comes a slightly trickier task, but hey – we wouldn’t want that degree from the fifth-best university in the world to go to waste now, would we? We, the British people – and your boss – would be really rather grateful if you could do us a solid and extend the day a little. We find that our current allocation of hours doesn’t quite cut it and we will not stand for it any longer. Potentially problematic, logic-wise, but I’ve seen how you spin the unemployment figure.  24 hours will be a doddle in comparison.

Once you’ve checked all these things off, Wi-Fi is next on the list. To be perfectly frank, David, I’m fed up of paying for it. As a staunch member of Generation Z, I fail to see how wireless internet has not yet become a basic human right. We may have to pay for water but, heavens above, I draw the line at Wi-Fi.

Next, I want Harry Potter to become compulsory reading for all children. If there is even one child not familiar with Sirius Black, Luna Lovegood and Severus Snape, your job will be on the line. It might also be worth replacing assemblies with readings from the books. Or maybe even add a Potter Paper to the year six SATs exams, just to ensure maximum retention. But we can iron out the details further down the line.

My final demand is that you create a National Beyoncé Day, and enforce it strictly. In fact, I would go one step further and ask that you adopt Queen Bey as some kind of national matriarch figure. I am open to suggestions as to how this would be executed, but I imagine pre-schoolers would have to learn the Single Ladies dance before going up to Big School, and all babies born from this point onwards being required by law to be named after a colour and/or plant.

I realise that this is rather a long list of orders, Mr. Cameron, but I am keen that you do not slack, you see. If, after all of this, you find you have a bit of time left over, you might consider fixing the economy, getting the huge number of unemployed into stable jobs, and not cutting off the most vulnerable in society. But, you know, whatever.