In the gothic halls of a Transylvanian manor, five hooded figures stand around an old mahogany table. Rain screeches on the tall stained glass windows. Inside, the candle lights flicker but the air is deathly still.

Elevated above the table is a portrait of the group’s founder, Ugandan dictator Idi Amin. Underneath is his official title: “His Excellency, President for Life, Field Marshal Al Hadji Doctor Idi Amin Dada, VC, DSO, MC, Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Seas and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular”. Amin certainly knew how to dictate.

The High Priest of the Council, Vladimir Putin, slowly raises his hand, and in a singular religious motion all the men remove their hoods and take their seats at the table. The dinner of the dictators has now commenced.

Lord Magician Bashar al-Assad raises his glass to declare the first order of business. Recep Tayyip Erdoğan is congratulated on finally becoming a total dictator. Secretary Kim Jong Un jots down the minutes for a small round of applause followed by the ritual slaughtering of an innocent lamb.

Chairman Robert Mugabe then stands to raise his own glass but is suddenly disturbed by a knock at the door. The Deliveroo has arrived. The dictators all sit in serene silence as the driver unloads their orders; a lentil salad for Putin and a portion of chicken udon for Erdoğan. Erdoğan does love a bit of Wagamamas. As the Deliveroo driver makes to leave he is stopped by Secretary Kim, who has the nerve to request a discount because the delivery was eight minutes late. The Deliveroo driver sharply dismisses him, hops on push bike and departs.

“Not able to fix a simple democratic vote? Juvenile. As his wife once told journalists, Robert Mugabe could still win the election if he was dead”

Mugabe sits and chuckles to himself about Kim being trashed by a Deliveroo driver. His low bellicose laughter rumbles around the room, and with red wine dribbling down his jaw, he continues to berate the young dictator. Kim’s eyes flash wildly as Mugabe mocks his tiny little bomb and laughs that his missile blows prematurely. Kim lifts a meat knife in rage but is soon interrupted by the High Priest Putin who silences him with a raised eyebrow.

The dictators had convened to discuss their first electoral setback in years. Just as they were beginning to like democracy, it had let them down. At the far side of the room two great doors suddenly swing open. From the blackness appears Marine le Pen in shackles. Two moderately well trained grizzly bears march her to the centre of the room and stand by her side, salivating at the prospect of their next meal.

Erdoğan bristles his moustache and begins the inquisition. Marine had failed to win the popular vote - and to add insult to injury, against a man who had no party to actually follow through any of his plans. Mugabe stands and proclaims that he laughs at the young dictators of today. Not able to fix a simple democratic vote? Juvenile. As his wife once told journalists, Robert Mugabe could still win the election if he was dead.

Mugabe goes to continue but is distracted by an unwanted visitor. It’s Nigel Farage standing outside in the rain again, beating against the window.

“Please! Chaps, come on,” Nigel shouts through the window, “I’m the most successful politician of my generation! I’ve got some excellent quips about Jean Claude Junker’s dress sense, come on, let us in!”

Why doesn’t England have a national vegetable?

The group all look silently away from the window in the hope that by not acknowledging him he will go away. There’s always one that shows up to the party uninvited.

Putin sighs and mumbles a curse under his breath. The dictators had only just managed to solve the problem of their last unwanted political guest. Erdoğan picks at a scrap of his chicken udon and throws it at the slimy sinister creature caged in the corner of the room, “No comeback for you either, Mr Blair.”