By Abigail Pennson, our reasonable, plain-speaking middle-class columnist who voted 422 times for Yuval Raphael

VACLAV Havel. Aung San Suu Kyi. Nelson Mandala. All prisoners who became their country’s leader. I am privileged to present the next: Mrs Lucy Connolly. 

You know the name, of course. Since her wrongful imprisonment for ‘inciting racial hatred’ – tweeting while heartbroken, in plain English – she’s all the nation talks about. I hear her name even when I’m alone in the room.

Her bravery. Her moral courage. How she managed to sum up how the whole nation was feeling, from the £2 car park at John O’Groats to the £10.99 Land’s End sign photo opportunity, in that measured tweet. And her unjust imprisonment.

Even in the darkness of the political prisoner’s wing – she tells me Keir removed the lightbulb personally – her goodness shone.

“I’m just a humble wife and mother, and childminder, and good neighbour, and Tory voter and I have two direct debits to charity. Why did they do this?” she asked, rattling the chains that bound her to the wall.

Why indeed? Why, because she sent one tweet about burning down hotels with migrants inside when, coincidentally, people were attempting to do just that? They didn’t need to read the tweet to get the idea. It was in the very air.

She will be freed, by the courts or by a new storming of the Bastille. She will be carried high by her countrymen. From there the vacant throne of the Conservative Party will call to her, and Keir will face his nemesis in a general election.

“Prepare for office,” I tell her, as her innate righteousness causes her to glow, levitate and heal small wounds. “Downing Street will soon be yours.”

And her first speech as prime minister? I for one hope it is: “Mass deportation now, set fire to all the f**king hotels full of the bastards for all I care… if that makes me racist so be it.”