LET’S begin at the beginning, for it was very rude. Jeremy Paxman fixed his beady little eyes on the big blank canvas that is David Cameron’s face and immediately launched an attack.

“David Cameron, do you know what a pink pussy is?” Dave looked a bit shocked. “Um,” he said, eyes even wider than usual. “I don’t think I do.”

Paxman moved his lips into the beginnings of the sneer that, by Newsnight law, must remain in place for the rest of the interview, and asked: “Do you know what a slippery nipple is?”

Dave relaxed (always a mistake). “Oh, that’s a drink.”

And that is all Paxman needed. For these were not just drinks. They were an outrage! Jugs of pink pussy are being sold for £8 in bars owned by a company of which Dave used to sit on the board. London was awash with crime and pink pussies were involved! What did Dave have to say about that?

Dave soothed us with a lullaby about how important it was to create safe cities. Paxo interrupted him: “A drink containing white rum, Malibu, strawberry liqueur, grenadine and cream!”

Dave did not say the obvious thing — i.e. “Pass the sickbag” — but instead demanded: “What’s the question?” And then we knew that we had a fight on our hands. Dave was showing what he was made of. He was standing up to the Big Sneer.

The Big Sneer did not like this one bit for he was not going to be made a Big Wussy over the pink pussy question.

For a moment, there was a possibility that it would be cocktail shakers at dawn. We were in danger of binge-thinking, when Paxman suddenly asked about tuition fees. This seemed safer ground but he kept interrupting and Dave just wasn’t having it.

“This is the trouble with these interviews, Jeremy,” he said, smoothly but firmly. “You come in, you sit someone down and treat them like they are some cross between a fake or a hypocrite and you give no time for anyone to answer their questions.”

The Sneer pulled his lips into an even thinner line. “Now that you’ve got that off your chest perhaps you can tell us . . .”

Now Dave interrupted him: “Would you like for me to answer the question properly because I would REALLY like to.”

The Sneer then let the side down, big-time. I suppose he had to say yes because, technically, he is supposed to be interested in answers, but he should have found a way round it. Before we knew it, Dave was going on and on about boring education stuff.

We knew, though, that Paxman was no lightweight sneerer. He is a serious sneerer and, in fact, probably a sneer-aholic. And so, predictably, soon he was back, trying to show Dave who was the boss, with serial interruptions.

Finally Dave exploded: “Jeremy, this is farcical.” Well, Jeremy didn’t like that. For it wasn’t farcical, it was Newsnight. Dave then said that he had a plan. (I am sure all of his outbursts were not only planned but practised over and over again.) “Why don’t we have an agreement?” he asked. “Give me two sentences and then you can interrupt.”

It was a ridiculous plan and the Sneer should have stopped it, for no politician has ever stopped at two sentences. Sure enough, Dave then rambled on with at least five sentences. It was the tipping point. The Sneer tried to get back, asking lots of rude drug questions, but it was hopeless. Against all odds, Dave had won the battle of the pink pussy.

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