“If you must jump in muddy puddles, you must wear your boots.”
Sage advice from Mummy Pig to Peppa in the first episode of her eponymous TV show that Boris Johnson might do well to heed.
After weeks of bizarre behaviour, fluffed speeches, rants about cartoon pigs and gross mishandling of sleaze scandals, he’s losing the protection previously offered to him by his massive majority and affable clown act.
Today he arrived at PMQs to a cheer that, had it been any more sarcastic, might have been mistaken for irony by Alanis Morissette.
And party whips were furiously texting as he prepared to speak, pleading with them to come down to the chamber and fill the green benches behind the PM in a bid to avoid the appearance that he’d lost the dressing room as well as the plot.
“Forgive me! Forgive me!”, cheeky Labour backbenchers shouted, piling into the Prime Minister’s most recent humiliation.
To be honest, Keir Starmer could have just repeated those two words, over and over again for all six of his questions and called PMQs a result.
But like a fluffy monster in a John Lewis ad, the Labour leader has been handed a plethora of extravagant gifts in recent weeks – and today he deployed social care.
Or the “working class dementia tax”, as he will call it every day from now until polling day.
Johnson did his best to waff-waff and vroom-vroom out of trouble, genuinely blaming the whole thing on the mess left by Clement Atlee.
But even as he spoke, it emerged that Mr Johnson had been spotted without a mask during a performance of Macbeth, Shakespeare’s classic play about an embattled leader’s descent into paranoia and madness, amid accusations that he was being controlled by his megalomaniacal wife.
And then Starmer slipped in the kind of vicious question that was last heard before Theresa May's impending, inevitable downfall: "Is everything OK Prime Minister?"
Despite a slightly fuller chamber than last week, Johnson still looked like a pig stuck in a puddle without his boots on, feeling the mud slowly seeping into his socks – perhaps wondering whether the joy of splashing about is worth it after all.
Like Mummy Pig nearly said, when your boots have started to submit letters of no confidence in you to the 1922 Committee, maybe it’s time to stop jumping into muddy puddles.