So finally it's time for Cameron to ride off into the sunset, famous as the man who bet the country's future on a roulette wheel he didn't understand. The bright young thing who stayed with a Muslim family and say they were the real deal, we ought to be integrating with them rather than the other way round. But in power saw where the votes lay, and talked about swarms of migrants. Now and again public opinion, swayed by a photo of a boy on a beach, might seem to go the other way, so Cameron would follow it, vowing to accept Syrian orphamns who had nowhere else to go. It's the headline that matters, so he didn't actually need to do anything, just say he would. And finally, as the waves of UKIP propaganda are about to wash him away, he worries about the lack of tolerance, and pledges to take tough action on racist attacks.
But he can forget about all that. As the Sun so delicately put it, he doesn't need to worry about the hard s..t. That's Theresa's job. He can get on with schmoozing, making money and trying to not think too hard about how he'll be remembered.