She was drunk as a skunk, necking champagne, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the dance floor. No, not Angry Ginge Rayner on another wild Ibiza hen party weekend. This was actress Lucy Punch at the Bafta awards. 

As the young people say: You go, girl!

Punch is the star of the BBC comedy series Amandaland, which won the Bafta for Best Scripted Comedy.

To be honest, I’d never heard of Lucy Punch or Amandaland. Then again, it’s not aimed at me, thankfully.

But after the Daily Mail’s brilliant TV reviewer Christopher Stevens gave Amandaland a rave review, I thought I’d check it out in between re-runs of The Bill on whatever UK Gold calls itself this week.

I fast-forwarded through most of it, only pausing to catch a glimpse of the absolutely fabulous Joanna Lumley, who plays Amanda’s mum.

But I have to confess that Punch – who narrowly missed out on a Best Actress Bafta – is magnificent. Her character is one of those Great British Grotesques, right up there with Basil Fawlty and David Brent.

She’s a deluded, self-styled ‘influencer’ with zero followers on TikTok, who actually works in a bathroom shop, and is COO (Chief Operating Officer) and CEO (Chief Executive Officer) of a lifestyle website called Senuous – the 21st-century internet version of Del Boy’s New York, Paris, Peckham Trotters Independent Trading (TIT).

Or, as Joanna Lumley’s character puts it: ‘You post a picture of yourself eating cakes and that’s a job?’

After obtaining a small loan from HSBC, Amanda boasts that she’s received an investment from a major Hong Kong and Shanghai-based bank.

She’s lives in scruffy South Harlesden (which she calls trendy SoHa) and is ‘almost vegan’, if you don’t count pairing pork with prosecco. In the episode I watched, Amanda was running down her street clutching a selfie stick, pretending to be taking part in a 7k run.

It’s excruciating, the kind of TV you watch through your fingers from behind the sofa – a bit like Fawlty Towers and The Office.

In essence, Amanda is a shallow, self-regarding social climber who thinks she’s a super-popular alpha woman.

As I say, not my cup of meat, but halfway through the first episode of Series Two, I was struck by the parallels between Amanda and Angry Ginge. And this is where we came in. They’re about the same age, have even got the same unruly equine tresses, and obviously share the same ludicrous estimation of their own status and abilities.

Ginge has her Angela Rayner Official TikTok account, where she promotes her toxic Senuous-style brand. Let’s call it ‘Stocious’ – Irish and Scottish slang for ‘being extremely drunk, inebriated or intoxicated’, aka ‘sloshed or hammered’.

Like Lucy Punch at the Baftas, Ginge is regularly spotted bouncing off the walls and tearing up the dance floor – either DJ-ing in Ibiza or crashing into doors in the Commons.

She’s a prominent unpaid ambassador for ‘Venom’ – her favourite tipple, a potent melange of one bottle of vodka, one bottle of Southern Comfort, ten bottles of WKD, whatever that is, and a dash of orange juice. (Sunny D, probably.)

Ginge has relocated her main home (for stamp duty purposes) from her Ashton-under-Lyne constituency to fashionable Hove, Actually (or HoVa, as Amanda would no doubt call it).

She was famously snapped floating in the sea off Hove, puffing on a vape and back on a beach glugging a Desperate Dan‑sized glass of what looked like Whispering Angel, but was more likely to be a pint of Mateus Rosé.

Ginge hasn’t, to the best of my knowledge, got a loan from HSBC. But she has, as I predicted, had a major let-off from HMRC – which has found her Not Guilty of wrongdoing for failing to pay £40,000 stamp duty on the flat in Hove.

Mind you, the Government she apparently aspires to lead is in deep hock to another major Hong Kong and Shanghai investor, namely the Chinese Communist Party, which has been given the go-ahead to build a giant spy-hub next to Tower Bridge in London.

Self-confessed ‘Vape Dragon’ Ange hasn’t filmed herself faking a 7k run, but she was photographed at the weekend taking part in something called a ‘Mud Race’ – which I assumed was a rehearsal for the upcoming Labour leadership contest.

I’ve no idea what she was up to yesterday, and Weepy Wes Streeting imploding seems to have shot her fox for now. But I wouldn’t bet against her belly-flopping over the line into Downing Street with the support of the unions, especially if Andy Burnham blows it in the Makerfield by-election.

Frankly, I wouldn’t give her a job in a bathroom shop.

Lucy Punch’s Amanda may be a walking horror show, but fundamentally she’s harmless, just another dopey bird starring in her own movie.

Her doppelganger Angry Ginge is a different kettle of poisson altogether. The prospect of living in hard-Left Angelaland is absolutely terrifying.

Neanderthal man used crude stone drills to treat dental cavities. Which might still be your best bet today, given that finding a dentist on the NHS is practically impossible. And the reason I’ve never believed in faith healers is that they don’t do teeth.

Comparisons have been drawn between Wes Streeting and David Miliband, once a shoo-in as Labour’s Blairite Golden Boy, who was beaten by his own brother Ed in the leadership battle which followed Gordon Brown’s defeat in 2010. I fear a similar fate awaits Weepy Wes.

For reasons I can’t be bothered to explain, in the aftermath of the 2010 election we had a lifesize cardboard figure of David Miliband posing with a banana cluttering up our garage.

My wife finally tired of looking at it every time she backed the car out and took it to the dump. As she was chucking it on to the skip, one of the staff said: ‘Oi, that’s Mr Bean, innit?’ 

A Labour leadership fiasco, wars in Ukraine and Iran, a cost-of-living crisis and the economy going to hell in a handcart.

Yet a woman MP I’d never heard of and couldn’t be bothered to look up turned up on the wireless yesterday morning moaning about sunbeds and face filler injections. She was billed as a member of the parliamentary committee on ‘Beauty, Hair and Wellbeing’.

Why? What has any of this ‘Beauty, Hair and Wellbeing’ nonsense got to do with MPs? Talk about a complete parcel of Botox . . .

Here’s one you may have missed. New York’s neo-com mayor Zohran Mamdani – America’s answer to our own two-bob, far-Left chancer Genghis Khan in London – has abandoned plans to impose a ‘wealth tax' on owners of expensive homes.

It follows an exodus of high net-worth individuals and businesses from the Big Apple to low-tax states such as Florida, Texas and Tennessee.

Meanwhile, our gormless Chancellor Rachel From Complaints is ploughing on with her own so-called wealth taxes on the ‘rich’, many of whom bought their homes decades ago.

The seriously rich non-doms have already left London.

If even a self-styled ‘socialist’ like New York’s mayor has worked out that wealth taxes are counter-productive, when will it dawn on Labour’s Toytown class warriors?

Time to start spreading the news.