A momentous time has come to Poland. For my eldest daughter it was time to take herself to the “hundred days ball” – a kind of a disco in gladrags held one hundred days before the school leaving exam. People will tell you it starts with the pupils dancing a Polonez but this is not my memory of the event: the first thing I saw was a bunch of schoolgirls hiking their dresses up nearly to their crotches to flash garter belts (or whatever these 18th century appurtenances are called) for the cameras of their doting parents. I need hardly say that at this point young Pelagia was whipped away from the den of iniquity – well before any pimply scrote could grasp her by the arm for a dance.

Also, the government – or is it the sejm? – is a hundred days old. Nothing much to report there, though.