PARTIES are the bane of prime ministers. I don’t mean political parties, which are bad enough, but ill-advised social occasions. Boris Johnson was defenestrated by them.

And they have proven a booby-trap for Finnish PM Sanna Marin, who had bare-breasted social media personalities snogging each other at a do in her hoose.

On several other occasions, Mrs Marin has indulged in lewd and libidinous dancing with men who were not her husband, impugning the dignity of her office.

Say what you like about Boris – all right, that’s enough – but at least he did not indulge in lewd and libidinous dancing with a man who was not his wife. Mrs Marin, on the other hand, has confused her country with her hair – and let both down. All this at at time when Finland is menaced by Putin. What are they to do if war breaks out: send in the Marins?

You didn’t see Sir Winston Churchill suggestively jutting his hips down the discotheque when Mr Hitler was threatening England’s shores. It’s difficult to imagine Sir Harold Macmillan indulging in lewd and libidinous gyrations, sweating freely in his three-piece tweed suit down a sordid club or municipal town hall.

The walls of one club where Madame Marin was filmed dancing flirtatiously were adorned with paintings of women in what scientists call the scud. Disgraceful.

It’s another source of shame for the infamously liberal Nordic countries, where sex is encouraged and nudity is not frowned upon. In Finland, women can vote and own property, though it’s fair to say they’re not allowed to drive.

Mrs Marin claims she is just behaving like any other 36-year-old and is entitled to have fun. Egad. Fun? I don’t remember having fun when I was her age. Or any age after 11. If the Marin wants to have fun, why doesn’t she stay in and watch the original Star Trek like normal people?

As for dancing, any competent social anthropologist will tell you it is pre-coital preening, the human equivalent of a mating call. It is also almost exclusively a female predilection. Most of us will have been taught by our fathers and scout masters never to trust a man who likes dancing.

Under pressure from scandal correspondents, Mrs Marin has denied smoking coke while doing the hokey-cokey, so there is at least one depth to which she will not stoop. But, otherwise, such inappropriate behaviour for a person of high office has made most decent ratepayers in Finland determined never to vote again for anyone under 60 or female.

Meanwhile, here in United Britain, reports suggest the next prime minister of England could be an alleged woman and that she, Mrs Elizabeth Truss from Paisley, is fond of karaoke, the sinister vocal “entertainment”.

Readers, I fear we are truly entering the End of Days, as predicted in astrological classic, the Holy Bible: “For, lo, there shall be twirling and whirling and smooching and lewd movements of ye hips, and willy-nilly there shall be singing to sounds, yea, from an electronic machine, ken? And your tea shall be oot. And the Lord shall sayeth: ‘Verily, verily, verily, verily, life is but a dream.’”

Caught shorts

IN last week’s cliffhanger, I promised to bring youse exclusive revelations about my shopping experiences in the city and also the results of my scientific observations of shorts-wearing.

However, The Herald’s medical advisers say that would be too much excitement for you in one week, so I’ll focus solely on my shorts investigation, which took place after my shock bus journey along Princes Street, Edinburgh. Looking out the window – nowhere else to look really – I was appalled at the amount of shorts-wearing, particularly by people with spectacularly grey or white legs.

So, on a car journey from Morningside to Kinnaird Park, I decided to do a head – or buttock – count of folk waddling along the pavements. Here are the results: 59 shorts-wearers to 42 decent ratepayers.

At least the results were mixed. Once, I was on a popular hill outside Bergen, Norway, where every single one of the scores, probably hundreds, of people was wearing shorts. With them, it’s a totalitarian tribal Teutonic thing (see also Dutch football fans: not one without an orange shirt).

At least we Britonians are slightly more individualistic, even if the woke are trying to make us less diverse in the name of diversity. All the same, it was disturbing to see the dominance of shamefully bare legs. It’s just another symptom of the country’s moral decline and something that, notably, neither of the two candidates for Prime Minister of England has seen fit to address.

But this is the world we live in now. Leaders of the free world mime along to I Want to Dance with Somebody by Willoughby Houston, if that is the name.

Prime ministers in the front line of the coming Third World War dance the nights away, instead of sitting at their desk counting tanks and designing uniforms. And unconcerned citizens waddle along the public thoroughfares, displaying their knees and shins shamelessly to decent matrons and sensitive gentlemen alike. I warn you: these are the four horse-persons of the apocalypse – Dancing, Parties, Karaoke and Knees.

Sea psychos in fish hats

This column deplores killer whales, the bulbous-headed marine psychopaths which, this week, were reported attacking boats off the coast of France, Portugal and Spain. Experts say it’s a new “fad” among younger orcas, following an earlier one in which – no joking – they wore massacred salmon as hats. Violent nutters. They should be renamed Sea-Putins.

Unmemorable

Scientists have developed a potential cure for a failing wotsname. Memory. It just involves 20-minute electric zaps of your inferior parietal lobule, ken? This is located at the upper back region of your cranium or heid, if you have one of these. Unfortunately, the treatment involves wearing a cap, which I don’t suit. So they can forget it.

Danger of telly

Speaking of wotsname, researchers say watching TV increases your risk of dementia. The reason for this is that watching TV is popular, and anything popular – or tasty – kills you. However, the same study, by the University of Southern California, found that using a computer can help protect against dementia. But who uses a computer nowadays?

Aargh, arachnids!

Randy spiders are preparing for the annual invasion of our hooses. They scuttle indoors to mate where it’s cosy and warm. It says here you should use onions to deter them as they dislike the pungent pong. Though lacking any sense of interior decor, even I draw the line at strewing the hoose with odiferous root vegetables.

Pain in Spain

Magaluf – also called Shagaluf – is another place I intend never visiting. But it’s popular with party people who like peculiar drinks, taking drugs and dancing. Now, disgusted authorities there are trying to deter yobbish Brit tourists with an up-market rebrand. One sceptical bar owner said: “You can’t make s**t sparkle.” Hey, that’s bang out of ordure.

Our columns are a platform for writers to express their opinions. They do not necessarily represent the views of The Herald.