So says the desperate Desdemona in Othello to her maidservant, Emilia when she can scarcely believe that representatives of that gender act with such selfishness and cruelty. These men, these men, indeed.

Take the one who ordered the summary dismissal of an aide who might have had a drink with an ex colleague. The treacherous hussy. Sack her and send her out of her place of employment in full view of the public with an armed policeman for escort. That’ll teach her. What’s that? We don’t do tarring and feathering any more? Never mind. It’ll still set the standard for public conduct.

It’s the same bloke who said that genes are the determinant of intelligence, by the way. Now where have we heard that before? Yep – Josef Mengele. That’s the chap.

Same bloke, apparently, who, according to whoever has worked with him, doesn’t care less if he’s widely disliked or not. Just so long as the job gets done – whatever the job is, it’s all a bit of a game. Maybe it’s just me. I know we can all make the odd enemy along the way in life, but to go through it not caring if anyone likes you or not strikes me as just plain peculiar. And anti-social. And odd.

And then there’s the bloke who makes his living from inherited wealth, acting like Lord Snooty and fathering children with bizarre, antiquated names. I think that’s what he must be paid for because I can find no evidence of any other ‘contribution’ to society. He had a chat to a leading doctor on the radio the other day and it was so, so obvious that he knew more than the doctor that I’m surprised he didn’t give him a quick lesson in surgery on air before texting one of his cabinet chums and getting him struck off.

But then he was only taking his lead from another chap who’s been saying for ages that we don’t need experts. All they do is bring evidence, research, knowledge, experience and first-hand contact with everyday life to situations. How on earth can that help? It’s not as if we’re currently dealing with complex and multi-faceted situations and problems. Most things are very simple and can be easily solved with a big dollop of common-sense seasoned, if necessary, with prejudice and nostalgia for a non-existent golden age.

There’s another chap who’s very jolly. He likes a fag and a pint of beer and says balls to the lot of you. There. I’m an iconoclast and a man of the people. And I’m not a racist. Those others, they’re racists. I just don’t want brown people coming to my country driving down your wages. Because I care about your wages. And I did when I made my living mucking about with stocks and shares. Your wages are dead important to me. I did say that I wasn’t a racist, didn’t I?

Finally, there’s the man who has wanted to be king of the world ever since he was pre-Eton, the institution which confirmed his obvious birth right. He was never quite sure whether he liked ‘our friends in Brussels’ or not so he carefully weighed up which position might best work to his personal advantage before firmly pinning his colours to the mast. For the moment. In the past few days he’s told all those people who wanted their country back – because it had been taken away by somebody in Europe – that they can’t have it back just for the minute. Too much democracy will do them no good. And if the parliament that we trust so much more than that European lot should happen to pass laws we don’t like….well, we’ll just take a rain check on that. There. Strong leadership, big personality. That should do it.

Take a bow Cummings, Rees-Mogg, Gove, Farage and Johnson.

These men, these men, Emilia.