“Magic box sing like bird,” he announced slowly and deliberately, demonstrating a range of irritating ringtones. “But magic box mainly oracle. Magic box talk. Magic box predict rainy season.”
Before the popping eyes of Cornwall’s amazed primitives, Mr Cameron proceeded to ring the Met Office’s Weathercall line for Devon and Cornwall. Tribal chiefs pressed excitedly round to hear the 10-day forecast, then fell to their knees to make obeisance to their new god, Tre-Pol-Pen, or ‘Box-That-Speaks’.
Mr Cameron patiently explained that the new god would always warn them of impending floods - enabling them to weave primitive buckets from twigs, in time for the day their hovels and caves disappear each year under torrents of mud and excrement.
He also condescended to explain to the dancing tribe that one day, when missionaries came to teach them to read the bible, they would also be able to decipher mystic symbols which would magically appear on the front of the talking box just before the monsoons began.
He was then cooked and eaten.
Later, a T-Mobile spokesman expressed his regret that the company was currently unable to accept turnips by direct debit, but would accept tribute for a pay-as-you-go contract if the Cornish tribe left fruit, vegetables and virgins on the banks of the Tamar every 90 days.