Some quotes belong on a decorative tile. Others should be carved into the walls of parliament. Not to inspire politicians, that would waste perfectly good stone, but to warn visitors exactly where they’ve walked into.

The modern politician is a triumph of evolution: a creature capable of being everywhere and accountable nowhere. He cuts ribbons on bridges built by engineers, claims credit for accidents that worked out well, and launches committees to investigate why the last committee achieved nothing. A perpetual motion machine powered by speeches and taxpayer money.

Yet within this broad species lives a rarer breed: the liberal democrat. This is the politician who markets himself as a defender of freedom while requiring a permit, a compliance form, a subsidy request, and an approved language guide for every liberty he celebrates. He loves the free market, provided government covers the losses. He defends the citizen, so long as that citizen thinks in officially sanctioned terms.

His favourite word is “values.” Not because he has any, but because it sounds excellent on television. His second favourite word is “complex.” He deploys it the moment anyone asks why housing is unaffordable, energy bills are punishing, borders are porous, and public trust has evaporated. Suddenly, everything is terribly complicated, except salaries, expense accounts, and pension arrangements.

What makes the liberal democrat truly remarkable is his gift for moral gymnastics. Today, he saves democracy by restricting speech. Tomorrow, he promotes inclusion by excluding dissenters. The day after that, he combats division with a campaign describing half the country as ignorant, dangerous, or vulnerable to misinformation.

And still he sees himself as civilisation’s last line of defence. That may be his finest accomplishment: turning failure into virtue, selling managerial emptiness as stability, and wrapping contempt for voters in the language of responsibility.

Meanwhile, the citizen is invited to applaud, pay, and remain quiet. Once every few years, he is handed a pencil and told he is sovereign, free to choose which polished manager will spend the next term explaining why nothing can be done, except raising taxes.

Perhaps Patton was wrong. Perhaps politicians are not the lowest form of life on earth.

Parasites, after all, sometimes give something back.