There’s a point in every election campaign, when your average, sensible, rational and mostly calm punter, will suddenly find himself walking around with gritted teeth, avoiding newspapers, televisions and any pub that allows the open discussion of politics, even if it’s on the other side of the world. Imagine long nails being dragged down an old chalk-board. An ice-cube on a sensitive tooth. Forty seconds in the same room as Tony Abbot. You get the picture.