USHERED in as the "Brexit General Election", the current campaign might well enter history for a different reason. It is our first openly presidential election.

At least that’s how its front runner, Theresa May, has chosen to fight it. Her battle bus is emblazoned with the slogan "THERESA MAY FOR BRITAIN" in letters a foot tall. You need to get up close up to read "Conservative" on the sliding door, in letters no larger than those that state the gross weight of a bus.

Mrs May has also spoken of “a vote for me”. Of course, the only people able to vote for her are the 74,028 electors of her Maidenhead (Berks) constituency, which she has represented since 1997. Nonetheless it’s true that voters now commonly express a preference for one or other of the potential prime ministers. Interestingly, most do this negatively, ruling out the candidate they like least. “I couldn’t vote for (name)” is the phrase often heard. It mirrors a healthy scepticism for the promises offered by each would-be prime minister.

Constituency candidates have always been surrogates. But perhaps until Margaret Thatcher the surrogacy was for the party, and policies, rather than for a person. “I could never vote Tory/Labour” was the frequent phrase then.

Mrs Thatcher brought the triumph of personality, not least because of her gender. Commentators now say she first got in because of her vision of castrating the state and releasing free enterprise. Tosh. She gave no hint of that. Forgotten now, perhaps the masterstroke in her first campaign was a supermarket stunt in which she filled her trolley while lambasting the high cost of living, which she, of course, would bring down. The women of Britain rallied to her, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Stamping her will on her government Mrs T became president in all but name. Since then the personal appeal of party leaders has become increasingly central to each general election. Now, even Brexit, determining Britain’s future for probably the rest of this century and beyond, looks to be taking second place. In the evolution of our democracy – a somewhat ramshackle affair – it’s a moment worth noting.

WHAT is it with Britain’s wildlife? It appears to lack a certain, shall we say, robustness. Whenever a foreign species arrives it seems to endanger our indigenous species, despite the latter’s advantage of having been here for millennia.

The red squirrel, of course, yielded to the grey yonks ago. More recently, we’ve had two more invaders from North America, the signal crayfish and the harlequin ladybird, threatening native species. The Spanish ruddy duck posed such a threat to our native quackers that extermination was authorised. Even our earthworms have been imperilled by an invader from New Zealand.

It’s now reported that the British sand lizard is facing a challenge from its European counterpart. The nimbler newcomer can out-compete the native for food. Our colder climate is a check but the Euro lizard is adapting fast. It’s to be hoped us human Brits fare better in Brexit.

A BELATED nod to the Duke of Edinburgh. A ducal quote that escaped the tributes I’ve read was about choreographed Olympic opening ceremonies: “Complete waste of time.” Well said, sir.