DURING the General election campaign the politicians, particularly the leaders, will do almost anything to win a few votes.

Trying to look like just another normal woman, part of a couple, Theresa May sat uncomfortably on the One Show sofa with her husband, Philip, this week attempting to look like your average Mr and Mrs.

Average in that she is the Prime Minister and he is a successful, millionaire investment manager who just happened to be introduced to one another by the later to become Pakistan Prime Minister, Benazir Bhutto, at Oxford University.

An everyday tale of everyday folk.

The other leaders of the party’s will be on the sofa as well cheerily answering fluffy questions about Eurovision and who takes out the bins.

Yes, the Mays revealed Philip takes out the bins because as Theresa said “There’s boys’ jobs and girls’ jobs”.

Some politicians want us to vote on personality, character and who is the nicest or who is the most strong and most stable and who will stand up for you the most against those nasty people across the channel.

Or instead, we could explore this boy job and girl job idea a bit further.

Whose job is it, for example, boy or girl, to go to the payday loan shop because the boss of the new ‘gig economy’ firm you work for hasn’t given you any shifts this week?

Or, it is the job of the boy or the girl to take the kids for a walk to the food bank with your referral letter, because the Jobcentre stopped your benefit leaving you with an empty fridge and an empty purse or wallet?

We already know it’s a girl’s job to fill out the eight page rape clause form, that some like to pretend doesn’t exist, to claim tax credits if your third child has been born as a result of rape.

And should the ‘girl’ be still living with the ‘boy’ who raped her she has to declare it on the ‘non-existent’ form and won’t qualify as a result.

Is it a job for a boy or a girl to go through the long drawn out appeals process when you have been declared fit for work because you can carry an empty cardboard box from one end of a room to another, even though you’re recovering from a heart attack and your GP says you can’t possibly work?

Some people would rather we don’t think about the above questions and instead focus on the image, carefully constructed and presented via the screen in our living rooms.

Rubbish. Put that in your bin, boy.