Right, so thanks to our pot-puffing prime minister and his cadre of cannabis-addled ministers, Canadians will legally (I say legally!) be able to smoke whatever strain of sensimilla they might fancy come Canada Day.

There are emotional highs (Sensimilla), lows (Let Me Breathe) and music biz barbs (Wake Up).

Instead of traveling hundreds of miles for the finest grape, yuppies will build entire vacations around the lush California countryside and award-winning strains of sensimilla.

Nor is there room behind Torgoff's velvet rope for teenage stoners hanging outside the Seven Eleven or even smart-mouthed graduate students rereading Hofstadter behind a pinch of sensimilla. If this were political history, it would be a story primarily about the men running for president, with an occasional nod, a la Theodore White, to the backroom strategists and a couple of precinct captains.