With apologies to "the Bard"

"Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of Londinium;
And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house
In the deep bosom of the election buried."

Glorious might be "pushing it",   but in comparison to the discontent of the Circus days (sorry A3) the clouds that had lour’d upon our house of representatives could well be portrayed thus: