You might have guessed it wouldn't be long before a mad Mullah somewhere in the world popped up to hurl curses at the UK. The astonishment would be if one of Allah's wicket-keepers came out to say "Actually, England's not that bad. Harrods is fantastic; we picked up a gold-plated bidet for the tent last year. And Madame Tussaud's have got a great one of old Khomenei ..." but no. Predictably we're the Great Satan and the life-long enemy of whatever bunch of nutters aren't currently in need of foreign aid, earthquake relief, arms or a visit from Gordon Brown.
Somewhere in the hills beneath Qom a bunch of Iranian Revolutionary Scientists will be flibbering away trying to work out how to get a rocket to hit Skegness whilst the mad Mullah's spies search cars for James Blunt mp3s. There's probably a white cat involved somewhere.
This is exactly the time, of course, to dispatch young Miliband on a Regional Tour. It's what foreign secretaries are for. Except of course Labour ministers aren't exactly welcome in Baghdad. Or Ankara. Or Dubai, since Gordon messed up the global banking system. Still, I expect the Kuwaitis will welcome him.
Such is the lot of the world's oldest parliamentary democracy. Mad mahdis, mad mullahs and insane imams have all hurled their abuse at us over the centuries. We're used to it by now. Nothing to get excited about.