Like some cadaverous, preening old Baron in a ramshackle old mansion, probably with BDSM chambers and portrait-filled attics, Lord Mandelson sits in front of the fire reading a fairy tale from his own diaries about how fucking shit-hot amazing he was.
He appears somewhere between Noel Coward, Dorian Grey and Bela Lugosi, sallow of skin and sunken of cheek. He's now beyond any kind of self-awareness, or shame if you like. The timing of the memoir; the revelations within; the self-justification of his last moment in the political sun, at the expense of his frends, colleagues and party.
Mandelson gives every impression that he couldn't care less, and pokes fun at himself a little. It is, perhaps, this artlessness concerning himself that has led Mandelson to agree to this hideous advert that shows his to be vain, disloyal, smug, preening, untrustworthy and lacking in judgement.
But Mandy is the sort of man who thrives on criticism and insults. It's easy to imagine he feeds on it, like a grotesque monster in a B-movie made stronger by repeated laser beam hits.
I don't expect that Mandelson cares what anyone thinks for a second, or that he sees the advert as anything other than a means to an end. But is the publicity worth it if you appear to confirm everyone's worst fears about your character for the sake of a few sales?
That portrait must be getting more grubby by the day.
Well, where to start with this one. Exactly how far down the list of available celebs do you have to get before you get to 'The Guy Who Use To Be In The Sweet'?
And can Andy Scott really be placed on the celebrity pie chart at all. Surely after 30 years he's simply a bloke. You might as well get Ted Fudge from down the road to do your advert as they guy out of The Sweet.
So, what of the ad itself? Well, inevitably, it's terrible. Scott is stilted and unnatural, as is only to be expected from an aging glam rocker talking about van hire.
"I didn't have time to phone around for a van quote back then,'" says Scott, as if anyone gives a flying fuck how a fairly minor rock group from 30 years coordinated its transport logistics.
There's enough time for a 'fox on the run' and 'sweet!' pun and the viewer is left to question what the hell just happened.
Could it be worse? No, it couldn't be any worse.