First of all, a group of 18 mathematicians join forces to unleash an earth-shattering theory and in the process turn what was seen as a solitary profession into a team sport. Then Tony Blair joins forces with Catherine Tate to unleash a pitch-perfect feel for comic timing and in the process debunk our image of him as just another boring politician.

According to reports, the prospect of a Theory of Everything is within our grasp. After four years' hard work, the mathematical bods have mapped the inner workings of the 'Exceptional Lie Group' with a series of equations covering an area bigger than the island of Manhattan.

Apparently this mathematical concept . . . with no fewer than 248 dimensions . . . is as complicated as the study of symmetry gets, so cracking this gives us the key to understanding everything. But does that mean we'll ever get to the bottom of what goes on in Blair's mind?

No stranger to the odd exceptional lie himself, we know Blair has a soft spot for theories too (he even took a nation to war on the strength of one). But proofs? There he differs from his mathematical brethren. Surprise surprise, it would seem he's not too bothered. This stance was played out brilliantly in his Comic Relief double act with Catherine Tate.

Although it was undoubtedly one of the highlights of the night, you have to wonder whether the 'Am I bovvered' sketch, in which an unsuspecting Blair is disrupted from a very important telephone call by the world's worst teenager, was more a case of bad timing than comic timing?

In an eerie twist of fate, last week also marked the fourth anniversary of the US-led invasion of Iraq.

But as US president George Bush called for patience in the States, Blair's choice of skit, albeit for a good cause, calls for slightly more reflection.

Sitting in his office, directly facing the camera, Blair has no problem duping the artful Lauren with her own infamous line, 'Do I look bovvered?' In one fell swoop he has bested the most annoying teenager in Britain, gained the popular vote and, perhaps, confounded his critics. But didn't he look a little too comfortable in the role? Weren't his lines almost too natural? Maybe Blair is a comic genius but, if he's not, his comic relief sketch could also be an unfortunate case of art imitating truth.

On the bright side, Blair and his spin doctors may also have solved the riddle that has vexed politicians around the globe. How can beleaguered politicians drum up dwindling public interest? So far the line of attack has included kissing babies, rocking with superstars and talking global warming. But hard times call for drastic action.

Will they now jump on the comic zeitgeist, banishing any suggestion that they're good for nothing by showing that they're good for a chuckle (a skill, it must be said, that is worth having when times get hard)? If so, Blair's strategy might provide a much-needed shot in the arm for our forthcoming general elections. Will we see takers for David Brent's role in The Office? Every office has one, after all, even the highest office in the land.