Increasingly, it appears not.
Any one of them is even more hilarious than the last. Pointless posh prettyboys like Oliver Kamm and Douglas Murray spring most obviously to mind.
Oh, imagine the pleasure of watching the defeat of such a creature, waving his tenth generation Oxbridge degree in the sincere belief that it proved that he was clever, rather than merely that he had stolen the place properly belonging to someone from a grammar school, if only such an institution still existed.
Imagine his speech after the count, cursing the provincial peasants for their insolence in failing to elect him.
But it would never happen, of course. Such people despise the electorate far too much ever to submit themselves to its judgement. Don't they?
So who, then? And why?