In the space of just 60 seconds, May went from Iron Lady to rag doll

At one minute to 10 on Thursday night, Theresa May was a respected, popular leader on the brink of the biggest Tory majority since Margaret Thatcher.

Then came the exit poll. Westminster gaped. If these figures were accurate, the Prime Minister’s authority had collapsed. In the space of 60 seconds, she’d gone from Iron Lady to rag doll.

On BBC One, a bemused David Dimbleby read out the figures. On a projected 314 seats, the Conservatives had somehow contrived to lose their majority.

“Boy oh boy!” he gurgled. “We’re going to be hung, drawn and quartered if we’ve got this wrong!” On every channel, studio guests seemed unable to compute what they’d been told. It was only an exit poll, they kept saying. Only an exit poll. It could be wrong.

Couldn’t it?

“If this is right,” murmured Mr Dimbleby, “Theresa May hasn’t got the massive support from the country she was hoping to get to allow her to do whatever it is she wanted to do, which she never told us.”

Still, at least one Tory seemed to be enjoying himself. Mrs May’s first act in office was to sack George Osborne as chancellor. Now, on ITV, Mr Osborne was throwing himself into a new career as a political commentator – with relish.

“One of the worst manifestos in history,” he sniffed. “I say ‘one of the worst’ – I can’t think of a worse one…”

Results rolled in. It was extraordinary. Mrs May had toured the land, confident of winning any Labour seat that had a majority of less than 5,000. Yet she’d gained none of them. Instead, she was losing her own seats to Labour. Ipswich. Battersea. Enfield Southgate. Canterbury in Kent – Tory since 1918. And… no. Surely not Kensington?

In Islington, north London, a dazed

‘The worst thing she’s done in her life, chortled Osborne, is no longer running through a wheatfield’

Jeremy Corbyn staggered into his local count. Emily Thornberry, the shadow foreign secretary, greeted him deliriously. In the excitement he attempted to give her a high five – but accidentally patted her on the right breast instead. Neither of them seemed to notice.

Big names from other parties fell – Nick Clegg from the Lib Dems, Alex Salmond and Angus Robertson from the SNP – but the story, inescapably, was the humbling of Mrs May. “What was that majority going to be?” crowed Ms Thornberry. “A hundred? A hundred and 20?”

At the count for her own constituency, in Maidenhead, the Prime Minister stood alone, staring into space. She looked different. Physically different. Smaller. Frailer. Greyer.

“More than anything else,” she croaked, “this country needs a period of stability.” Her voice wobbled. Her hands trembled. In a way, it might have been less humiliating for Mrs May to lose outright. At least then she could have crawled away and put the whole sorry business behind her.

To remain Prime Minister, in circumstances like these, was embarrassing.

From now on, she would be constantly reminded that she’d had no need to call this election, and had overridden the Fixed Term Parliaments Act to do so. That she’d chosen to campaign almost exclusively on the supposed strength and stability of her leadership. That she’d said, “If I lose six seats, I lose the election” – and ended up losing 13. That she’d warned voters Jeremy Corbyn would form “a coalition of chaos” – yet she could now cling to power only by forming a coalition herself.

Imagine being her, in those moments. Remembering that, as recently as April, an opinion poll had identified her as the highest-rated prime minister of the past 40 years. Now, two months later, she was struggling even to form a government.

Back at ITV, Mr Osborne didn’t even bother to disguise his glee. “The worst thing she’s done in her life,” he chortled, “is no longer running through a wheat field.”

Dawn broke. Tories continued to tumble. Sir Eric Pickles, the Conservatives’ former chairman, was asked what had gone wrong. “We lost seats,” he said. The media swarmed into Downing Street. Mrs May was being mocked both at home and abroad.

“If she asks for our support to deliver her agenda,” said the Lib Dems’ Tim Farron, “let me make our position clear: no deal is better than a bad deal.”

In Prague, Jean-claude Juncker announced that the European Commission was ready to open Brexit negotiations “tomorrow at half past nine”. As long as the UK had a government to represent it, of course.

At long last, Mrs May emerged, visited the Queen, and returned – looking worn and puffy – to make a statement, confirming that she would govern with the support of Northern Ireland’s DUP. Incredibly, she made no mention of the previous night’s events. “Let’s get to work,” she barked.

“QUEEN OF DENIAL,” scoffed the front page of the London Evening Standard.

Editor: one G Osborne.