Dude, where’s my prime minister? It sounds serious, but Boris is all gags

Just a few minutes into Boris Johnson’s first speech to the 1922 Committee as Conservative Party leader and prime minister in waiting, the MP Keith Simpson couldn’t take any more

“The circus has come to town,” he told journalists gathered outside Committee Room 14. Asked what was going on inside, another MP sent word: “Banter!”

It turns out what Conservatives wanted most of all isn’t Brexit – it was a good time. To laugh a little and feel good about themselves. Maybe all this could have been avoided with a Conservative Party weekend away day at the Festival.

Brexit, Donald Trump, Jeremy Corbyn – they were all surprises, shocks to make

political establishments and world markets tremble. It should feel weird, but this was an event so comprehensively foretold as to be an anti-climax. Boris Johnson becomes prime minister today. It sounds serious, but yesterday the man himself wasn’t.

The sudden shift from one political reality to another, from crisis to public school humour, and from oppressive heat to the chill of the air-conditioned QEII Centre, felt like a dissociative episode. Even with the help of the world’s largest conference of psychoanalysts taking place upstairs, you’d struggle to make sense of it.

It was a day for identity crises. Before the candidates were brought out, there was stirring audio of modern Tory prime ministers – Churchill, Eden, Thatcher, Cameron and even Major – but the memory of Europhile Edward Heath was kept locked away deep in the Conservative psyche.

In the crowd were MPS who campaigned against Johnson’s leadership, like Margot James, who resigned from the government to try stop him suspending parliament. Even Ruth Davidson and David Mundell posted on Twitter to welcome his victory; although to be fair to Davidson, it was hard to hear her message over the sound of gritted teeth.

Philip Hammond’s congratulatory post had a very different tone; he’s about to escape from the asylum. “Good luck!” he tweeted, with the glee of someone waiting for you to find out they’ve slashed your tyres.

Back on stage, Johnson was getting down to the real work – cheering up Tories. “Deliver Brexit, unite the country and defeat Jeremy Corbyn,” he boomed, clearly improvising. “Deliver, unite, defeat ... unfortunately spells DUD. They forgot E for energise. So, DUDE, we’re going to energise the country.”

“Dude, where’s my prime minister?” you might ask. Johnson’s next stand-up set was at the 1922, where the gags kept flowing, judging from the roars of laughter inside. “The most memorable moment was when he pledged to insert high speed broadband into every orifice,” one MP said. Another claimed the “clowns have lifted”. It turned out she meant clouds, but it seemed to fit. They say laughter is the best therapy.