Speech full of jokes and a dollop of can-do spirit

For the grand unveiling of their next leader, Tory bigwigs had booked a room in a London conference centre. By pure chance, the room next door had been booked for a meeting of the International Psychoanalytical Association.

Hopefully the association’s members found the right room.

But if they didn’t, they will at least have come away with a wealth of fascinating material.

As a matter of fact, there was no shortage of material on offer in the street outside, either, where rival hordes of protesters were shaking their placards (“BREXIT IS DEMOCRAZY”) and bellowing their chants (“REMAINERS, REPENT!”).

Throughout their campaigns, both leadership candidates vowed passionately to unite the country. It may take them some time.

Inside, Tory MPS gathered to hail their new boss.

Gavin Williamson, a key figure in Boris Johnson’s campaign, slithered up and down, eyes darting, tongue flickering.

Mark Francois, staunchest of all Brexiteers, waddled up expectantly in his usual state of blustering apoplexy for the moment in abeyance. In the seats near the front huddled several dozen lesser-known backbenchers, doubtless now eager for preferment.

It was almost touching. All those innocent, shining little faces. Like five-year-olds at a school assembly.

Onstage, Brandon Lewis, the Tory chairman, introduced the returning

officers, Charles Walker and Dame Cheryl Gillan.

“If I could make one plea,” murmured Mr Walker, before they began. “Can we be kinder to the next prime minister than we’ve been to the current prime minister?”

As one, Tory MPS applauded vigorously, their faces etched with expressions of the most tremendous solemnity. Once they’d finished, Dame Cheryl read out the result they’d been expecting, and the next prime minister of the United Kingdom shambled amiably on to the stage.

Mr Johnson’s victory speech lasted all of six minutes and consisted largely of jokes.

He thanked his rival, Jeremy Hunt (“a font of excellent ideas – all of which I propose to steal forthwith”). He thanked party members (“Although there may be people who will question the wisdom of your decision … Maybe even some people here…”). And, as always, he argued that there was no problem so complex that it couldn’t be fixed with a dash of pep and a dollop of can-do spirit.

“Some wag has already pointed out that ‘Deliver, Unite, Defeat’ was not the perfect acronym for an election campaign,” he parped.

“But they forgot the final E, my friends, for ‘Energise’! And I say to all the doubters: ‘DUDE! We are going to ENERGISE the country!’”

He sounded more than relaxed. He sounded casual, even blithe.

For weeks his critics have been predicting that, when the cold reality of leadership finally hits him, Mr Johnson will shrink and crumble.

Given that he spent almost the whole of his victory speech with his left hand resting in his trouser pocket, like a schoolboy yawning in the queue for the tuck shop, we can only assume that it hasn’t hit him quite yet.