For some time now it’s been obvious that Rishi Sunak really doesn’t want to be prime minister any more. You can see it in his body language. Defeat hangs heavy around his shoulders. Despair etched into the lines on his face. He is desperate for it all to end. Then he can be shot of the lot of us. Kiss goodbye to us miserable ingrates and take his millions off to California. But credit where credit is due. No one can accuse Rish! of not putting the hours in. He has gone well beyond the call of duty. The efforts to ensure his self-destruction have become almost superhuman. His commitment to the cause total. He will stick at nothing until his failure is complete. All hope of recovery vanquished. In this he has almost reached the status of a performance artist. Marina Abramović is nothing on Sunak. She would have flinched long ago. The greater the self-inflicted pain, the nobler the victory. On Tuesday I suggested that Sunak’s aides must be secret Labour stooges. I now see this was a mistake. Classic diversionary tactics from the master illusionist. Rather, it is Rish! who has been the undercover agent all along. It had been his idea to stage a car crash at Silverstone. To present a demotivational manifesto, devoid of any intellectual rigour, that was dead on arrival. Designed to plunge his party into a vortex of misery, stripped of all hope. Desolation row. That might have been enough, for the time being, for some party leaders. A moment to bask in the glory of Project Rish!. But Sunak just keeps it coming. Feeding the media with stories of his own stupidity. He is a man who will not rest until the whole country celebrates the Triumph of the Quarter-Wit. Every time you think he can’t get worse, Rish! says “Hold my Mexican full-fat Coke”. We’ve now been gifted the first of clips of Paul Brand’s ITV interview with the prime minister. The one he rushed back from the D-day commemorations to record. What very Heaven to be alive at such a time. Howard Carter never glimpsed such treasures when he discovered Tutankhamun’s tomb. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late,” Rish! said. “I couldn’t get away.” Such charm. Such grace. You know how it is. You get stuck with some dreary 100-year-old war veterans. What a nuisance. Why do they insist on making such a fuss about a military campaign that took place 80 years previously? You’d have thought they might have got over it by now. Then there was Emmanuel Macron. So needy. Wanted to hang around and chat. Yawn. Thank God he’d managed to give a swerve to Joe Biden and Olaf Scholz. What had their war dead ever done for him? There was more. Much more. Now the sob story. The crippling levels of deprivation he had suffered as a child. To live in a home with no Sky TV. Largely because Sky dishes were considered to be a bit common back then. But the shame nonetheless. The tears were all too real. I felt his pain. I grew up with no colour TV. Largely because it hadn’t been invented. The damage lingers to this day. Rish! looked bashfully towards the camera. Maybe this would be his cut-through to the public. When he forged an emotional connection. When the country fell in love with him. Or maybe not. Rather it was the moment when the rest of the Conservatives abandoned hope. Even Grant Shapps. That most comical of optimists. There could be no more shape shifting. No more quick changes into Michael Green, Sebastian Fox or Corinne Stockheath. He, too, was crushed. Sent out to defend the government, he merely raised the white flag. It was over, he said. His party and his career were in tatters. All that could now be salvaged was to minimise the loss. To try to hold on to at least 100 seats. That would be something. But not his. Any openings for a secondhand defence secretary? Some things never change, though. The Greens have always had an endearingly low-key approach to their manifesto launches – they are fantastically grateful if anyone from the media shows up – and Wednesday’s was no exception. This election found us in Cow Corner – not very vegan – at the Sussex County Cricket Club in Brighton. Where else? A modestly sized hut on the boundary’s edge. On arrival we were greeted by the sight of the joint leaders, Carla Denyer and Adrian Ramsay, practising their lines with the teleprompter. I doubt we’ll catch Keir Starmer doing a public rehearsal when Labour launches its manifesto tomorrow. I say joint leaders because that’s their official job description, but in reality Carla seems to be prima inter pares. She’s the one who seems to do most of the glad-handing. Not that Adrian looks at all bothered. He appears laid-back, almost sleepy. No sharp elbows on him.
Right on time, the launch got under way with a brief welcome from Siân Berry, who is standing in Caroline Lucas’s old seat just up the road. Lucas herself now just makes up the numbers among the 100 or so party activists in the audience. Happy to let others do the heavy lifting. She’s treated like royalty in Brighton. Then, to loud whoops and cheers, Denyer and Ramsay take the stage. For real this time. They take it in turns to speak, sounding more like children’s TV presenters than politicians. We all sit back and let it wash over us. There can be no surprises here because everything has been voted on by party members months ago. So it’s a time for the Greens to luxuriate in their choices. A feelgood moment. Because there’s little here with which anyone on the left could disagree. More money for the NHS. More affordable homes. A wealth tax for those with assets of more than £10m. Tackling the climate crisis. Cleaning up our rivers. If they are bothered that Dale Vince and Feargal Sharkey have hitched their wagons to Labour, it doesn’t show. Nor does anyone look at the costings too closely. A reality check is not strictly necessary. This isn’t a to-do list. It is a Christmas wishlist. The Greens have no pretensions to being in power. The questions came and went. More out of politeness than because anyone was seeking clarification. Adrian looked a bit worried when someone mentioned nukes. He sees the army more as humanitarian aid workers. And he was positively delighted that someone had discovered that four candidates had antisemitic views. It meant that people were finally checking up on the Greens and taking them seriously. Meanwhile, out on the trail, Rish! was in his element. Economic growth was back to where it should be. Flatlining. “I haven’t given up,” he said. Quite right. There’s still some Tory seats to be lost. His job is almost done.