The agony was finally over. The week-long battle between Liz Truss and the Daily Star lettuce had been won. The lettuce had romped home at a canter with only a few leaves showing any sign of wilting. In the end, it hadn’t really been much of a contest. Shortly after 1.30pm, Truss emerged from the front door of No 10, closely followed by her husband. She walked to the lectern and started speaking in her familiar, disconnected monotone. She had come into office at a time of great political and economic instability. Weirdly, she forgot to mention her part in adding to the instability. But the country will be paying for it in increased mortgages and borrowing for years to come. Truss went on. She had delivered some fantastic achievements for the country. An energy package that literally any other prime minister would have introduced. And the reduction in national insurance contributions that Labour had first proposed. Amnesia prevented her from mentioning her U-turns. But her achievements had been so remarkable that it was best she went out on a high. The record for shortest-serving prime minister was hers. Though she would hang on for another week while the Tory party hastily scrabbled around for a new leader. Her statement lasted barely a couple of minutes. Yet by the time she had finished she looked almost relieved. At peace with herself. No more trying to conceal her shame. Her humiliation. The shame and humiliation that had become the country’s own shame and humiliation. A lightning rod of despair. The pretence of trying to appear competent could be abandoned. No further series of time-slip adventures in which she could enter parallel universes where she was a successful prime minister would be called for. She could re-embrace her own mediocrity. The authentic voice of those guaranteed to get most things wrong. Doomed to be forgotten. A footnote in the country’s history. A question in a pub quiz. It had been quite the 24 hours. At prime minister’s questions on Wednesday, Librium Liz had insisted she was a “fighter not a quitter”. So what changed? Mostly, she allowed reality to finally intrude. It had been obvious to the rest of us for weeks that she was hopelessly out of her depth and that the Tory party and the country was falling apart around her. Indeed, she had really been leader in name only since Colonel Jeremy Hunt had assumed control of the country last week. From then on she had in effect been a hostage inside No 10, with various captors having to give regular updates to an incurious nation about her wellbeing. “Liz has had a very productive day, sleeping under her desk.” “Liz has been allowed out to sack Suella Braverman.” Truss had tried to send messages by blinking desperately in morse code, but her pleas for help had gone unnoticed. Lino Liz might still have been cooped up in her Downing Street gilded cage, had not Thérèse Coffey – Dr Feelgood – rushed down to the voting lobbies on Wednesday night with a bag stuffed full of mood-altering drugs. Tory MPs had surrounded her and Jacob Rees-Mogg and everyone had bundled one another through the no lobby during the fracking vote. Everyone was so wired that no one had a clear recollection of anything. No 10 couldn’t even be sure if Liz had remembered to vote for herself in a confidence motion. Or indeed if it had been a confidence motion. It would be the most on-brand thing Truss had ever done, to vote for her own removal. There again, she wasn’t entirely clear if the chief whip had resigned or not. This was the tipping point for Tory MPs. Truss had to go. Blame the drugs. With Liz out of the picture, the new regime rapidly unravelled. So much for a smooth takeover. Col Hunt tried to steady the ship by saying he would remain as chancellor and wouldn’t be standing for leader again. Probably just as well. He came eighth out of eight just a few months ago with the backing of just 18 MPs. His key policy had been to reduce corporation tax to 15%. In yet another space-time continuum shift of which the Tory party is increasingly fond, the new Hunt 2.0 had reinstated corporation tax at 25%. The wonders of quantum physics. Next up came the chair of the 1922 Committee, Graham Brady, who had called a press conference to say that he didn’t really have much to say. Other than that the Tory party would try to stitch up the election process by the end of next week. He couldn’t provide any details as yet, as it wasn’t yet clear what rules would need to be bent. But there would be two candidates going through to the members’ ballot. Unless, that is, there turned out to be only one candidate. Then all bets were off. We can see which way this one is going. The new regime going to its default position of a failed state. Yet another prime minister with no general election. No mandate. We used to laugh at Italy. Now the joke’s on us. The UK is far more chaotic, far more corrupt, than anything the Italians could dare dream of. Just 350 Tory MPs more concerned about holding on to their jobs for another two years than doing the right thing for the country. O brave new world … To have such people in it. People such as Braverman, Rishi Sunak and Penny Mordaunt. MPs who had tried and failed to become Tory leader only months ago. Wannabes who had been rejected either by their own MPs or by the Tory gerontocracy. Suddenly now fighting each other for another shot. People such as Boris Johnson. A dozen or so Tories, led by the deranged Nadine Dorries, thought it was time to give the Convict another shot. To forget that he had been disgraced for his criminal behaviour. That more than 50 ministers had resigned from his administration just months ago because he was unfit for office. Now they wanted him back. The venality. The desperation. The neediness. All just nauseating. This was a Tory party treating the country with contempt. It was only a matter of time before someone suggested Lino Liz had another go. After all, she’d been out of office for a few hours. Surely that was long enough? Theresa May called for a candidate to unify the party. Some hope. Has she seen the state of it? Everyone hates each other. The only thing holding them together is the fear of being in opposition. But maybe there is a saviour. Someone who has the unwavering support of himself. Step forward Rehman Chishti. Your time has come.