Days like these, Theresa May must wonder why she bothers. A question many of us have been asking for a couple of years. If she wasn’t in enough trouble with the hardliners of the European Research Group, Conservative remainers and a Democratic Unionist party hot on the scent of more cash, she now had her namesake on her back: Erskine May. Or at least the Speaker’s interpretation of the parliamentary rulebook.

Shortly after 3.30pm on what had hitherto promised to be a quiet afternoon in the Commons, John Bercow decided to give the government his own kicking. Like most things the Speaker does, it was delivered with much theatricality and self-importance but was none the less deadly for it. Having previously ruled that some precedents were made to be broken, he had concluded that the precedent of not allowing a government to put the same – or substantially the same – motion to the house as one that had previously been rejected should be upheld. So if the prime minister wanted to put her Brexit deal to a third meaningful vote, she was going to have to come up with something radically different.

Labour MPs, who have always suspected the Speaker was a not-so-secret remainer, were effusive in their praise. He had put a stop to parliament being strong-armed, bullied and bribed. He was a saint. A latter-day people’s hero. The man who hadn’t just sold the world, but had also saved it. Ziggy Bercow. The Speaker puffed up with pride. It wasn’t for him to agree that he was as marvellous as everyone said, but if others wanted to make that assertion who was he to gainsay them?

It was Hilary Benn who asked the killer question: could the Speaker confirm that a substantive change would have to be one agreed with the EU and not some dodgy deal cooked up with the DUP on the back of an envelope? Bercow was more than happy to do so. Anything to make life as difficult for the prime minister as possible.

Brexiters also appeared quite pleased with this result, bizarrely reckoning it made a no deal exit more likely. Quite how they reached this conclusion was anyone’s guess. Logic has never been their strong suit. Tory MP Mark Francois checked to see if this also meant a second vote on a second referendum was now also off the cards. Ah, said Bercow. That didn’t follow at all. Context and circumstance was everything. And that would be interpreted however he happened to feel on the day. But don’t hold your breath.

Having been given no notice of the Speaker’s statement, the government frontbenches were all but empty with only Amber Rudd, who had been taking work and pensions questions, from the cabinet in situ. She looked like a woman who had just realised someone had thrown up all over her, making it clear that responding on behalf of the government was massively above her pay grade and dashing for the exit as soon as indecently possible.

Eventually the chief whip, Julian Smith, and Andrea Leadsom, the leader of the House filed in. Smith rose to make an intervention then thought better of it. There was probably no point in doing his primal scream therapy in public. Leadsom kept her head down, avoiding the Speaker’s eye while punching texts into her mobile.

But the hotline to the Leader in Name Only (Lino) was only lukewarm. No 10 had no more clue about what was really going on than anyone else. The text exchange merely read:

Leadsom: WTF? Lino: WTAF? Leadsom: WTAFF? Lino: WTFAFF?

The only time Leadsom spoke was to say she wouldn’t be talking to the Speaker unless he was a lot nicer to her. There is no love lost between the two. We’ve reached a stage where almost everyone hates everyone else.

With no guidance from the frontbench, a few Tory loyalists tried to ad lib. James Cleverley suggested that it would have been more helpful if Bercow had made the ruling between the first and second meaningful vote, so that all those MPs who had wanted to waste everyone’s time before coming on board could have had the chance to do so last week. Cleverley is living proof of the fallibility of nominative determinism. Matthew Offord just said it was all a bit unfair. A bit how his constituents must feel having him as their MP.

This was a whole new level of Brexit clusterfuckery. The previous week’s chaos now merely looked like one of the more unfeasible Matrix plotlines. Just with no Keanu Reeves. A room full of chimps could make a better fist of things. Some MPs talked of proroguing parliament; others of a general election – with 11 days to go till 29 March. Hey, at least it’s still double figures.

For Lino it was just one more humiliation. Not only would she be going back to Brussels to ask for changes to the withdrawal agreement she wasn’t going to get. She would now be asking for an extension on a deal she was now unable and too scared to put to a vote. Not even the Four Pot Plants can help her now. But on the plus side, at least we’re giving the rest of the world a good laugh. The UK: not just a reality freak show, but also a feel good movie. We fail so they don’t have to. It’s a legacy of sorts for the government.