Here’s a thought. If Chris Grayling didn’t exist, would you be able to create him? Would you dare imagine a government minister who was quite so dim and obviously out of his depth? Or would you fear that if you did, no one would believe you?

When Theresa May appointed Grayling as transport secretary, she did so in the belief she was sidelining him into a job in which he could do little damage. Put him in charge of the NHS and half the country might have died within a matter of months, but surely the worst he could do at transport was make a few trains run late or fail to build the odd roundabout outside Kettering.

Wrong. Like all of us, the prime minister severely underestimated Grayling’s capacity for failure. He treats failing as a serious piece of living theatre. There are no half measures with our Chris. He is a method loser. A perfectionist who should have won countless Oscars by now.

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From the second he wakes up to the final moments before he falls asleep at night, Grayling dedicates himself to doing everything badly. Not just a bit badly, but completely and utterly uselessly. He is hellbent on being the worst iteration of himself he can possibly be. If he weren’t in charge of a government department, such single-mindedness would be almost admirable.

Not that there aren’t still some finishing touches to be made. Grayling can just about walk without falling over. If by walking, you count a lumbering plod. He can also talk. Though only as a stream of unconsciousness. He has long since lost the capacity for coherent thought.

Grayling’s only outward sign of sentience is a twitch in his left cheek, and this nervous tic was in evidence well before he was called upon to answer an urgent question about his decision to award a £13.8m contract to a ferry company with no ferries. The cheek is Grayling’s last remaining centre of intelligent life: when it wobbles, it’s a sure sign he’s in danger. Even though he isn’t aware of it himself.

Rather, he expressed surprise that anyone should doubt his ability to plan for a no-deal Brexit. As far as he was concerned, the fact everything was taking place at the last minute was an indication of just how advanced his preparations were. He even cited the previous day’s abject failure to create a pretend lorry jam as evidence of his success. It’s one thing to humiliate yourself. It’s quite another not to even realise you are doing it.

The shadow transport secretary, Andy McDonald, looked vaguely bemused. What bit of Seaborne Ferries having no ferries, no money and no website other than a pizza menu didn’t Failing Grayling understand? Even the mayor of Ostend had already said the ferry service wouldn’t be allowed into his port. Why had no due diligence been done?

“I make no apologies,” Grayling insisted. It was typical of Labour to nitpick. Since when did a ferry company actually need any ships? Seaborne was actually working on a Lego catapult to throw lorries from Ramsgate across to Belgium. And complaining about directors having racked up debts in previous ventures was just anti-business. He was sick and tired of people talking down bankruptcy.

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While Grayling was busy embarrassing himself, the Conservative stooge James Heappey was handing out crib sheets to backbenchers, begging them to ask vaguely supportive questions of the transport secretary. Bernard Jenkin, eager to live down to his portrayal in James Graham’s Channel 4 Brexit drama as an establishment buffoon, was the first on his feet to congratulate Grayling for all his hard work and observe that it was totally unfair to expect him to know anything about Seaborne. Charlie Elphicke agreed, suggesting Labour was only interested in wrecking and sabotage tactics.

Too late. Grayling was more than capable of wrecking and sabotaging his own position without any help from Labour. First, he said it didn’t matter if Seaborne ran any ferries or not, because if they didn’t then they wouldn’t get the £13.8m anyway. This silenced many Tories, because even they could understand that the logic of contingency planning based on a ferry company not delivering additional capacity was inherently flawed. But not Failing Grayling. He was on a roll. His one regret was that he hadn’t awarded even more worthless contracts.

The failure was complete. Grayling had yet again died on his feet. It’s what he does. A kinder prime minister would have removed him long ago, but he serves a purpose in making others look less mediocre. So he lived to lose another day. Besides, he had a relaxing afternoon ahead flying his drone near Heathrow.