After the previous night’s toxic debate in which Boris Johnson had set yet another new low for standards in public life – hard to believe, but even sociopaths can have a talent to surprise – the Speaker first called for calm and respect from MPs from all sides. He then allowed an urgent question from Jess Phillips on the language and role of the prime minister in creating a safe environment in the country and parliament. Good luck with that.

The Incredible Sulk was keen to oblige. By doubling down on his complete and utter contempt for parliament and everyone in it by not bothering to turn up and sending the most junior, most instantly forgettable, minister he could find to take the flak on his behalf. Kevin Foster is so anonymous, he even needs a post-it note attached to his bedside table to remind himself that he is a gofer in the Cabinet Office with responsibility for almost nothing. And even that he does not do very well.

Phillips was her usual forthright self. Yes, she got heated at times but she wasn’t a traitor, she wasn’t at war. She was an MP whose efforts to do her best for her constituents were rewarded with death threats in language that had been more or less copied verbatim from the Sulk’s own speeches. Johnson was the real architect of division.

She got that it was a deliberate tactic. Johnson was copying the Donald Trump playbook. What worked for one narcissist might work for another. Divert attention from his own failures, stir up hatred, split the country with ‘People v Parliament’ crap and take no personal responsibility for anything.

She accepted the Sulk wasn’t going to apologise – it was asking too much to break the habit of a lifetime – but just maybe there were a few Tory MPs with enough decency to do so on his behalf. There weren’t. For the others, she only felt pity that they were too craven to speak out.

One of whom was Foster, who was anxiously riffling through his briefing notes, searching for a credible response. Having failed to find anything, he started to ad-lib. The government would be introducing a ‘Be Nice to One Another Day’ in 2022. And ... um ... if Labour MPs started doing what the government wanted then the death threats would probably stop. A threat to stop the threats. Genius. It was all the fault of the opposition for having been stupid enough to believe in a parliamentary democracy. Classic Dom.

Other attack lines soon emerged. Maria Miller also insisted that Labour only had itself to blame for the Sulk’s behaviour. The real victim in all this weren’t MPs receiving death threats, it was Boris himself. He had been pushed to the edge by an opposition that was totally unreasonably blocking his plans to completely screw over the country with a no-deal Brexit. Sulk sad. Sulk angry. Sulk bullied.

Bernard Jenkin went further still. All female Labour MPs had to do to stop the abuse was to stop droning on about Jo Cox. Couldn’t they just get over the fact that one of their friends had died? Hell, it was more than three years ago. Just move on. Shit happened. Time for women to man up. At which point, the Commons threatened to boil over again. Just as Classic Dom and the Sulk had hoped. Foster just looked rather bemused and stared at the clock.

Number 10’s contempt for parliament had also been on show earlier in the day when James Duddridge, another minor jobsworth of limited talent and charm, rather than the Brexit secretary had been pushed out to answer an urgent question on whether the government intended to request an extension if no deal was reached by 31 October. We’ve long since passed the point where anyone takes the government obeying the law for granted.

Duddridge proved the perfect fall-guy. As he genuinely knows nothing, he can’t accidentally reveal the truth. So instead he kept doggedly to the script that two incompatible things were simultaneously possible. The government would both ask for an extension and leave. Edward Leigh tried to help out by saying the Benn Act was the equivalent of trying to prevent you from murdering your wife – something about which he seemed genuinely aggrieved – but it was one of the more pointless 90 minutes anyone had spent in the Commons.

What goes around, comes around and parliament was able to repay the favour by expressing its own contempt for the government by voting down a motion for a three-day recess over next week’s Conservative party conference. The Sulk’s seventh consecutive defeat. In No 10, Johnson was having yet another breakdown. Why did everything keep going wrong? He could see why his family hated him, but he was bewildered to find the feeling was so widely shared by people who didn’t know him so well.

“We’ve got the opposition exactly where we want them,” said Classic Dom. “While parliament is sitting back in London, planning how to stop a no-deal Brexit with John Bercow’s help, the focus will be all on us in Manchester.” The Sulk smiled for the first time in days. Hell, he’d give his speech and get Kevin Foster to do prime minister’s questions. That would show Westminster who was boss.

Dilyn the Downing Street dog picked up the phone and called the RSPCA. “The owner’s abusive and out of control,” he barked. “Either rehome me or put me down.”