After 24 hours of continuous nail biting, one hour's sleep and a round of television interviews, I have to make a speech and pull a string to reveal a brass plate with my name on it. I listen with rapt attention to the singing children, proud parents and governors. My remarks are entirely incoherent.

I mumble about all the people who have worked over the years to get the money for the hall and say I feel a bit of an impostor being asked to open it. "A bit like coming on for the final chorus of Edelweiss, having missed all the other numbers in in in... " Mind goes blank. First impression of new MP is of dishevelled mess who cannot remember The Sound of Music.

 The television interviewers all want to know a) how the Tories will get out of this mess and b) who should be the new leader. I copy the Portillo mantra of "time for thought, debate and reflection" which seems to work for the time being.

While the papers are full of leadership speculation, no one has declared and (sob) none of the potential candidates has called to ask for my support. The real problem for the Conservatives is this: in the 1980s any old fool could have told Labour how to become electable - ditch nationalisation, punitive taxation, opposition to trade union laws and one sided nuclear disarmament.

What are the four touchstones for the Conservatives? Our clearest policy - opposition to joining the euro - is also our most popular. This is going to be my killer question for all the leadership contenders. That is, when one of them actually rings me up.

 Memories of the count. The Liberal Democrats behaved like demented trainspotters, watching every ballot paper being counted and keeping their own personal score.

Tensions between the Conservative observers and the Liberals were running high after the stories put about by the "yellow peril" during the campaign. William Astor, one of my helpers, got his revenge. Gareth Epps, the Lib Dems candidate, claimed that an entirely blank ballot paper actually included a small scribble next to his name and should be counted as a vote. William vigorously objected and won the argument. The next spoilt paper just had "Fuck off" written across it. William beckoned to Gareth: "Here, I think this one is for you as well".

The Greens, on the other hand, were charming. In his speech after the count the Green candidate made a presentation to me of George Monbiot's book about evil multinationals and I had to promise to read it.

 I was so exhausted by the end of the count that I forgot to thank the police in my speech. In the 1980s some Labour MPs used to do this to prove their leftwing, anti-establishment credentials.

I don't suppose anyone (and there were not many left awake at this stage) would see this as a leftward shift by a new Conservative MP. I hope not. I know Inspector Fox - and he is an angel.

 Well, I made it. After seven years on the candidates' list, one lost election in 1997, 14 months as the "prospective" candidate in Witney and five weeks of arduous campaigning throughout West Oxfordshire, I have been elected.

Election counts are the worst form of torture known to mankind. As the ballot boxes empty all you see are votes for the other candidates. No matter how many times your election agent tells you: "It's going to be okay", you sweat, chew gum, smoke, fidget, and generally drive your campaign team up the wall.

In the event, both our share of the vote and majority increased and tomorrow I am off to the House of Commons.

I cannot believe my good fortune in sitting for one of the most beautiful constituencies in England. I may be naïve and untouched by political cynicism (or simply ignorant of what lies ahead) but I am incredibly excited about the job I have just been given.