After a Brussels press conference punctuated with knowing sighs, in which he again made clear the withdrawal agreement was not up for renegotiation but that – as a gesture of goodwill – he was willing to entertain sensible alternative suggestions from the UK government, the EU council’s president concluded with a simple thought. “I’ve been wondering,” he mused, “what that special place in hell looks like, for those who promoted Brexit without even a sketch of a plan how to carry it out safely.”

Tusk warns of 'special place in hell' for those who backed Brexit without a plan Read more

This was Donald Tusk unplugged. A politician tired of diplomacy that kept going nowhere – ‘What bit of backstop doesn’t the UK get?’ – and happy for once to speak his mind. “They’ll give you a terrible time in the British press for that,” whispered a delighted Leo Varadkar, the Irish taoiseach. Tusk merely smiled. “Yes, I know. Hahaha.” He no longer cared that much what anyone thought. He had tried to be nice to the Brits but all you got in return was news bulletins with Theresa May in a Spitfire and people comparing the EU’s aims with Hitler.

In any case, his question had been largely rhetorical. That special place in hell was only too familiar; it looks pretty much like where we are now. It wasn’t one reserved only for an incompetent and negligent elite of Boris Johnson, Michael Gove, Nigel Farage, Theresa May and the rest. Whatever hell they had in mind, they were taking the rest of us with them. Hell wasn’t other people, it was the whole lot of us.

A UK where everything was steadily getting a little worse by the day. One where the only hope left was that things might not get quite as bad as everyone feared. A reality show for self-harmers and the terminally depressed, hosted by Jacob Rees-Mogg. A land of unmanaged decline. The direction of travel was clear. All that remained unanswered was in which circle of hell we were located.

News of Tusk’s Dantesque comparison hadn’t reached the chamber in time for prime minister’s questions, a session that did momentarily stem the slide into the terminal hell of mediocrity. Largely because neither Theresa May nor Jeremy Corbyn were present. The prime minister’s trip to Ireland has been a relief to those in Westminster, if not to the Irish.

Instead, the Commons was treated to the two leaders’ stand-ins, David Lidington and Emily Thornberry. One of whom can just about answer questions and the other of whom can just about ask them. It makes a huge difference. Not that anyone was much the wiser at the end, as the shadow foreign secretary saved all her six questions for Brexit. Something that no one in government, not even Lidington, who is more clued-up than most, has any solutions for. At least, not ones which they yet dare utter in public. The more Lidington tried to defend the indefensible, the redder he became. It was almost endearing.

Ken Clarke later observed Thornberry and Lidington as being two people struggling to find something to argue over and that it was a pity they weren’t actually in charge of their respective parties. Put them in a room for five minutes and they’d come up with a customs union proposal that would be passed with ease by MPs in an afternoon. If only.

The rest of the session passed off fairly uneventfully, with just a couple of Brexiter interventions. Bernard Jenkin wanted to know what was holding up the discredited Malthouse compromise. Lidington’s blushes turned a shade deeper. He’s so co-dependent he gets embarrassed on Jenkin’s behalf. Even though Jenkin is too out of touch to feel it for himself. “Um,” said Lidington. The reason the Malthouse compromise was going nowhere was because it was basically brainless. Which is why Steve Baker, Marcus Fysh and Owen Paterson had been sent to work on it. Mark Francois just bellowed.

The Tusk fallout only really started when PMQs was over. Andrea Leadsom, one of the cabinet’s many useful idiots, was first out of the blocks. She was absolutely devastated. DEVASTATED. She couldn’t believe the EU council president had been so spiteful. We were supposed to be friends, allies and neighbours. It was totally unreasonable for the EU not to completely rewrite its own rulebook for its member states when the UK decided it couldn’t agree to something to which it had already agreed. If Brexit ended in tears then it would be the EU’s fault. You have to work quite hard to be that dim.

Back in Brussels, Tusk held his head in his hands. What had he done? First all this nonsense, then tomorrow he’d have to lose hours of his life in another meeting with May. He’d inadvertently tipped himself and the UK closer to the centre of hell.