It’s going to be a long, long few weeks. Two men repeating the same unchallenged lines at different hustings around the country in a format designed to stifle debate. Not so much an election as a coronation march.

They’d been queuing round the block outside the art-deco Pavilion Theatre in Bournemouth two hours before the start. Six hundred Tory members – mostly retired and overwhelmingly white. And almost all of them had come to hear just one man.

In recent weeks Boris Johnson has looked under the cosh. Disconnected from himself, distracted both by the emptiness of his ambition and the psychodrama of his private life. He had been far from convincing in the first hustings in Birmingham and his two most recent radio interviews could both best be described as car wrecks.

The Bournemouth audience had made it their mission to make Johnson whole again. For only if he was whole could they themselves be complete. Their need is mutual. Johnson cannot survive without applause and the ovation he received when he walked on stage gave him a visible lift. The relief was almost tangible as Johnson went into one of his standard Boris rants, full of bad puns, classical allusions, empty promises and outright lies. No one cared that he clearly didn’t have a Brexit plan. All that anyone wanted to know was that he was feeling better about himself. As so often with Johnson, this really was all about him.

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After indulging in a little call and response with the audience, Johnson sat down to be interviewed by CNN presenter, Hannah Vaughan Jones. Why did he want to be prime minister? Everyone knew that the real reason was because he believes it to be his birthright, but everyone just played along as he mumbled something about having ‘an overwhelming sense of responsibility’. Something no one – especially his friends and family – had ever previously detected in him.

The sense of collective delusion was maintained throughout. He couldn’t think of any downsides to his immigration points system because he hadn’t actually given the idea much thought at all. It was just some idea dreamed up by his team to move the conversation away from his character. At one point he couldn’t even remember he was in Bournemouth. Then why should he? Bournemouth was where the little people lived and they should just be grateful he was donating them an hour of his time.

On and on the nonsense went. Brexit just needed a bit more resolve. If the UK displayed some more bulldog spirit then the EU would cave in. He had it on the highest authority – his imagination – that he was hugely respected in Brussels. The reality is that everyone there thinks he’s a bit of a tosser and doesn’t trust him an inch. He wouldn’t prorogue parliament, but then again he might. No matter. He carried on bluffing his way through, promising tax cuts for the rich but higher spending on the NHS and schools.

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“We need to love up those we want to lead,” he declared. Under the circumstances not the best choice of words, but the audience didn’t care. They felt loved up. At the end of the hour Johnson bounced off stage, his ambition to be ‘World King’ one step nearer. It hadn’t been a vintage performance but it had been good enough. Boris knows that all he has to do to become prime minister is not screw up. Lies and evasion wins the day.

There was one lone cheer – possibly from his wife – and a smattering of polite applause when Jeremy Hunt got his turn. Ken Doll came out determined to give it his all. Jacket off, he channelled his inner Action Man and walked about the stage trying desperately to find one person with whom to engage. He drew a few grudging claps but he quickly sensed he was sucking the energy out of the room. The audience hadn’t come to hear his routine and he knew it. There was nothing he could do to change people’s hearts and minds. Even if Boris was to sleep with their wives and murder their pets, he’d still get their vote. That was precisely the get up and go spirit the Conservative party had been missing. Though they might draw the line if he declared he was a Muslim.

Long before the end, people began to sneak out. It was nearly 8.30 and getting late. Ken carried on gamely, buoyed by a few loyal cheerleaders from his campaign team, but he looked relieved when it was all over. Most of his answers had been more truthful and realistic than Johnson’s but that was his problem. The Tories don’t want truth and realism. They want someone who peddles nostalgia and lies. And in Boris they have their guru.