It was more than a year ago, during the general election campaign, that Theresa May last met a member of the public. A blessing for all concerned. The prime minister can’t do touchy-feely. She can barely manage basic personal interactions with her own cabinet, let alone with people she has never set eyes on.

Yet for reasons best known to themselves, the prime minister’s minders decided the time was right to send her up to the north-east to explain in person why everyone was going to be a great deal more worse-off after Brexit. It was an idea that was as bold as it was misguided. Emotional intelligence is seemingly even harder to programme than artificial intelligence. And May is lacking in both. So what had been intended as a way of making the government seem more accessible achieved the exact opposite. Half an hour that no one present will ever get back. A black hole of existential ennui.

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Somewhat later than planned, May finally stepped out on to the shop floor of an engineering factory in Newcastle to take questions from a semicircle of employees who had been press-ganged into the event. Right from the off, she looked awkward, as if she was longing for the event to be over before it had even started. The body language of the audience, all crossed arms and vacant expressions, suggested the feeling was mutual.

May did at least manage to identify where she was – an improvement on the morning when she had failed to realise she was in Gateshead – before going into her standard intro. It was great to be wherever she was and she looked forward to never coming back. With a bit of luck, Brexit was going to work out OK, but if it didn’t she wanted everyone to know she was only doing her best to deliver on the will of the people. So it was their fault.

“Now it’s your turn to ask me some questions,” the prime minister mumbled anxiously. Nothing. Nada. For a moment it looked as if the audience had made an unconscious collective decision that the Q&A would be cripplingly painful for everyone and had agreed to terminate it before it had even got under way. Eventually someone came up with a question. Something for which May looked pathetically grateful.

Could she explain why the EU should bother to give us a deal when the Chequers agreement was the government so obviously trying to have its cake and eat it? A silent primal scream. Of course she couldn’t. “Um ... it will be good for the EU,” she said, struggling for language. Any language. Other than English. “What I see around the EU is that it will be good.” May nodded her head vigorously, desperately trying to recall the “How to engage with normal people” YouTube video she had watched on the train up. No one nodded back. Instead a few eyes closed in despair.

Another long, embarrassing pause. Then another question. This time about a hard Brexit being damaging for the north-east. “We want to um ... ” May began, before switching to default full Maybot. “Er ... see this free-trade area we’ve been um ... talking about.” Her voice tailed off as she lost her train of thought. At least she was keeping her answers short and sweet. If incomprehensible. Better that than being honest about a Brexit she didn’t believe in.

Yet again an agonising wait for the next question. An act of sadism from an audience who had clearly decided to at least have fun while their time was being wasted. “You’ve got the worst job in the world,” one person observed. “How do you relax?” Theresa panicked. Not the personal question. Anything but the personal question. Um ... She liked to go walking. Round in circles mainly. And she liked to do some cooking, because one of the great things about cooking was that you got to eat afterwards. Then you did the washing up. Or Philip did. And if you ran out of food you went out to the supermarket. Or sometimes the corner shop if that was more convenient.

It was another wheat field moment. An insight into a world of quiet desperation. “I also er ... quite like watching,” she continued. “Has anyone else, um ... seen it? ... the American crime series NCIS.” The kiss of death. Immediately everyone present made a mental note to never watch the programme.

There was just enough time for another protracted silence before the final question. What advice did she have for working women? “Believe in yourself,” she mumbled. Something she was clearly unable to do. “And show your skills.” She had done that bit at least. They just weren’t the skills that most people associated with a prime minister.