Things fall apart. The Brexit party’s poll ratings are in freefall. The Bad Boys of Brexit have fallen out with each other. Arron Banks has gone cold on Nigel Farage. The money is drying up. And so are the crowds. Six months ago, Nigel could fill medium-sized arenas. Now the function room of the Hull Ionians rugby club in a small town outside Hull is way too big for him. Only 15 rows of chairs had been set out and two of them had to be removed shortly before the start. Not even a 1970s glitter ball hanging limply from the ceiling could help bring in the crowds.

The dream is dying. As is Farage, from the inside out. After the warm-up acts of Hull’s three Brexit party candidates – step forward Michelle Dewberry off The Apprentice – had failed to cut through the late-autumn chill, Channel 5 TV presenter and host for the day Dr David Bull summoned the star attraction. At the back of the room, Farage had looked stressed and tense as he waited to come on. But once his name was called, the smile was plastered on.

Farage is an old pro at this, so he knows how to fake it to make it. But it’s getting harder with every day. Unlike the other arrivistes, who have piggybacked on his notoriety as a career opportunity, Nigel has cared about this stuff for 25 years and now he can feel it turning to dust in his hands. Worst of all, he doesn’t even know what to think or what to do right now. He thought he had managed to game the system only to discover that the system had his number all along. All he can do is plod on regardless, drifting ever closer to nothingness.

“Good morning, South Yorkshire,” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. Not the best of starts when you happen to be in the East Riding. He then talked a bit about the floods. People had been let down and it was time to deal with the causes not the symptoms. For a moment it seemed as if Farage was making a late bid for the Green vote by talking about climate change. But no. All the flooding was apparently down to EU regulations. Brussels’ revenge on the UK for voting for Brexit had been to flood large areas of Yorkshire.

The smile dropped a little as he settled into his familiar routine. Making the same gags and running through the same patter of betrayal was becoming more painful by the day. Because the person who had done most to betray him was himself. Nigel had been undone by Nigel. Hubris, thy name is Nigel. The man who had time and again built himself up as the brilliant campaigner had turned out – yet again – to be fairly hopeless at running a general election campaign.

He thought he had been calling the shots when he had offered the Tories an electoral pact. The Brexit party would stand aside in Tory-held constituencies, if the Conservatives gave him a clear shot at Labour seats. The Tories had said: “Thanks, but no thanks.” So the tough negotiator had unilaterally gone ahead and agreed a deal that offered him nothing in return. He had made himself the Emma Watson of British politics. The party leader who had not only managed to self-partner himself but had also somehow contrived to cheat on himself. There’s going to be an extremely messy break-up when Nigel finds out what Nigel has done to Nigel.

The longer Farage spoke, the more you could feel the self-confidence drain away. Nothing made sense to him any more and he began to collapse inwards under the weight of his own contradictions. He was telling his supporters not to trust Boris when he had just done his best to make sure Johnson got re-elected as prime minister. Hell, every dummy knew Boris was a fraud but he had fallen for the most basic three-card con.

He was telling them that everyone knew what they were voting for in the referendum – “You did, didn’t you?” – but had now discovered there were a variety of Brexits on offer. One of which he didn’t want but had in effect endorsed anyway. He was telling them that the Conservatives were on course for an overall majority, so there was next to no point in them voting for the Brexit party in Labour seats because they would be screwed either way.

It began to sound like a long political suicide note. An admission of futility. He could no longer maintain even the illusion that Brexit was within his hands. Within a week he had gone from leading actor to walk-on understudy. Twenty-five years of campaigning edging towards anonymity. Why was he even still here? The UK was dead to him. Two more weeks of this and he’d only be talking to his rapidly ageing reflection. Time to high-tail it back to the Donald and the US chatshow circuit. The future was bright, the future was orange.

The audience shuffled nervously, as if intruding on a private grief. Normally, even a half-throttle Farage speech can generate a standing ovation. Now barely a quarter of the audience could be bothered to stand up and applaud. The rest contemplated the eternity of annihilation.

John Crace’s new book, Decline and Fail: Read in Case of Political Apocalypse, is published by Guardian Faber. To order a copy go to guardianbookshop.com or call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p&p over £15, online orders only. Phone orders min. p&p of £1.99.