The disconnect was almost total. A national crisis turned first into a North Korea tribute act then to a second-rate turn on the comedy circuit. Minutes before the Supreme Leader’s speech the cabinet filed into the hall like Stepford Wives and took their seats. Never before have so many mediocrities received such a long standing ovation. Moments later Stanley Johnson and Carrie Symonds got an even more enthusiastic reception. All hail the man whose sperm had created Boris! All hail the lucky woman who shared Boris’s bed! The audience was not worthy.

The Who singing about “teenage wasteland” might not be every party leader’s choice of entrance music, but start as you mean to go on. No one can accuse Boris Johnson of not understanding his demographic. Cries of “BO-RIS, BO-RIS” echoed round the hall as the Incredible Sulk slowly made his way to the front.

He was determined to milk every second. This was more than the fulfilment of a dream, it was his birthright. A golden moment delivered on a silver spoon. That, though, was about as good as it got.

On reaching the podium the Sulk had his first moment of self-doubt. He’d really meant to write a proper speech. A serious, grown-up speech for serious, grown-up times. A manifesto for government. But what with one thing and another – his natural laziness, mostly – he’d never got round to it and it was only after breakfast that he had finally made a start. And then his mind had gone totally blank. So he’d done what he always did under these circumstances. Recycle a few of the gags from his old Telegraph columns and hope no one noticed.

He opened with some half-hearted praise for Theresa May and Ruth Davidson – who were they again? – before moving on to his central theme that parliament was essentially a total waste of time. Just a bunch of interfering nobodies who were stopping him from doing exactly as he pleased.

That a UK prime minister should portray MPs as enemies of the people was extraordinary in itself. That a UK prime minister who had been elected by just 150,000 members of his own party should do so was breathtaking. But then hypocrisy has never bothered Johnson. Morals are for lesser mortals.

As for Brexit, it was basically a breeze. Something that could be reduced to a couple of glib sentences. Whatever the EU might say to the contrary, the customs union and the Good Friday agreement were basically just trivial technicalities of little consequence. One way or another he’d get Brexit done. Or maybe he wouldn’t. He didn’t say how exactly, because he didn’t know. And didn’t much care. If it didn’t work out, he could always blame the EU. Or parliament. Anyone but himself. Just tell the people what you think they want to hear.

Ten minutes in, the Sulk realised that he’d basically said all he wanted to say and was tempted to wind things up. But then he remembered he was meant to keep going for at least 35 minutes, so he began to ad-lib.

“You’re entitled to ask about my core principles,” he said. Whoops. Not such a good line, as he didn’t really have any. Other than entitlement. This wasn’t the time to talk about his treatment of women and disregard for public money. Besides he couldn’t remember exactly what had happened – but if he could he would be certain it hadn’t happened.

Then he just slipped into auto-pilot and moved to his favourite subject. Himself. Me, me, me. Punctuated by gags that hadn’t been particularly funny when he’d first told them years ago. How he’d basically invented the NHS by grabbing it by the thigh and developed a cure for breast cancer. Those healing hands of his again. It was only a matter of time before he was awarded a Nobel prize for medicine to go with the peace prize he’d been given for his efforts in rekindling the Troubles in Northern Ireland.

It was desperate stuff. The shallow optimism of a man for whom the truth has always been another country. Did the conference remember how some people had rubbished solar power? It ought to have done because one of those doing the rubbishing had been the Sulk itself. See Daily Telegraphs passim. Now we were on the brink of a new era of nuclear fusion with Britain at the fore. That will be news to the science world, though it could be enough to secure Johnson a hat-trick of Nobel laureates.

There were lies. He lied about London being the most productive region of the EU. He lied about extending UK membership of the EU costing the country £1bn a month. But he didn’t care. Now that he was riffing on Michael Gove’s cocaine use, Jennifer Arcuri’s laptop pizza wheel of doom, his father’s appearance on I’m a Celebrity, he was in his element.

Finally he was relaxed and enjoying himself. Lost in his own narcissistic world where he was totally killing it. Where everyone loved him. Which is all he had ever really wanted.

What he missed was that the thing he was killing was himself. He was actually dying on his feet. Tory party members had come in search of a vision. A reason to believe after the despair of May. Salvation. Something prime ministerial. And what he’d given them was a vacuous after-dinner speech. They had heard better from a totally pissed father of the bride. The Sulk had shown he was a man for the small occasion.

He got an ovation. Of course. The audience need him every bit as much as he needs them. They feel their world closing in and are desperate for a way out. A chink of light. But the applause and cries of “Bo-ris, Bo-ris” were notably less enthusiastic than when he’d arrived in the hall. Their emperor had no clothes.