“The task that stands before us is tough.” We were in a basement room of a central London hotel. Outside it was a grey November morning, but we had gathered for the greatest show on earth: the election of the next former leader of the Conservative Party, a successor to Rishi Sunak. The winner, Kemi Badenoch, was addressing her troops.

Labour leadership announcements generally happen in huge halls full of supporters, with votes tallied on screen. Conservative ones are in smaller rooms, and it’s not exactly clear who the people are: MPs, obviously, but also chunky young men in wax jackets and padded gilets, accompanied by willowy young women in twin sets. Beyond that, the coffee is excellent and it is the only leadership event where you overhear someone offering to find a Saudi buyer for a farm that has suddenly become a tax liability.

Above ground, on the damp pavements, the tourists and shoppers went about their Saturday mornings, quite oblivious to the earthquake beneath their feet

We knew who had won, because one senior member of Robert Jenrick’s team was sobbing. It was tempting to comfort the poor chap by pointing out that there are plenty more Tory MPs out there with ambition far beyond their ability. Indeed, there were quite a few of them in the room. But it wasn’t the moment: people need space to grieve. As you read this, Jenrick’s campaign team will be huddled in a bar somewhere, discussing whether they should have just tried being even more bonkers. (For my money, this was their problem. It’s a real achievement to make Badenoch look like the most reasonable candidate in a contest, but Jenrick managed it.)

The announcement of the result came from Bob Blackman, the chairman of the 1922 Committee. The Tories are now down to 132,000 voting members. Of these 45 had seen their ballot papers rejected because they voted for more than one candidate. “Quite something,” Blackman observed, “in a two-person election.”

The full result was drowned out by the cheer from Badenoch’s supporters. At the back of the room a young man was bouncing up and down with excitement. More ominously, not all the Tory MPs were even applauding. Blackman pointed out that they had elected yet another female leader (huge cheer) and also, in a first for a major British political party, a black one (polite applause).

Badenoch walked onto the stage beaming, thanking the party officials and her opponents. “I also want to thank Rishi,” she said, not entirely convincingly. “No one could have worked harder in such a difficult time.” Rarely has praise for a former prime minister been fainter: A for effort, let’s not talk about the results.

Of the former prime minister there was no sign, beyond a congratulatory tweet. Other ex-leaders (there are quite a few) are being less reticent. Over in the Daily Mail, Liz Truss was explaining, once again, that everything would have been very different if only she’d been prime minister. She is becoming a pitiful figure, accosting newspaper readers and asking them to read about how she was brought down by the Bank of England and the bond market and the BBC and the Financial Times and Remainers and probably, if anyone could be bothered to listen, the Freemasons and the Illuminati. Unless someone intervenes, she is about three years away from standing outside the Conservative conference with a handwritten sign inviting people to ask her about the real rulers of the universe.

But perhaps unshakeable confidence is just part of being a Conservative. Everywhere at the event there was talk of the softness of Labour’s 165-seat majority, the way things were already falling apart for the government, as though no one had ever used the first budget after an election to do the difficult stuff. They were going to be back in power soon! The electorate was fertile ground for a diet of being rude to interviewers and promising to abolish maternity pay.

Badenoch’s speech was brief, and offered no such excitements. “Our party is critical to the success of our country,” she said, gliding past its enormous contribution to our failures. It was time to be “honest”, she went on. “Honest about the fact that we made mistakes. We let standards slip.” That was, whether she intended it or not, another swipe at Sunak, forever unable to say what he thought Boris Johnson had done wrong. “The time has come to tell the truth,” she said. Her version of it, anyway.

“It’s time to get down to business. It’s time to renew.” And with that, she was gone. Above ground, on the damp pavements, the tourists and shoppers went about their Saturday mornings, quite oblivious to the earthquake beneath their feet.