Sam Leith

Once again, 357-odd Conservative MPs have complete control over what happens next in this country. There are three questions that each of them will be urgently considering. One is: what’s best for the country? The second is: what’s best for the Conservative party? The third is: what’s best for me personally? It will not have escaped the attentive student of recent Tory politics that these things do not always point in quite the same direction. So, question one. The country, poll after poll now tells us, wants rid of the whole shower of these blue-rosetted bozos as soon as is humanly possible. It seems to follow from that – even if the rules allow you to dodge it – that calling a general election would be the right thing to do for the good of the country.

It is not easy to feel sorry for Liz Truss. She has a deeply unattractive streak of vanity – when in the Foreign Office, she seemed more interested in posing for the official photographers who trailed her round than she did in building relationships with the places she visited. She campaigned hard and sometimes dirty to obtain a job for which she was manifestly out of her depth. Once in that job, she exercised power with peremptory arrogance. She rewarded people who had sucked up to her, cast out anyone who had spoken up for her rival, and allowed experienced civil servants to be hoofed ruthlessly out of their jobs.

Quite the scoop in yesterday’s Sun. An anonymous cabinet minister has briefed the paper that to secure Britain’s economic future, we need a baby boom. The birth rate has fallen from 2.93 children per woman in 1964 to 1.58 today. We have an ageing population, and a shrinking workforce, and something must be done. 'We need to have more children,' says this minister. 'The rate keeps falling. Look at Hungary – they cut taxes for mothers who have more children.' And, indeed, they do. In Viktor Orban’s fiefdom you’re let off income tax for life if you manage to squeeze out four or more kids.

Liz Truss has, if nothing else, been working on her delivery. Her first speech to conference as Prime Minister was only about seventy per cent as stilted as usual. She occasionally, though just occasionally, sounded like she was speaking to the audience rather than reading something off an autocue. She remembered to smile. She even had a go at pointing matily into the crowd when she was saying nice things about her 'dynamic new chancellor' or her 'fantastic deputy prime minister'. And – which was the most she could have hoped for – she got through it without dropping any sort of clanger. The speech itself, perhaps deliberately, was a hopelessly dull effort: a compendium of exhausted buzz-phrases chunked into groups of three or strung together with laborious anaphora.

‘You are here’, as those signs in windswept carparks unhelpfully point out. Yup. No mistaking it, you will tend to think glumly as you look at them. I had the same feeling when I looked at a new report from no less an institution than America’s National Bureau of Economic Research. The report is called The Midlife Crisis. It tells us that in the western world, one’s forties and early fifties are associated with problems with sleep, clinical depression and suicidal thoughts, disabling headaches and dependence on alcohol, alongside a decline in basic measures of life satisfaction. Well, fancy. I don’t know about clinical depression and suicidal thoughts, I should say. Not so melodramatic, me.

It is an almost unquestioned orthodoxy that war is hell, and that every needless death in a needless war diminishes our common stock of humanity. It’s curious, though, how we're able to hold that conviction alongside a positively visceral excitement at watching the Ukrainian counter-offensive carve its way through the Kharkiv Oblast. Some 3,000 square kilometres have been recaptured: Ukrainian troops are moving through their own land at such a clip that they’ve made more progress in three days than the massed might of the Russian invaders have since April. I’ve been eating it up. Haven’t you? The images of abandoned armour, the fuel dumps, the sullen faces of Russian commanders rounded up as prisoners of war.

Many years ago, when the earth was young and leaving the European Union was a position espoused only by those trying to stay on the right side of Bill Cash at a drinks party, Ken Clarke stood for the Tory leadership against Iain Duncan Smith. He said one memorable thing while making his doomed bid for the captaincy – which was that the Tories needed to decide whether they were going to be a political party or a debating society. What I understand him to have meant by that was that ideological purity buttered no parsnips in politics. For most of its history, its friends and its enemies alike would agree that the Conservative party has been a magnificent machine for winning and retaining power.