Mrs Todd, Rona, is wearing a beautifully cut navy-blue suit, either Dior or top-notch knock-off. Her face looks like thunder. She’s not happy for some reason, though it can’t be because of the result. Todd has scooped 70 per cent of votes cast, an overwhelming margin of victory. His speech is short and self-deprecating, saying that so far the night has gone well and he hopes that he’ll be able to live up to the trust placed in him by the British people. Although he knows that he’s done it, he is not being presumptuous. He’ll wait for the TV channels to call the result and for Ramsey to formally concede. His eyes keep darting stage left, as if there’s someone in the wings and he wants to get away. The parochial rituals of constituency politics are a chore, and he is about to make his debut on a much bigger stage. Shortly afterwards we watch him climbing into the dark blue Jag. A TV reporter shouts, ‘On your way to Downing Street, Mr Todd?’ He smiles at the camera, winks, and gets in the back seat.

By 2 a.m., the Burma Road has thinned out. The last deadlines for the late editions are approaching, and some of the hacks have left to catch a few hours’ sleep. Tomorrow will be a long and packed day, with pages of analysis and reaction to prepare for Saturday’s papers. But all the political editors are still here, the chroniclers of history in the making. Ramsey retains his seat by a whisker. Even Mrs Thatcher’s former constituency in North London is seized by Labour. It is a rout.

‘Flipping fuck,’ says Jess for the umpteenth time, as another familiar Conservative MP is obliged to rethink his career plans.

I’ve done all I can here. ‘Jess, I need a favour.’

‘Another one?’

‘I want to wander over to the Labour do at the National. It’ll help with the copy for Saturday. Good colour. Also, I might pick up some gossip about who in the shadow cabinet will make it into government and who will be knifed by Todd.’

‘OK. But what are we going to do about the splash for the final edition and the potential slip?’ A ‘slip’ is a last opportunity to change copy, for the final paper that will hit the streets.

‘The story isn’t going to change in any fundamental way. And if there are any other sensational constituency results, or new quotes, just shove them in. I trust you totally. And if anything happens where you want a second opinion, just ring me.’

‘And what makes you think I won’t delete your byline and substitute mine?’

‘I would be disappointed if you didn’t.’