Five hours after Sir Keir Starmer's watery resignation speech, Andy Burnham swanned into the Commons to take his seat.

The chamber was rammed. Labour MPs squeezed knees, thrilled Sir Keir had been washed down history's drain.

'Rome is saved!' cried a sarcastic Sir Desmond Swayne (Con, New Forest West).

The oath of loyalty to the King was followed by some milling about at the table as the new Member for Makerfield signed the check-in book. During this lacuna another Opposition heckler offered: 'He's not the Messiah.'

Mr Burnham chuckled, as he can afford to during these, his sunshine days. Our latter-day Bolingbroke travelled south by train, boarding the 10.54 from Manchester Piccadilly amid a media scrum.

He was accompanied by two blonde assistants. First-class tickets, thank you. Labour's new liege lord arrived 21 minutes late at London's Euston, thus qualifying for a part-refund from the railway company. With another media throng outside the terminus, he was last to alight and left by the goods exit, in future surely to be marked by a blue plaque.

It was now 1.30pm and the citadel had been vacated. The only other pretender to the throne, Wes Streeting, had surrendered all claims (for the time being). In Shakespeare the usurped Richard II is upset that 'jauncing', 'proud' Bolingbroke uses Richard's favourite horse, Barbary, to enter the capital. Mr Burnham chose the safer option of a black cab, its progress to Westminster filmed by a helicopter from one of the rolling-news networks. It had even pursued the train as it made its way into the sheds at Euston. Hardly gripping television.

Labour MPs, like Barbary the horse, adapted quickly to their new master. A photocall for Mr Burnham in Westminster Hall saw frantic jockeying for the front row. Rachel Reeves pushed herself to the fore, but then Mr Burnham stood right in front of her, and she was invisible. In the Commons, Government backbenchers and junior ministers craned to be noticed. 'Gi's a job!' shouted another Opposition wit.

After that, and a few Northern-matey words to Speaker Hoyle, Mr Burnham vanished to the flurry of meetings, plots and vital doings that will be his lot for the next few years. If he survives that long. Not many do these days.

Sir Keir's speech in Downing Street had come at 9.34am on a sunny morning brushed only by birdsong and, ugh, a din from that oafish anti-Brexit campaigner who plays his ghetto blaster at hellish decibels. Much of Sir Keir's speech was wrecked by Beethoven's Ode To Joy.

Sir Keir accepted his fate with stoical grace but towards the end, when he mentioned his wife Victoria and their 'beautiful children', the understated Englishness of it all became too much.

His voice started to beak and he bit back tears. Lady Starmer engulfed him in a hug. Supporters cheered but all Sir Keir will have heard, I wager, was his own thudding pulse, and Victoria's coos of comfort.

He devoted much of his speech to claims that his premiership had been a wonderful success and that he was leaving Britain in a better state. One hesitates to be beastly to a man on the scaffold but this was debatable. David Lammy tried the same thing in the Commons later and was shredded by Kemi Badenoch. 'No one is in charge and Britain is not being governed,' said Mrs B.

For Sir Keir, as he said he had listened to his parliamentary party's demand to quit, all must have been as ash and wormwood in his mouth.

He accepted that verdict with 'good grace' and was therefore departing for the sake of 'the country that I love'. Shades of the Abdication speech.

Outside No 11 stood a small crowd of friends, among them Mr Lammy, Lord Hermer, Darren Jones, Chris Ward and Lady Chapman.

They clapped and whooped. Defiance too late, perhaps, but at least it showed that the poor, old, useless sausage had some who loved him.

He and Victoria trudged back inside the house and that was the last we saw of them for the day.

Sir Keir leaves office – as they invariably do of late – looking older, more shrivelled, beaten. For all this hoopla, it will probably be the same one day for jauncing Burnham.