A masterpiece new entry for the dictionary of political quotes, as a Labour MP told the Guardian yesterday of the party’s leadership options: “We have to face up to the fact that every single one of them is fucking useless.” Anyway, come on in and experience chaosmaxxing with the governing party! Let’s take a look at the runners, riders, loose horses and horse traders who just want Keir Starmer to go and live on a farm. This is a fast-moving situation, so please don’t worry if something different seems to have happened to him by the time you read this column. Apparently the van you saw is owned by a vet who had simply failed to repaint it. Although one thing we absolutely must insist on the death of in the hours/days/weeks ahead is the catchphrase “I get it”, or the observation of another hopeful that he or she “gets it”. At this rate, the only thing people will be interested in many of this lot getting is hantavirus.

The language in general is unconvincingly exquisite. Behold, people asking delicately for an “exit timetable” when what they really want to do is get the PM on the first train to Eff Off For Ever. Some cabinet ministers have reportedly discussed how Starmer could take “a responsible, dignified, orderly” approach to departure, to which the only answer now is: get a time machine, buddy.

Consider the past few days for the spreadsheet King Lear. On Sunday, the PM was still droning on about things he’s going to put in the 2029 manifesto. He might as well discuss things he’s going to put in season eight of HBO’s Harry Potter series. Monday’s big public address didn’t go any better – Starmer’s reheated that speech so many times it has now incubated bacillus poisoning. He doesn’t shape events; he narrates them. He’s sort of Britain’s audio description. Or worse, its ChatGPT – incapable of original or constructive thought, merely reflecting a nation’s howls of impotent frustration. Great point! Would you like me to show you other ways in which we’re screwed?

But let’s get to the “stalking horse” Catherine West. This has been some hilarious Real Housewives behaviour from someone I couldn’t have picked out of a lineup before Saturday. But that was before Catherine announced herself as a new cast member by executing a perfect 10 confessional-to-camera that seemed in effect to amount to: “Rules? I don’t play by them.” The Labour party has more rules than policies, of course, most of which are so impenetrable even its own MPs don’t understand them. But by Monday West had blundered into tossing a drink over herself by misspeaking when she thought the contest should be. “I shouldn’t have written ‘in’ [September],” she revised, “I should have written ‘by’.”

Ah. That timing could leave our next candidate in the shit as opposed to just by it. We are of course discussing Andy Burnham. Andy Burnham would love you to know that something very modern is happening with him. He’s running a clean-girl mayoralty, favouring pared-back, comfortable clothing – kind of a no-politics politics look. Then again, I was re-treating myself to some Barbara Pym last night, and I got to the bit at the jumble sale where one of the Excellent Women staunchly lays out once more the “regulars”, the garments that had by this stage failed to sell on multiple occasions, including “a mangy fur with mad staring eyes priced at sixpence”. Was there something of that forlorn stole to Andy Burnham, I found myself wondering? He has, of course, run two highly ineffective Labour leadership campaigns before, losing to Ed Miliband and Jeremy Corbyn. People keep saying: “different times”. Same guy though. Even Burno-optimists will have to consider an alternative scenario unfolding: he resigns the Manchester mayoralty, which Labour goes on to lose, while Nigel Farage throws the kitchen sink at whichever byelection Andy’s fighting, and Reform wins it. Another seat is found for Burnham, but that one goes to the Greens. And so on. Bet against the banter option if you dare.

Or perhaps Ed Miliband is the real “regular”? If only there was some way of determining whether Ed would win a general election, etc. I am genuinely mesmerised by the notion that support could mass behind someone who devoted a night of his last campaign to trudging up the stairs to Russell Brand’s flat and being asked: “Since suffrage, since the right to vote, what has meaningfully occurred?”

Elsewhere, it’s not clear how much attention we have to pay to Angela Rayner’s policy platform, as her role in the forthcoming contest is unclear. Or to put it another way, we do know she’d like people to pay more taxes, but she might not be able to run because her own case for not paying the correct amount of tax has yet to be resolved.

Finally, we must come to Wes Streeting, who is being described by one senior Labour source as a “self-interested lizard” who has covertly orchestrated this entire coup, but seems to be mounting a DWP defence. I’m not talking about the Department for Work and Pensions, but the Devil Wears Prada sequel that Streeting and Peter Kyle went to over the weekend, which Kyle yesterday said proves Streeting wasn’t on manoeuvres. As Kyle reasoned: “Somebody who was planning to pull the plug and launch a leadership bid in a couple of days’ time doesn’t go to the cinema with a friend.” I dunno. Film about a necrotic workplace that sweetly reckons getting the old gang back together is enough to resuscitate it in the long term? I guess if people want to suspend their disbelief enough, they will.

• Marina Hyde’s new book, What a Time to be Alive!, is out in September (Guardian Faber Publishing, £20). To support the Guardian, order your signed copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.

• Marina Hyde is a Guardian columnist