The king looked fed up. His attempts to throw a sickie had come to nothing. Did the government really want to go ahead with the state opening? Apparently it did. Would it be OK if he phoned it in? He fancied a day working from palace. It wouldn’t be OK. It was a three-line whip. One of the few occasions a monarch was obliged to attend.

“My lords. Pray be seated,” Charles said. He sounded exhausted already. Where was everyone, he wondered. The Labour benches had plenty of gaps on them. The chronicle of a death foretold. Over on the Tory side of the Lords, there were fewer tiaras on display than usual. Must be because Claire’s Accessories has closed down. But at least he could see Chris Grayling. Always good to see someone being rewarded for abject failure. It’s what makes Britain great.

Charles sat down and started playing with his hands as everyone waited for Black Rod to go and fetch the MPs. A knock on the door of the Commons. “Not now, Andy,” joked the Labour backbencher Torcuil Crichton. Keir Starmer looked worried for a while. He wouldn’t have put it past Burnham to have turned up at the worst possible moment.

During the short walk to the Lords, Kemi Badenoch tried to engage Keir in conversation. “We had some sensational results in the local elections,” she said. Starmer smiled wanly. She was as delusional as ever. At least he understood how deep he was in the shit. Just behind them, James Cleverly tried some bants with Wes Streeting. “Everything OK?” Never better …

Wes ignored Jimmy Dimly. He wasn’t in the mood after his 16-minute humiliating brush-off from Keir that morning. Starmer’s people skills were a work of art. And he certainly wasn’t going to take any lessons in how to run a leadership challenge from a man who was so half-witted, he couldn’t even count. Jimmy D had managed to eliminate himself by getting his supporters to lend their votes to Kemi in 2024. Talk about a death wish.

“My government will …” Charles sighed as he began to read out the king’s speech. My government? He wasn’t even sure there was a government at the moment. It was odds-on Starmer would be out of Downing Street by the end of the summer and all this would be a total waste of time. The next prime minister would have different priorities. Charles would be doing everyone more of a public service if he just ripped up the sheets of paper and started reading out what was on TV that night. He had heard there was a cracking episode of MasterChef. And for sport fans, there was Man City v Crystal Palace. He was very much a palace fan.

But duty called so he carried on. He could see the heads go down. All this stuff that was never going to happen. In any case this wasn’t so much a government plan of action as a set of processes: the very reason so many people were frustrated with Starmer in the first place. A lot of this could all be done with statutory instruments. Ah well. This at least wasn’t his problem. He was out of here. Back home for a quick lie-down.

As MPs made their way back to the Commons, Nigel Farage fell into conversation with the Tory Andrew Mitchell. Hoping he would find a sympathetic ear after learning he had been referred to the parliamentary commissioner on standards for failing to declare a £5m gift from a Thai crypto billionaire. Why would anyone imagine he hadn’t been transparent? It had just completely slipped his mind. As it would for anyone who had just been given £5m. It was basically chicken feed. Just five Nobel peace prizes. All of which Nige was expecting to win some time soon. If Donald didn’t beat him to it.

Who knows? Farage might even find himself facing a byelection after a recall petition. Over to you, Andy … Perhaps not.

With the king’s speech taking precedence, Labour had called an unofficial truce on leadership manoeuvres for the day. Well, almost. Streeting’s team had briefed journalists that he would be resigning as health secretary to trigger his bid the next day. For the afternoon, though, Wes was back on the frontbench of the Commons for the debate, sitting between a stony-faced Bridget Phillipson and the cadaverous Pat McFadden. He tried to engage Bridget in some light conversation. She was having none of it. She pulled out her phone and started some online shopping.

It’s a tradition that the king’s speech debate begins with two government backbenchers making lighthearted contributions. Most fall flat on their face. MPs often have the knack of making the difficult look impossible. Naz Shah was a welcome change. Chris Vince less so. Naz took apart Nick Timothy and Robert Jenrick for their comments on race and spoke movingly about her childhood and problems with mental health. Funny and sincere at the same time.

With the preliminaries out the way, it was over to Kemi Badenoch. As so often, she sank to the occasion. This was a time for a light touch. To expose with humour the absurdities of a government laying out a legislative programme when it’s in the middle of trying to replace the prime minister. Instead she went in studs first, charmless to the last. No stiletto to leave Labour MPs unaware they had been fatally wounded. Kemi can’t do subtlety.

So even though she had some good lines, Kemi’s barbs were easily ignored. People just don’t like being lectured. Ironically, she unites the Labour party in a way that Keir can’t. Whenever she opens her mouth, the government benches close ranks. She even had some weird theory that people who had voted Reform last week had actually been voting for her. Even her own side seemed confused by that one.

That just left Keir. For what might be his last outing before a leadership contest. It this was his best shot at convincing the doubters, then he’s unlikely to have won over many undecideds. There were some nice phrases – thanking Kemi for her usual generosity of spirit – but much of his speech was unfocused. No real vision. Nothing to unite behind. Then maybe he just needs a break. It’s been a hell of a week. It’s tempting to think this can’t go on. But it probably will.