Over on ITV they were showing off something rotten: “The fastest, most engaging coverage, the best views, the best graphics, from our party on the River Thames — our groundbreaking virtual-reality coverage — from one of the best views in Britain, the London Eye!” We were promised the presence of Joan Collins and Ian Hislop at this alleged “party”, and also ELVIS, the ELection VISualiser — “Cos it’s all shook up.”

Jonathan Dimbleby capered and gestured in a rather embarrassed way, as well he should. It’s one thing getting a young girlfriend and a trendy haircut when you hit the male menopause, but you don’t automatically have to advertise your immediate readiness to joint-understudy Ant and Dec, especially through the medium of the election-night broadcast. I hoped that his brother, David, leading the BBC team, would display rather more gravitas.

Here was David, with BBC One’s election-night MORI poll on the stroke of ten showing Labour on 37 per cent, the Tories on 33 per cent, the Lib Dems on 22 per cent. Oh no, it’s Peter Snow — this oncedignified man faffing about with his Virtual Parliament and looking none the better for it.

Then Sunderland South did their usual thing of making the sublime democratic process look as much like It’s a Knockout as possible, with students running about carrying ballot boxes, bumping into one another and giggling, determined to be first in with their count. All that was missing was Mr Blobby doing a pie-chart using his head.

Andrew Marr was brought on to add class. Lots of my friends perve on him, but what is he really except Dumbo with a First? I turned over to ITV. There was Gerald Scarfe, who was going to cartoon live on air, of all the stupid, pointless things. “Are we going to be shocked or amused?” J. Dimbleby simpered. “I will amuse you,” Scarfe intoned, then drew a cartoon of Mr Blair carrying a cross. “That’s Iraq.”

JD got very excited about “big-name stars starting to arrive” on the ITV party boat. Champagne was boasted about as were, tragically, Germaine Greer and Baddiel and Skinner. Then ELVIS appeared — it was just a map made of Lego. I was disgusted and turned back to the BBC.

It was well good. Our Girl in Sedgefield was calling Gordon Brown “a human shield” for Mr Tony, which gave me the mild horn, while Our Girl in Folkestone said that it was going to be “a long night” for poor Mr Howard. Our Girl in Fort William said that Charles Kennedy was going to be “extremely disappointed”. Doh! That’s the job of the Lib Dems, to be disappointed.

“Fascinating night coming up!” cried Peter Snow, crowing over what looked like a huge game of RISK. “There’s a party at the BBC, and I’m going there,” Natasha Kaplinsky said randomly at a regional counting house. They’d obviously heard about the “party” ITV were having, but I couldn’t help thinking that such boasting undermined the solemnity of the situation. Sunderland South result comes in at 10.44! Chris Mullin gets it for Labour, but with a decreased majority. “Concern for the common good has defeated the ruthless drive for self-interest. Optimism has triumphed over pessimism,” he declaimed. All in all a good pro-war speech. Oh, hang on, was he against it?

David Dimbleby says an amazingly snooty thing as we see the Birmingham ballot boxes unloaded. “So many seats in Birmingham, I’m surprised they don’t get them all confused.” As if on cue, that man of principle, Robin Cook, has a good old swank about Iraq cutting Mr Blair’s majority. Back to ITV, and they’re showing that old film of Michael Portillo losing his seat last time round, then showing him with Stephen Twigg, who won it, moseying down the street nattering like old mates. Gosh, though, Portillo’s a sexy piece! He’s in the studio talking to JD, then JD goes: “Here’s an old friend of yours, arriving at our party”. It’s only Mrs Thatcher getting on the ITV boat. Scarfe, with typical grace, has drawn a cartoon of Portillo with his head being chopped off, looking ugly. Dream on, sucker. Portillo laughs with discreet pity for the hire-by-the-hour tart Scarfe has become.

By midnight an historic third term was being predicted for Labour. But, ooo’, what a failure for Labour, apparently. So the vote’s down — come on, it’s the third Labour victory! It’s historic, you losers! Over on BBC, Paxman was pointlessly rude to Blunkett — and Blunkett called him on it, in the most elegant, offhand way: “Oh, go on, Jeremy, just carry on like you always do.”

I turned back to ITV. It was half past midnight and Labour had 14 seats, the rest, sweet FA. Nevertheless JD, “Lord” Hattersley and the rest of the geek chorus were tut-tutting and twitching the metaphorical net curtains like no one’s business. To see Hattersley who, on the “Dream Ticket” with “Nell Kinnock”, led Labour to such unspeakable defeat criticise Blair for not pulling in the votes was like seeing Typhoid Mary criticise the NHS for bad hygiene. On the ITV “party boat”, Mrs Thatcher was talking to stellar creatures such as Edwina Currie and Chris Eubank.

Mr Blunkett made the most beautiful pro-war and socialist speech. Only the great Gordon Brown being crowned in the new constituency of Kirkcaldy & Cowdenbeath could be better. By 1.20 Labour had 100 seats and the Tories 9, according to ITV, and Hattersley showed his true colours by objecting to the imminent victory of the party so allegedly dear to him by saying that they were based on exit polls and not true results. It took an objective analyst to convince him of the validity, but it was a dead giveaway.

1.50. Labour hold Hove! I go all teary, thinking about my early vote. Tony and Cherie get out of a car in Sedgefield, grinning and a bit dazed. Tony’s hair is grey, and his skin no longer orange. He looks like a grown-up. And now he’s on the stage, all tall and serious. Labour have 208 seats, the Tories 36. Now they have 209, with a swing from the Conservatives to Labour in Sedgefield. He makes a beautiful downbeat speech, almost apologising for his victory. It’s the smartest thing in the world. Scarfe and the others aren’t prepared, and they all go: “Ooo, he seems sad.” Of course if he’d made a triumphalist speech they’d have gone: “Oh, what a heartless bastard. Think of Iraq.”

It’s almost 3am on Friday and I need my kip. But I’m haunted by the sad smile of Oona King, the beautiful, brilliant, brave MP for Bethnal Green & Bow who, unbelievably, has lost to George Galloway. Ten past three. Scarfe draws Michael Howard as a vampire bat. Let’s hear it for raw, uncompromising, artistic originality. Twenty past three. Blair goes home to Trimdon Labour Club, where he started as a posh novice some quarter of a century ago, and is suddenly surrounded by the love of his people.

Seeing him there you finally got both the sincerity and the snake oil of the man. Tony Blair was a man who seemed to have spent his political career as a shape-shifting approval-seeker, only to surprise even himself by his support for an unpopular, righteous war of genuine liberation which lost him much of the glad-handing goodwill he had spent so long in building up. And which finally made him a serious, halfruined statesman, as opposed to a spoilt, lucky salary-man.