D- Day for Theresa May- the Prime Minister faces the truth.

D-Day for Theresa May- the Prime Minister faces the truth.

So it's all come down to this. This is the day when a British Prime Minister stares into the darkest hole and finds out who her real friends are. Those who are baying for her blood and quite happy to stab her quite happily in the back may be the ones who were never on her side anyway. Suddenly, the whole Brexit charade is beginning to resemble, quite alarmingly, at least one of Shakespeare's most melodramatic plays.

 You can almost see those flashing knives, the inevitable vultures hovering over May's spinning head and a deadly menace. Naturally you can almost smell the betrayal, the ranks of the disappointed, the frustrated and the plainly objectionable. In fact some of the rank and file Tory dissenters are threatening to leave the country if things don't go their way. This is gang warfare on the grandest scale and for the squeamish among us it could get worse before it gets better.

For the rest of this day a potentially lethal air of medieval barbarity may well  hang over for us quite some time. The cynics will tell you that the Prime Minister had this coming, that at roughly 6pm this evening the metaphorical guillotine will be prepared, the blade sharpened and the outcome will be too grisly to contemplate. Heads will roll, all of Theresa May's erstwhile allies and colleagues will be sniggering under their breath sadistically, rubbing their hands with glee and looking ever so smug.

It is all rather messy, chaotically shambolic and, quite frankly, the most appalling fiasco British politics has ever known. For the first time in what seems like many decades there are some of us who can barely hold back our disgust, our fury, wrath and outraged contempt for every single member of the House of Commons regardless of their political affiliations. Surely, we are all now on the verge of  an inflammatory revolt, a fiery street demonstration that could break the country apart with deeply serious consequences.

The truth is of course, that a no confidence vote has been implemented and Theresa May has the best part of the day to win back the support she thought she could count on. Now though she faces perhaps the most uncomfortable day she's ever had to endure as Prime Minister. You're reminded of the school playground bullies who finally confront their enemy before violently pinning them against the wall. They then throw wild rabbit punches at the poor victim's stomach, maul them to the ground and then kick away furiously at the head and the feet.

Poor Theresa May. It's at times such as this that your warm and sympathetic heart goes out to May. Where does she go from here? Who does she turn to in a major crisis. Sure, husband George will be there as loyal, loving and trustworthy as you would expect him to be. But when the door shut last night at 10 Downing Street it must have sounded like a shuddering thud and clump rather anything that could be remotely described as optimistic. Even the Downing Street Christmas tree looked deeply concerned.

Then, the utterly brave Prime Minister emerged bleary eyed to face the cameras this morning slightly miffed at the fact that she hadn't been allowed to finish her tea and Corn Flakes. Her hair had well combed streaks of grey, the jacket looked navy chic and of course she was gallant in the face of uncertainty She delivered that heroic speech that all leaders make when the guns are relentlessly firing around them. She continued to place her faith in her unwavering principles and insisted that even she wasn't the lady for turning.

Now your thoughts went back to that fateful day when a certain Margaret Thatcher had to fall on her sword whether she felt inclined to or not. The men in grey suits ganged up on her in a dark alleyway and plunged the offensive weapon deep into her heart. As the car pulled away from Downing Street later that evening, the tears and grief were clearly etched on her face. It was as though she'd lost everything when the reality was that she'd probably outstayed her welcome. For the final time Thatcher departed the scene of the crime knowing fully well that sadly she'd been the architect of her own downfall.

And yet almost 40 years later the present Tory leader finds herself in a similar predicament but with one or two subtle differences. Then, a majority of Britain had grown heartily fed up with the 'Iron Lady', a woman with an indomitable will and stubbornness that often defied belief. The nation was sick and tired of those long, allegedly droning speeches, the insistence that unemployment had been cut dramatically and that Britain was terribly proud of its Falklands Islands heroes. The fact was that she did stop milk for primary children and she hated Arthur Scargill's bullish miners.

For Theresa May the approach is somewhat more understated, less controversial, far more diplomatic, quieter and more reticent. Within the next couple of hours the whole of Tory party will sit down in sober lobbies and conference rooms, chewing the cud, thinking through all of the possibilities and probabilities, reflecting pensively and then weighing up the pros and cons. This is perhaps one of the most critical decisions any Tory 1922 committee will ever make.

What is safe to say is that consciences will be severely examined, judgments reserved and minds will be made with heavy hearts. The last couple of years since the announcement of that first referendum sent most of us into emotional overdrive, have been agonising and at times amusingly satirical. There have been dreadfully lengthy discussions at the highest level, differing interpretations on the meaning of Brexit, frequent delays, knuckle dragging, name calling, bitter infighting, petty accusations and counter accusations and genuine Whitehall farce.

There have been red bloodedly rude, spiteful and rancorous radio phone ins, Tory and Labour squaring up to each other, viciously eye balling each other, lobbing verbal grenades with no shame at all and determined to undermine each other at every opportunity. Short of quite literally attacking each other and physically mauling each to the ground, this has been hideously disgraceful behaviour that most would normally associate with seven year olds.

So who have been the perpetrators and co- conspirators behind this wicked plot. Are they wearing masks and do they have bottles of laudanum or poison in their back pockets? Are they skulking around wood panelled  Westminster corridors with evil sneers on their faces ready and waiting to pounce on the Prime Minister? Or are they just gossiping salaciously in small huddles, fully equipped with withering sarcasm?

The chances are that the Prime Minister will get to keep her position but not without a fight from her sternest opponents. But the rambling potty talk will doubtless provide the acoustic background music in everybody's ears. Still we'll be re- introduced once again to backstops and other oddly peculiar buzzwords and phrases that have suddenly added to the endless tedium of it all.

If all goes according to plan we will still be debating ad nauseum the merits and demerits of leaving or staying in the EU, changing our mind again and then deciding that they were right or wrong  all the time. They will be burying their heads in their laps, shouting most abusively over each other, stopping just short of obscenities and just giving up because they may be wasting their breath anyway.

What seems certain is that the personal grudges and heated recriminations will continue long into the night. They will because that's how modern politics works. Regardless of the result this evening you feel sure that Tory grandees such as Michael Heseltine will bring very salty grievances to the table, Boris Johnson will undoubtedly grumble and mumble his disapproval with that very well mannered Old Etonian tone and Michael Gove may reluctantly accept the result since Tories always stick together.

Be sure though that when 9pm strikes tonight somebody is in for either sharp jolt in the ribs or just allowed to take over the country and finish off what she started over two years ago. It could be all very unsightly and ghastly rather like that horror movie that could so easily turn into a soppy, happy ever after all romantic comedy where everybody kisses and makes up. There there, that wasn't painful at all was it?

Still here we are in the final countdown before the Conservative party eventually decides what they want out of life. By the end of the evening of course Theresa May will still be in office as Prime Minister unscathed, without a scratch but a slightly bloodied nose. The hope is that all will join hands with each other, slap each other on the back in excessive self congratulation all the while sure that they'd had nothing to worry about in the first place.

 Brexit will still be there like a bad penny but faith will be restored and pride preserved. We will still be playing Musical Chairs and Pass the Parcel because this is the most childish party game imaginable. Besides, you can hardly go wrong with a good, old fashioned argument and politicians have always seemingly loved the sound of their own voices. A penny for the thoughts of David Cameron, Theresa May's predecessor as Prime Minister. Cameron is probably lying on a sun kissed beach relieved that no longer does he have to account for his actions. Sensible man.  `