I WANT TO TELL YOU about the worst moment of my life. Actually, that’s a bit melodramatic. It was the worst moment of my professional life.

It came when I was working for Conservative Central Office, shortly before the 1997 election. I had spent a month, on and off, writing an analysis of Labour’s election programme. And I had decided (why oh why did I do this?) to make it a satire.

When the party chairman saw it, he said “hey, this is funny” and decided to read out sections at the launch press conference. It did not go down well.

Is there such a thing as “thunderous silence”? I think there is. When the chairman had finished reading out my last gag there was a pause before the first question. “Do you think this is the most embarrassing press conference ever held by a major political party?” asked Michael White, of The Guardian. That, at last, did bring a laugh.

Meanwhile, I stood at the back, shifting from one foot to the other, the words “Britain’s Unfunniest Man” printed on my forehead so that everyone would know where to find me.

I spent a bit of time afterwards saying to friends: “But it was funny, I promise.” Now, however, I can see where I went wrong. Where I went wrong was in thinking that whether it was funny mattered. I hadn’t understood this basic political fact — long before the ill-fated press conference, journalists had decided that they were laughing at us rather than with us.

I recount this tale because I’m all heart. You see, I thought Tony Blair might find it useful. His position may not be quite as hopeless as the Tory position in 1996, but it is rapidly heading that way. And yet he keeps doing things that suggest that he still believes we are laughing with him, not at him. Appointing Margaret Beckett as Foreign Secretary, for instance.

It occurred to me that a little bit of advice culled from my experience between 1995 and 1997 might just come in handy for those still left defending Mr Blair at No 10:

Things can only get worse. Human beings are optimistic. Salvation is always just around the corner. However, there comes a moment when all that is round the corner is a man with a custard pie.

John Major didn’t want to call a general election in 1996 because he was convinced (correctly) that he would lose. So he waited, we all waited, for things to get better. But they didn’t. After all, why should they? In 1997 the period between calling the election and election day itself was one of the longest in memory. It was hoped that something, anything, would happen to change the political situation. Instead, things steadily deteriorated. The frustration of voters increased the size of Labour’s landslide.

Tony Blair clearly believes that if he waits, good luck will bring the perfect moment for departure. This is a dangerous misjudgment.

Reshuffles don’t work. Bit late this advice. Sorry. I thought he would have worked this out for himself.

By the last year of the Tory Government, in fact well before that, the only story in town was “Split Conservative Party makes another hopeless mess of things as right wing tries to take control”. Anything that happened would be twisted around to fit this story, assuming that any twisting was necessary.

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