CONSERVATIVE PARTY leadership elections have come to have an unexpected resemblance to the World Athletics Championship. For a decade now, with one exception (1999), these events have occured biennially in odd-numbered years. There is, however, an important distinction between the two events. No Tory supremo has subsequently performed so effectively as to prompt suspicion about the misuse of steroids.

The current battle is undoubtedly the most bizarre of the lot. Michael Howard’s decision to tender a post-dated resignation letter, and then produce a series of proposals for a new party rulebook that achieved the rare feat of being detested by virtually everyone, has created anarchy. A month after the announcement of his intentions, Conservative MPs do not know the basis upon which his successor will emerge, never mind such minor details as when the exercise might formally begin and end. It is as if the organisers of the World Athletics Championship had deemed it a wheeze to insist that the men’s 400 metres final be preceded by a prolonged egg and spoon race.

In these curious circumstances, the names of possible contenders are floated, and in some cases sunk, almost daily. In the past week, for example, it has appeared probable that Tim Yeo, Sir Malcolm Rifkind and Michael Ancram will all put themselves forward. Although they are three amiable souls, none of them is a compelling aspirant for the leadership. Mr Yeo looks and sounds too akin to the local golf club president and one doubts whether the road to Downing Street runs through the 18th fairway. Sir Malcolm is too closely associated with the dire John Major era. And Mr Ancram is, well, too Mr Ancram.

Meanwhile, that collection of Tory MPs born in the mid-1950s, a cadre whom I christened the Blueberry Hill set here three weeks ago, has yet to settle on a single advocate and may never do so. For a while it seemed that Andrew Lansley, the Shadow Health Secretary, might obtain that prize but after an interview with this newspaper in which he indicated, not unreasonably, that his party would advance by calling themselves “Reform Conservatives”, his colleagues have turned against him. He might still stand, but kites are being flown by and for others from his generation. They include Damian Green, the former Shadow Education Secretary, Alan Duncan, the Shadow Transport Secretary, and David Willetts, the Shadow Trade Secretary.

The remaining faction among parliamentary Conservatives, the Notting Hill set, is also less than entirely sure of its strategy. It is torn as to whether to press David Cameron, the Shadow Education Secretary, into the frame or to back a more established and experienced man, such as Sir Malcolm, on the “young cardinals, old Pope” notion.

Who would be the best combatants in this surreal competition? It is sometimes fashionable in politics to borrow from the analogy of the tortoise and the hare. This is a slightly strange comparison because in electoral life the hare (the frontrunner) wins nine times out of ten. The most interesting clash would involve a completely different pair of creatures: it would pit the owl against the vulture.

The owl is Mr Willetts. His opinion pieces in The Times and lecture to the Social Market Foundation last week were characteristically elegant and intelligent. He dealt with the dilemma that faces the Tories with uncommon candour and clarity. He truly comprehends the extent to which the Conservatives have become disconnected from contemporary Britain and the distance that they, not the voters, have to travel to meet up again. His teasing nickname of “two brains” is properly deserved; it might even underestimate the amount of material stuffed into his cranium. It is a reflection of his fundamental decency that the primary objection to his becoming leader is that he might be too nice and insufficiently robust for that challenging position.

The vulture is David Davis. Nobody claims that he would be insufficiently robust to replace Mr Howard. He would strangle his children with one hand if that was necessary to seize the office. He has backbone. Indeed, if Mr Willetts is hailed as “two brains”, then it would be apt to refer to Mr Davis as “two spines”. Some people hold his ruthless ambition against him. That is mistaken. In politics, low cunning can be more of an asset than high principle. The more serious concern about him is whether he really appreciates the scale of the change that the Conservatives have to undertake to be prepared for power. This is not helped by his instinct to keep his cards not so much close to his chest as superglued beneath his ribcage. There is a lot of mystery about him.

A Davis-Willetts struggle would be good for both of them. Mr Davis would be obliged to stake out his inner thinking more openly for fear of allowing Mr Willetts to secure a monopoly as the “man of ideas”. If Mr Willetts threw his mortar board into the ring, then he would have to address the argument that he is pure gold but lacks steel. Whoever triumphed (Mr Davis would start as favourite) would do well to appoint the other as his Shadow Chancellor. A rich frontbench forest should benefit from the presence of both the vulture and the owl.

The sole virtue of the warped nature of Mr Howard’s departure is that it allows the Conservatives plenty of time to ponder the personalities of potential candidates and the philosophy demanded of them to be plausible. A contest centred on Mr Davis and Mr Willetts would sharpen that process. This is not a luxury that can be indulged in endlessly, though. Five leadership fights in ten years is too many. The Tories must act shrewdly enough this time to ensure that the year 2007 passes with a World Athletics Championship staged, but no Conservative Party leadership election.

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