At least 500 happy subjects crammed into a room at the Royal Academy of Arts. Tory MPs seemed almost ecstatic. “It IS a coronation,” exclaimed one MP as he waited, wiggling in excitement because he had never been to one before.

Technically, of course, it was an election but it did not feel like one.

There was nothing grubby or practical here. It was a grand room in a grand building and it was filled with grand people: lords and ladies, fundraisers and donors.

There were ranks of MPs and crowds of shiny, happy Notting Hill people. The air kissing may have broken all records for a political event.

There was absolutely no tension. No one was running around, mobile glued to ear, looking desperate. The atmosphere was as bubbly as a glass of champagne. It could not have been bouncier if we had all been on a trampoline.

The Tories were here to celebrate: everyone knew who had won. Even the stage backdrop knew, for it was baby blue, the colour of the Cameroons.

The ceremony itself was simple and mercifully brief. Michael Howard said a few words about how wonderful everything was.

David Davis and David Cameron came out and stood together, looking dangerously on the brink of a civil partnership ceremony. DD sported a big loopy grin. Dave had a more controlled smile, but his eyes were red-rimmed and glittering.

A huge roar erupted when Mr Cameron’s total was announced. Dave kept his face open and blank, as cameras exploded in his face. DD went to the lectern to say a few words. Dave continued to look ahead at us and, such is the charisma factor, it was almost impossible to look away from him.

It was only when he looked at DD that we did too. It must be said that DD has never sounded so gracious (he must have a job) as he introduced Dave as the man who would be the next Conservative Prime Minister.

Dave did his trademark no-lectern, no-notes speech. He stepped forward, which made him loom almost too large. “I said when I launched my campaign that we needed to change in order to win. Now that I have won, we will change,” he cried. The Cameroons love these circular sentences that make no sense.

Dave made what may have been the first Tory joke about being carbon-neutral (normally Lib Dem territory). He wants to set targets for reducing carbon. “I tried to make a start this morning by biking to work,” he noted ruefully. “That was a carbon-neutral journey until the BBC sent a helicopter to follow me.”

Laugh? They almost exploded. The coronation was in danger of becoming a love-in. But Dave did not relax. He may be nice but he is also ruthless and he had a political agenda.

The first thing on his list? Bury Thatcherism. “We can mend our broken society,” he promised. “There is such a thing as society. It’s just not the same thing as the State.”

The next thing on the list? Attack Gordon Brown, who will henceforth be known simply as Road-Block.

The crowd adored it. Bravely, Nick Robinson, political editor of the BBC, then tried to introduce a sour note. He said that he had attended five Tory leadership announcements and all of the previous leaders had been losers. “What makes you different?” Dave didn’t miss a beat as he retorted: “This is my first one.”

The crowd erupted. It is Year Zero for the Cameroons. Then Dave started to hug his wife, Samantha, kissing her no fewer than five times as he patted her pregnant bump. You could almost hear the trumpet fanfare, as the procession began.

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