But he will soon give up, throw down the phone in anger, shout at Stewart Wood, ask his colleagues to leave him alone and sit in the office alone for a minute, acknowledging his Greek fate. Sue Nye and Peter Mandelson will come in and they all will discuss what kind of message to give the waiting cameras – graceful exit, apocalyptic warnings from the No 10 threshold or a teary, sympathy-reaching “I-gave-it-my-all-for-a-country-I-love” statement.
He will then turn to his new task – staying on as Labour leader or ensuring that a disciple gets a leg up in the next leadership election -- anything to deny David Miliband the party crown. He will be marshalling the arguments in his head – that he ran the Tories close, much closer than anyone would have thought possible six months ago; and that he is the only one trusted enough to battle the Tories on the economy, their main focus in government.
How do I know all this? Well, I don’t. But I sense it, as do you. If you don’t, read the Prime Minister’s latest Guardian interview, observe the Labour campaign’s zigzagging (“I agree with Nick” vs “Nick Clegg is a threat to national security”), note the squabbling among Labour leaders and the last-minute desperate measures (What else is an Elvis impersonator?). These are the hallmarks of a dying campaign, and one which knows that in its bones. In a few days, the feeling will have spread from its bones, to its arteries, vital organs and finally to its head. Gordon Brown is done for.