Boris Johnson has become the eloquent author of his own downfall

The prime minister has apparently warned his enemies that they’ll need a tank division to get him out of No 10. It may well happen, taking the shape of the T34s of the backbench 1922 Committee, bombarding the place with declarations of no confidence.

The tanks are now massing in sufficient numbers to inflict a decisive Kursk-style defeat on Boris Johnson. These seem to many like Boris Johnson’s final days.

Like other leaders running out of time and friends, he has had to turn to his most loyal lieutenants and those not in a strong enough position to refuse to serve by his side. The appointment of Andrew Griffith, the prime minister’s parliamentary aide, as the new head of policy after the shock resignation of Munira Mirza, looks very much like a hurried, battlefield promotion.

Hence, too, the arrival as head of communications of Guto Harri, who was an effective spin doctor for Johnson when he was mayor of London. A bright and likeable man with an engaging manner, and a former BBC political correspondent, Mr Harri may benefit from the sympathy of the lobby pack.

Charged with delivering the prime minister’s orders to a rapidly diminishing army of support is Steve Barclay, quadrupling up as MP for a Cambridgeshire seat, minister at the cabinet office, chancellor of the duchy of Lancaster and now as the prime minister’s chief of staff. It is a constitutional oddity, having a cabinet minister so embedded in the PM’s team, and he will be kept busy: the pandemic isn’t over, Brexit is unravelling and there is no strategy to end the cost-of-living crisis.

Mr Johnson still has some assets on his side, of course. He has most of the large majority he won in 2019. He can hire and fire, though less freely. He can make decisions. He can create distractions. Some members of the cabinet are loyal, and some, such as Nadine Dorries, will go down with him – no matter what.

So, he has some defenders he can rely on. He has a justified reputation as a spirited campaigner. His activists still find him energising. He has some good days in the Commons.

Yet Mr Barclay and the rest of the scratch team must know that they are short of ammunition and troops. Indeed, the Conservatives were losing political ground long before Partygate. The financial squeeze on households, labour shortages, the refugee crisis, Matt Hancock’s hypocrisy, the Owen Paterson scandal and assorted sleaze stories had already damaged the reputation of the government, long before Allegra Stratton’s resignation made it into the public domain.

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Mr Johnson also now faces confident, competent opposition parties. He has lost two safe seats to the Liberal Democrats, been disowned by his own party in Scotland – where he is considered toxic to the union – and is 10 points behind Labour in the polls.

As Mr Johnson dreams up initiatives and commands his invisible armies, his staff fear that most of the party are looking to the future without him.

The levelling up white paper was supposed to be a wonder weapon that would deliver a devastating blow to the enemy. Instead, it blew up in Michael Gove’s face, leaving a crater where the fightback was supposed to be. Mr Johnson’s attempt to smear Keir Starmer by bringing up Jimmy Savile similarly backfired.

Mr Johnson appears to be losing the battle. His allies, most vocally Ms Dorries, blame the media – as well as “attention-seeking” and bitter “Remainer” MPs, or the civil service – for what has gone wrong. They downplay the crisis, say he was “ambushed by a cake”.

Yet such jocular asides cannot erase the sense of public anger, which is real; and the truth, which looks ever more straightforward: Boris Johnson has become the eloquent author of his own downfall.