Gosh. Here we are.

It's been emotional

I am one that loved not wisely but too well.

William Shakespeare

Or

My friend, I'll say it clear · I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

Frank Sinatra

Or

Hey you, big star
Tell me when it's over

Deftones

Or

We should have won these games... Everybody’s sad, everybody’s crying.

Arda Guler, 21, a Turkish player after his team was eliminated from the World Cup this week

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It’s a time for tears.

Across the country, young people are saying goodbye to their schools and the friends they made along the way. There are promises to meet up, but the real world awaits.

Graduation Days are here - bittersweet moments of endings and beginnings.

The summer solstice has passed; darkness is coming.

With all this emotion crashing around the country, a time of nostalgia and yearning, who could be blamed for wanting to join in. To feel part of something.

And so it was that our Prime Minister stepped away for a weekend in the countryside. Deep reflective moments, looking out over the hills, unnoticed tears making their merry way down his cheeks. Perhaps

He has tried, really, really hard. We’ve all seen that. It’s over now.

As he broke down into tears at the end of his speech, he spoke about ‘the most important job’ of being a husband and a father.

These heady summer days.

It didn’t have to be like this. He could have stood at the podium and defied his MPs. It’s the members (and trade unions etc) who decide. He would automatically be on the ballot.

He could have gone to them and made the case for continuity and delivery, the need to get through this transitional few years into the glorious future. When the fruits of his Labour are felt by the nation, popularity will return, he could say, stick with it. Let’s go lovely people, let’s run this joint.

That’s not the path he’s chosen.

Nope, we’ve got a new Prime Minister on the way. This is the exact, exact thing that we were told we wouldn’t get under the new government, the one that was elected under a banner of ‘change’. Here we are anyway.

What happens now seems to be increasingly clear, becoming clearer by the minute.

Andy Burnham has already launched his campaign to stand, as everyone knew he would.

Anyone else can join if they like - if they get the support of the 80 other MPs and various constituencies etc.

Nominations open on 9th July and will close on 16th. If there is more than one candidate, there will be a contest that would be over by the time Parliament returns from their summer hols in September.

A contest would give Burnham some time to flesh out policies, to debate his vision of the future. There are those who saw his Question Time performance and think he needs a bit of sharpening.

A contest would give some public backing to the idea, a sense of legitimacy. Without one, it feels like a classic politician tricky, an illusion of choice from an Oxford educated ‘elite’. It feels murky and grimey.

To have a contest, though, you need to have someone willing to be the other candidate. Someone would need to stand up and say ‘I oppose you, Andy Burnham. I have an alternative vision for the country - let’s have this out.’ Although, it is hard to challenge a vision when no vision has been set out.

Wes Streeting was supposed to be the front runner to be the runner up. He’s not going to do it. He’s said he’s backing Burnham.

Cynics out there might look at the state of things and suggest that jobs are up for grabs and the prizes available for joining Camp Burnham (worst festival ever) are much greater than those available for those outside the tent. Ambition is a terrible thing.

Are there even 80 Labour MPs who would, in the face of all this, back a candidate they don’t think would win? To signal your opposition to the inevitable leader might not be the wise choice for the egotist.

Right now, it looks like Andy Burnham will be the Prime Minister the day after nominations close. Friday 17th July will be Burnham Day.

Where does that leave us? Well, nobody knows. Nobody knows how he plans to take the country in a different, better direction. Like the police looking into a loo theft, we have nothing to go on.

There will be more sadness. There will be more time for tears. Next time things go wrong, will it be Señor Burnham at that podium relishing the return to his Northern heartlands or will he be able to weather the storm, somehow?