Tears, cheers and jeers as the long goodbye comes to an end

And what a last PMQs it was. The Commons chamber was jam-packed, the public gallery was jam-packed, the press gallery was jam-packed, and up above the government front bench in the spill-over were the Blairs: Cherie in shocking cerise; Kathryn in a floral number; Euan in an ill-fitting Iranian-style suit, and little Leo in his shorts kicking his legs as if he were at the circus.

In a sense, of course, he was. The Great Antonio was up for his final performance, letting off political fire-crackers and playing to the gallery.

Just before the show began, and adding some extra zing to the occasion, who should appear from the throng of standing MPs but the Tory turncoat Quentin Davies, representing Gordon Brown's clunking fist that landed smack bang on David Cameron's jaw from the night before.

Shameless, oleaginous, ruby-faced, the now Labour pin-striped and Brylcreemed merchant banker for Grantham was escorted in - grinning all the way - by a newly discovered comrade. The government benches cheered; there were handshakes, smiles, kisses, and hugs.

Still the big Q grinned a grin of Salmondesque proportions as he sat down and faced the contemptuous sneers of his one-time Conservative chums.

The word "traitor" in big capital letters invisibly flowed from the opposition benches to the government ones.

Then, up went the Labour roar as Maximus, their retiring gladiatorial hero, walked in for his closing contest. Yet, there was no blood, only bouquets.

Mr Blair's last 30 minutes in the Commons turned into a thankathon with MPs falling over themselves to pay homage to the outgoing PM.

Remarkably, Posh Spice led the tributes. Cherie, from up above, dropped her jaw and looked on in amazement, shaking her head in disbelief at Mr Cameron's effusive good grace.

Mr Blair gushed back about what a courteous kind of guy Dave had been.

The ever-urbane Sir Menzies Campbell could not be left out of the love-in. He jumped to his feet and praised the PM for being "unfailingly courteous", Liberal Democrat code for "you're my best mate, you are". What a thoroughly lovely bunch of blokes.

The saccharine camaraderie was broken only when Richard Younger-Ross, the idiosyncratic Devonian LibDem, asked an incomprehensible question about the disestablishment of the Church of England.

TB paused, stood up and said something he had probably wanted to say at every Question Time over the last decade: "I don't think I'm really bothered about that one."

As the question of the Sheffield floods was raised, local Labourite Angela Smith asked what advice the PM had for her poor, unfortunate constituents. A Tory cruelly barked: "Swim!"

The old Tory warhorse Sir Nicholas Winterton produced a loud Labour roar when he raised the question of a referendum on Europe.

With Labour MPs shouting "more", Mr Blair declared: "First of all, I like the honourable gentleman."

Adding that they would have to agree to disagree on Europe, the PM added, to much laughter: "May I say to him au revoir, auf wiedersehen, and arrivederci." Even Sir Nicholas burst his sides.

After a glowing tribute from the now grandfatherly figure of Ian Paisley, the time had come for TB's Frank Sinatra moment. Clearly battling a lump in his throat, the PM finished off by saying that if, on occasion, Westminster was the place of "low skullduggery", it was more often the place for the "pursuit of noble causes".

Wishing friend and foe well, he added with a wave of his hands: "That is that. The end."

The final curtain fell and Mr Blair slumped on to the green bench, clearly holding back a tear. MPs rose to applaud. So too did the public gallery. Mr Cameron got up and urged his colleagues to join in the display of public gratitude: they duly did, albeit some with a deal of reluctance.

The only noticeable clique of grim-faced parliamentarians, who, for the most part remained on their bottoms, were the SNP MPs, although their leader Angus Robertson was spotted rising slowly to his feet.

For some, however, it all appeared to be too much. Margaret Beckett, until this morning at least the Foreign Secretary, was weeping openly.

And with that, TB said his farewells to MPs and slipped out of the Commons for the short hop to No 10, past the block of pavement protesters, to say more farewells to his office staff.

A quick doorstep photo with his family was interrupted by a small penned-in group of anti-war protesters, including the Glasgow housewife turned campaigner Rose Gentle, who bawled: "War criminal" as the Blairs smiled and hugged for the army of photographers.

A pat of son Nicky's head and it was off to Brenda's place. But before she got into the armoured-plated Jag, Cherie, still wearing that eye-popping coat, had to have the last word with those horrible feral beasts.

Faced with a bank of some 100 snappers, Mrs B waved and, with a deal of understatement, told them: "Bye. I don't think we'll miss you." And off they sped. There was no Thatcher-like final glance at Her Majesty's Press but just a relieved look and a brief expulsion of breath.

The wait was now on for Gordy. The exchange of power down the road at Buckingham Palace lasted longer than expected. A media helicopter presaged his arrival. Just before 3pm, the famous gates opened and in came Premier Brown. Looking decidedly ill at ease, Britain's new leader addressed the microphone, speaking of being "strong in purpose, steadfast in will, resolute in action" and inviting "men and women of goodwill" to contribute to government.

He intoned his old school motto. The gathered hacks had been hoping for some grand latinate aphorism but, instead, got "I will try my utmost".

The speech over, GB appeared to have no idea what to do. Looking wooden, he moved one way and then another with wife Sarah looking equally bemused. "Wave", shouted the photographers. GB grinned and raised his arm, clearly unable to understand the photographic command.

"Kiss the bride, sir", shouted another snapper, at which the new PM sidled quickly over to the famous black door. "Smile", barked another lensman.

GB was having difficulty on the media front and having failed to wave, kiss, or smile, he disappeared behind the No 10 portal to be met with a wave of applause from the gathered staff inside.

The ex-Prime Minister meantime sped northwards to tell his local party in Sedgefield that he was quitting his MP's job to become the man who will sort out the Middle East crisis.

Now a mere mortal, he took the train and, of course, it was late arriving in Darlington. He strode up the platform unable to find his official car. Mrs B was following, carrying the luggage. The former leader asked a schoolboy jokingly: "Oh, are you my bodyguard?"

As Mr Blair got to grips with life as an ordinary citizen, back at No 10 his replacement was on the blower to George W Bush and other world leaders, accepting their congratulations.

Last night, as the light dimmed across Whitehall, Gordy was scratching out names and writing in new ones to the list of approved ministerial talents.

After preparing himself since a young man for the top job, the humble MP for Kirkcaldy and Cowdenbeath could be forgiven for pinching himself.

The rollercoaster ride is about to begin.