Shot rather lopsidedly from over David’s shoulder, the interrogation was an unsubtle battle of wittering and whimsy. “You’ve got researchers wildly ringing round local parties in response to what I’m doing now,” Blunt bragged rather unpleasantly. “You’ve made a boob!” topped David, on discovering that Blunt had actually voted for the man he was now trying to remove.

For all the fireworks, it was still a curiously unsatisfactory opening gambit. This was an election night, after all. Where were the shots of ballot boxes being rushed into community centres? Despite its topicality, the exchange felt almost out of place for being static and ponderous, and meant it took rather a long time for the programme to recover any sense of momentum. It didn’t help that the one person you can count on to inject energy into proceedings, Peter Snow, was shut away in a box room. Like last year, he had been posted so far out of David’s eyeline that handovers between the pair were painfully juddery and absent of all trademark banter. Even when it came to revealing the featured gimmick – “our Clap-o-meter!” – Peter found it a struggle to generate much sense of exhilaration.

It was almost 11pm by the time we got round to meeting the resident studio guests. David rather fussily cued in the politicians first: Theresa May for the Tories, John Reid for Labour and Simon Hughes for the Liberal Democrats. All rather predictably took refuge in the age old “good in places, not so good in others” spiel, though Theresa relayed dispatches hotfoot from the “campaign stump” through an exhaustive use of the word “churn”. It was rather off-putting to see her reach for this term again and again throughout the night, as the frequency of her appearances rendered the identical recitations rather ludicrous. Reid flapping bits of paper around and Hughes nodding sagely did little to help.

Finally David intoned, “I haven’t introduced the other side of this distinguished table!” It did seem something of an oversight to virtually forget about the presence of one half of his entourage, especially since they were the good half. Thankfully Andrew Marr and Tony King were present and correct, as they should be. Andrew’s never made any bones about how much he enjoys playing the part of a Westminster obsessive, and it’s what made him the best BBC political editor in decades. He’s also brilliantly indiscreet. “You and I both know Richmond Upon Thames,” he chided David, “one way or another.” Resplendent in a louche dark blue tie, Andrew elevated the coverage no end simply by having something interesting and witty to say. For once Tony King was slightly more restrained than his colleague, but played a valuable part in emphasising trends and factors others had missed. Both studiously avoided any references to churn.

Completing the line-up, in the now seemingly annual tradition of introducing a “new” number-crunching expert, was Professor Pippa Norris. It’s always fascinating to see non-TV people exposed to the vagaries of a medium they know little about and care even less. Pippa valiantly threw herself into the debate with a haughty, no-nonsense deportment. “Local elections are local elections,” she sang, with the starched ebullience of a hospital matron.

As proper results began to trickle in, coverage reeled away from the studio and across the country. Once again the high street wine bar was called into service for canvassing the views of “ordinary” voters – and once again confirmed its status as the nation’s most unsuitable location for live outside broadcasts. While Laura Trevalyan found herself snuggled up a little too closely to three perspiring Tory grandees in Maidenhead, over in Sheffield Robert Nesbit was floating in a wash of students. “I’m a little nervous,” he confessed, “but let’s dive in!” He managed to find one who’d actually voted. “Congratulations,” he chortled, “that’s very good!” Top of the Pops‘ woeful Star Bar seemed an oasis of calm by comparison.

Elsewhere Mark Mardell had the grim task of being stationed in Burnley and therefore tackling the BNP. He made a better job of it than Jon Pienaar last year, ditching the hyperbole for some cold elucidation on how the group had been able to make such inroads into local government. Equally articulate was Sally Magnusson, who it was good to see back on BBC1 again, enlisted to provide an overview of the Scottish Parliamentary elections. Standing in front of a giant purple board with the word “Glasgow” on it and a sprinkling of flower pots, you were reminded yet again how it’s only really on election programmes that you see such the length and breadth of the country depicted through such an array of anonymous, functional cardboard frontispieces. All the more important, then, to have people like Mark or Sally (“… the rather dazzling Tommy Sheridan!”) maintaining eloquent, if somewhat fanciful, election night rhetoric and reportage in the fine tradition of the great Michael Charlton.

Back at Television Centre, David seemed increasingly distracted. Attempting the otherwise straightforward task of reviewing the morning papers, he read one headline as “Tory leader resigns,” then bungled his apology with a throwaway, “Erm, don’t know what I said there.” A regional opt-out seemed to revive his spirits, as when we returned to London he essayed another of his patented cheap shots at digital television. “Interactive features are available, if you’re fortunate enough to watch satellite,” he began, pausing to grimace before continuing, “unlike mine, which keeps breaking up.” He turned to his lieutenants. “Andy – you’ve been chewing the cud,” David began, which prompted Andrew to fire back apropos nothing, “I was chewing a sandwich earlier on!” This sent David off kilter again, leading him to mumble something about “crisps” before lapsing into a bemused silence.

By this point debate had become a rather ungracious tug of war between those seeking to flag up the Blunt affair and those conscious of the importance of doing anything but. Michael Howard was determined to make sure everyone knew he belonged to the latter camp. Signaling his arrival in the studio with a clipped, “For heaven’s sake,” he set to work extolling the Tory Party’s performance with a bluster that contrasted pointedly with Theresa’s “churn” and further rattled an already shaken David. He jousted with the experts over interpretation, and slammed journalist Andrew Rawnsley’s contributions as “absolute poppycock”. Then he got into a wonderful spat with David Mellor who materialised on screen from what looked like the top of the BT Tower. Iain Duncan-Smith was “unkissed by distinction,” drawled Mellor, to which Howard spat fury at the impertinence of “the BBC inviting him on” to put a view contrary to his own. He even saw fit to reveal how he’d been doing a bit of moonlighting, taking his message of victory to other parts. “I said it on another channel an hour ago when we didn’t know the results,” he boasted, as if to utter the name “ITV” was somehow to commit a terrible blasphemy.

This roustabout was all very well, but what of the Clap-o-meter? It wasn’t until nearly 1am that we got to see Peter’s latest cavalcade: an enormous on-screen graphic comprising a stereo system, two huge speakers and a graphic equalizer. Peter activated the machine to produce short bursts of applause to illustrate the performances of various party leaders past and present. We heard John Major receiving what sounded like scattered acknowledgement at a half-deserted cricket match for his local election performance in 1996, a thunderous outburst of acclaim for Tony Blair in 1997, and so on. Given the circumstances this was a virtuoso turn from Peter, not quite on a par with “How Many Heaves?” or the movable staircase of 2001, but in its own way cannily imaginative and memorable. And after signing off to camera, Peter was left floundering in silence for a moment, before an off-screen voice exhorted “That was fantastic!”

By 1.30am the overall picture of results was clear, and it felt a bit unnecessary to introduce a whole new panel of politicians – including a giggling Lord Falconer – just to voice the same respective plaudits and warnings. But then, suddenly, that was it. Somebody had misread the time, for one minute David was gossiping with Andrew, the next he was delivering a hasty valediction. “There’ll be much more comment on all of this on BBC News 24,” he concluded, “and, I think, the President of the United States to follow!” It was a defiantly perfunctory full stop to a night that promised a lot but perhaps didn’t deliver as much as its protagonists had hoped. Instead we’d been treated to an unpredictable mix of calm and controversy, presided over by a somewhat passive line-up of front-line BBC faces.

Still, at least things didn’t fall off the air like David’s satellite. That really would have been a churn for the worse.

To find the Beeb devoting so much time on its main channel to an ashamedly conventional round of polling had itself proved surprising; nowadays you almost expect this kind of event to be the sole preserve of News 24. David was clearly thrilled to have BBC1 all to himself from 10.35pm onwards, and after a cheery colourful title sequence concentrating solely on the fact that Labour was “five years old” in office and not mentioning the local elections at all he began in boisterous fashion. “Spring time – and the annual celebration of democracy,” he boomed, and took us swiftly and precisely off on a journey round the main battlegrounds. “Norwich is exciting the Liberal Democrats,” was one particularly evocative promise; less inspiring was the first of many visits to Burnley and Oldham where the BNP were expected to win seats. As ever there was a tokenistic “alternative” outside broadcast in the shape of a nervous Richard Bilton, dressed-down for the occasion, direct from a posh and noisy wine bar in Liverpool’s Albert Dock. The camera lurched across the crowded room as Rich, introducing the big “theme” of the night – experiments with postal and online voting – threatened to “check out those new electronic methods.” And we could email him personally, if we’d been quick enough to catch the address in the three seconds it flashed on screen.

David wasn’t completely alone, though. After updating us on the few results already in – which he read off a piece of paper, rather unhappily – he cued in Peter with a self-effacing admission: “They’re very awkward, these local elections; they don’t actually immediately tell you what’s going on.” In fact it was so complicated that Pete himself seemed a bit thrown by whether to compare tonight’s results with previous verdicts in 1997, ’98 or 2000. It was good to see the usual complement of graphics, including a guide on “How to Judge the Parties” with the legend “Phew!” denoting Labour had lost only 200 seats. This year’s gimmicks, which were really what we’d been waiting for, comprised of a fantastic map of the London boroughs projected onto the floor, designed to show how Iain Duncan-Smith could, if achieving a particular share of the vote, be able to walk from his seat in Chingford to Downing Street without stepping foot outside of any Tory constituencies – “A blue-brick road, if you like!” Pete shouted, joyfully. This was complemented by some ace graphics depicting inflating and deflating coloured balloons designed to show the results of a special BBC opinion poll.

“Let’s just start some chat,” David then rasped, rather brusquely. The usual team were present and correct: Andrew Marr, BBC political editor, and Tony King, veteran of such occasions, both looking dapper and relaxed. Next to them, however, was a newcomer: Nicole Smith, from the Electoral Commission, and whom David turned to first, deeply concerned about “various kinds of graft and impersonation and all the rest. These are just bits of paper dropping into people’s doors! Kids are going round saying, ‘any ballot papers to buy?’” The topic of new forms of voting became a real motif of the Beeb’s coverage, reappearing in various arguments and guises throughout the night, and not always for the most obvious of reasons. Andrew was more effusive, promising, “Something mildly historic tonight – a bonfire of ballot boxes, frankly.”

These events seem to bring out the best in Andrew – recalling last year’s superb BBC General Election effort – and his presence besides Tony King effectively guarantees an entertaining and compelling broadcast, whatever happens. Conversely, softly-spoken Charles Clarke seemed to go out of his way to be positively and knowingly underwhelmed from the outset – a deliberate tactic perhaps, but one rather shown up by his Tory and Liberal colleagues, Michael Howard and Matthew Taylor respectively. They all expressed general concern about turnouts and their own gains and losses; and David found this increasingly irritating as the night developed, maybe anxious for a more obvious and dramatic angle to pitch his commentary around.

One final element of the coverage proved to be a series of pre-recorded reports assessing the record of Labour’s years in office. Four were promised, but only three were shown, and these were dropped into proceedings in a rather undignified and arbitrary manner, with little comment or discussion afterwards to justify their inclusion. The best of the three was a fun piece by Eddie Mair on constitutional reform, showing him talking in a swanky restaurant, looking slightly off camera while reminiscing nostalgically about his favourite moments from the last half-decade. He totally ignored the various meals and drinks self-consciously brought to his table throughout, and at the end a waiter appeared to deliver the great gag, “How was your meal?”

Up in Hartlepool, meanwhile, the big story was the challenge for the position of elected mayor by Stuart Drummond, formerly mascot of the local football team, or “the monkey” as David repeatedly and rather rudely labelled him. Zeinab Badawi was on site to bring “crucial information,” namely how, “the question on everyone’s lips is, is the monkey candidate going to win?” For all the hype her manner contrasted notably with that of Rich back in the wine bar, where the noise got worse during the night and drinkers had apparently been encouraged to stand really close to him making him visibly nervous.

When we did return to Norwich, after a dutiful regional opt-out, Shaun Ley tersely announced, “It’s pretty much all over here.” In fact it was completely over as all the results were in. Some silent scenes of Liberals celebrating reminded Tony King that, “East Anglia used to be Liberal country …”, pausing for comic effect then adding, “before the First World War!” The pace had picked up by now, and David felt more comfortable. “Oh, it’s like a General Election suddenly – all these results pouring in!” he quipped. Then a botched linkup with Jon Pienard in Burnley provided the best line of the night. As the monitors stalled we heard a voice boom out of nowhere: “We’ve got a problem with the camera.” With immaculate timing David cracked, “That’s why ITV Digital failed – because the picture kept freezing!” Everyone fell about, including – it sounded – some of the production team.

But as the results piled up so the overall picture became more confusing. Come 1am and David was scratching his head in pain. Everyone seemed to have won and lost; returning to Pete’s “blue-brick road” we saw how Duncan-Smith had only been able to get halfway towards Number 10 before a cut-out Tony Blair popped up blocking his way. “The story it tells,” responded Tory spokeswoman Theresa May waspishly, “is that I’ll never get Peter Snow to lay my carpet.” We’d reached that point where, the hour now being so late, all those present knew hardly anyone would be watching, and consequently the atmosphere lightened palpably. David’s microphone fell off his tie; we saw a cartoon of Blair giving the middle finger; there was even time for feedback from voters via some patented “video booths”. Then this was interrupted by a sudden cut back to Burnley and news of the BNP’s gains, and the wisecracks dried up.

David, however, wouldn’t give in. “We must find out about this monkey,” he insisted, and his tenacity was rewarded with the brilliant sight of Zeinab beginning an interview with Stuart Drummond, only for Stuart’s mobile to go off. While Zeinab spoke as if he’d already won, Stuart was noticeably careful to not sound any note of triumphalism. But after the build up this story received throughout the night, it was a real disappointment that for some reason we didn’t actually get to see the result declared – David merely announcing that Drummond had won, almost as a throwaway remark. Time was almost up, though there was room for a rather awkward interview between Jon Pienard and a BNP spokesman, of whom Andrew Marr then bluntly concluded, “not the brightest light bulb in the set.” It all made for a rather downbeat conclusion, despite Tony King’s assurance that, “Burnley is not a microcosm of Britain, let alone France.”

So another intriguing and absorbing night spent in the company of the BBC’s finest took its leave with Andrew reassuring whoever was still up that “It’s been rather a good night for democracy – perhaps strangely.” Searching for a suitable way to sum up, he continued: “We have all learned one thing we didn’t know before tonight – which is that envelopes with stamps on them work a great deal better than ballot boxes.”

It was left to David to tidy away the chairs and switch off the lights: “You may think sometimes that local elections are thin pickings – but we do our best.” And they could do no less.