And I mean totally abandoned, by friend, foe, stranger, every group where people gather and where anyone in the world can put the skids under you and damn the consequences.
Come in Theresa May.
From a seasoned, former Home Secretary to delightedly jangling the keys of Number 10 Downing Street in the pockets of the numerous and varied fashion outfits that have seemed to be so necessary to go with the job.
It’s quite unnecessary for the likes of me to plod backwards through to the critical spots where the big mistakes might have been made in this quite extraordinary episode.
I am sure that most people started her journey of hope and new beginnings with her. When we are not being horrible, we can be quite nice human beings really.
But unless those whose heads have been in a cupboard for at least a year or so, there could have been no missing the route this journey was taking.
A walk into chaos. And each time it didn’t quite work out, on went the hob nailed boots by the watchers – yes on, not off – and the kicking started big time.
Well that’s what it must have felt like as she tried to do what she thought was the right thing – simply her best.
Then when everything crumbled across Europe and the Prime Minister’s many, many meetings, persuasion tactics and constant pleas for more time, she was faced with the constant haunting that this could be her legacy.
Now don’t tell me that such feelings wouldn’t matter to you. Of course they would.
And whatever happens now, she will still need to cut a pathway through a mountain of baying topped with bullying.
Fair criticism is one thing. But how dare all those vicious folk in and out of Parliament now bleat on about how stoic Theresa May was, how she did her best and how good she was at everything else and what a pity about the tears. Shame on you all!
Yes of course she has got things wrong, albeit in under very trying circumstances. Yes, her judgment has slipped more than a bit and yes, she has to put her hands up to that.
In the several times I’ve met her, I have found her good company and prepared to tackle even the dodgy questions I have put to her.
And I hope she still smiles at the story she told me about her milkman when she was appointed Home Secretary and who knocked respectfully at the door and asked whether the new job would make any difference to her milk requirements.
Now, all these years on, poor Theresa.
It’s rather like leaving a bewildered puppy outside in the rain.
The least she deserves is a warm towel, a gentle hand and hope she doesn’t bite!