Despite the seismic shift in the political landscape caused by Labour's overwhelming victory of May 1997, the abiding memories of the night itself were the many moments of personal drama as a number of high profile political careers were launched, stalled or destroyed.

The 1992 election - a close-run contest in which Labour hopes were buoyed early by exit polls suggesting a hung parliament before being dashed by David Amess' victory for the Tories in bellwether Basildon - had a profound bearing on election night 1997 for many watching events unfold, and for Labour supporters in particular.

Throughout April 1997 every opinion poll bar one - a rogue ICM poll in the Guardian showing Labour with just a 5 per cent lead - predicted a significant victory for Tony Blair.

However, the bitter memory of 1992 was never far away in the minds of many Labour supporters, and they would not allow themselves to believe the broadcasters' stunning exit polls forecasting a majority of between 150 and 200.

In the television studios, however, there was no such reserve. Peter Snow's swingometer swung further to the left than ever before: "On it goes, on and on and on. Look at all those Conservative seats turning red, more than a hundred of them," said an animated Mr Snow.

As Conservative politicians were hauled up before the likes of Jeremy Paxman, they initially went into denial, refusing to speculate on how the night would unfold.

Even as the first seats were declared, with Labour winning decisive swings in heartland seats such as Sunderland South and Hamilton South, supporters and party workers still looked on for confirmation that what they were seeing was not some terrible trick.

The one they were waiting for was Edgbaston, the Tory-held Birmingham suburb which was known in advance to be the first of the 92 key seats the party knew it had to win. Edgbaston was to be the Basildon of 1997.

It was about 12.15am when the constituency's returning officer took to the stage in the National Indoor Arena, signalling the start of the biggest knees-up in Labour history.

Gisela Stuart, the Labour candidate, had overturned a Tory majority of 4,000 and won the seat by about the same margin.

In the Greater London Labour Party's headquarters, as in offices and clubs throughout the country, celebrations started in earnest.

In the office of Terry Ashton, the general secretary of the London Labour Party and a veteran of Labour's years in opposition, the scale of the party's victory was becoming apparent.

With agents and party workers calling with estimates of results in their seats taken from the sampling of counted ballots, Mr Ashton began relaying news of possible victories that seemed unbelievable both to him and the party staff and activists.

Not only was the party home and dry in each of its eight key seats and other close marginals, it was looking likely to win seemingly impossible victories in Romford, Wimbledon, Finchley and Golders Green (once held by Margaret Thatcher), Harrow and, it was whispered quietly at first, the count was on a knife edge in Enfield Southgate, where the incumbent was Michael Portillo.

Back in the television studios Conservative politicians - who had to wait until after 1am for their first win - had given up the ghost and were asked to start explaining their catastrophic defeat.

In the BBC studio Cecil Parkinson, the former party chairman, was putting a brave face on it, even when asked by a gleeful Paxman: "Cecil Parkinson, you are the chairman of a fertiliser company. Just how deep are the Tories in it now?"

Undaunted, Lord Parkinson responded with a quick one liner of his own when told later that the Tories had doubled their tally: "At least we have a rival for the leadership now".

Not to be outdone by Conservative grandees, Labour's elated politicians were also in good comic form.

Paxman - again - asked Robin Cook if the defining factor of Labour's triumph had not been the unpopularity of the Tories.

"Jeremy, I think this is a time to be magnanimous," came Mr Cook's reply. "It would be churlish to deny the Conservative party their part in our victory."

Shortly afterward, one of the least dignified spectacles of the evening was to start in Putney, where former culture minister David Mellor had been ousted by Labour's Tony Colman, assisted by Sir James Goldsmith, leader of the Referendum party, who had bankrolled an anti-euro campaign.

As Mr Mellor made his concession speech, members of the crowd began chanting "out, out, out".

Television cameras watched as candidates on the stage, including Sir James but not Mr Colman, joined in the chanting, prompting a ruffled Mr Mellor to turn on Sir James and tell him: "You can get off back to Mexico knowing your attempt to buy the British political system has failed."

The drama continued as no less than seven cabinet ministers fell, including Malcolm Rifkind, the foreign secretary; Neil Hamilton lost out to Martin Bell, the sleaze-busting white knight of Tatton; Norman Lamont, the former chancellor who had moved from vulnerable south west London to the 'safer' seat of Harrogate, was another casualty.

Like their Labour opponents, Liberal Democrats also had more to cheer about than in previous elections.

Having substituted the microwaved curries of their Cowley Street headquarters - donated by a party benefactor to keep staff and volunteers going through the 24-hour shifts of the campaign - Lib Dems were at Pizza on the Park in Knightsbridge for their election night party.

The party's press office had painstakingly prepared an election night briefing paper for the MPs and spokespeople who were to appear on the rolling news programmes, with a "success" scenario that ran to 50 key gains.

The Lib Dems had their "Basildon" when Steve Webb was returned for the Northavon constituency, way down the party's target list. Lib Dems at Pizza on the Park knew it was going to be a breakthrough result for the party - which eventually won 46 seats, up from 20 in 1992 - and the party went into full swing.

So enthusiastic were the celebrations (or so minimal the budget) that the free booze had run out by the time Paddy arrived by helicopter from his Yeovil constituency at about 4am.

The day was saved, however, by the Financial Times political team who turned up with a bottle to tide the party press office over until more champagne was authorised to toast the 'Glorious Leader'.

Unsurprisingly, the mood in Conservative Central Office was less upbeat, starting off gloomy and getting progressively darker.

The bucks fizz and tears had started to flow shortly before 10pm when the BBC's exit poll made clear that Labour was in for an unprecedented landslide, but the defining moment for the Tories came at around 3am with the news that Michael Portillo had lost his Enfield Southgate seat.

Mr Portillo's result came in just as William Hague, then Welsh secretary, was in the middle of a live TV interview at central office.

Mr Hague's body froze on hearing the returning officer announce on television that Portillo had lost. This was the moment that crystallised the Conservatives' defeat; but it also raised for the first time the possibility that someone other than Mr Portillo might win the Tory leadership, although he had been privately telling the party he expected to lose since the previous Monday.

Throughout the night, the plush headquarters of Conservative Central Office seemed akin to a military bunker, with TV screens around the building broadcasting the merciless enemy bombardment.

Danny Finkelstein, Central Office's head of research, went on bravely spinning through the night. He explained the scale of the defeat by arguing that, technically, the Tories ought not to have won the 1992 election and this result made up for it.

But it was all irrelevant. As dawn rose, journalists tapped away on laptops, trying to shut out the noise of Tories getting blind drunk and bursting into tears.

There were as many tears at the Royal Festival Hall, where Labour was holding its party, as there were at Central Office. But these were tears of joy, and perhaps more so, relief.

The party had finally buried the memory of four painful election defeats and if that was captured by any moment it was Tony Blair embracing his predecessor Neil Kinnock when he arrived at the party to address workers and activists.

By then, some time between 5am and 6am, a huge crowd had gathered both inside and outside the Hall, and Mr Blair addressed an excited crowd, still scarcely able to believe what they had witnessed on TV screens throughout the night.

"A new dawn has broken, has it not?" Mr Blair asked the crowd. "And it is wonderful."