Ever get the feeling you’ve woken up to the zombie apocalypse? When you left the conference on Tuesday afternoon, the place was buzzing. Delegates talking about Keir Starmer’s speech. Trying to get on the guest list to the hottest parties.
Then on Wednesday morning, you find that half the conference has disappeared. Just vanished. And those that remain appear to be wandering round in circles. Hungover, trying to work out what’s going on. In search of some existential meaning. Most striking is the lack of queues for food. Though that could be down to the fact there is no food in the food concessions. Even the conference staff have given up. It’s every man and woman for themselves. Give it a few more hours and people will be eating each other.
All that’s left of the Labour party conference is the after-party conference. Keir and his entourage left on Tuesday. And most of the delegates and media have followed. The official reason for Starmer giving his leader’s speech a day early is that he was off to New York for the UN meeting.
A cast-iron excuse. Until you remember he left early last year when, as leader of the opposition, he had no foreign trips lined up. It feels bonkers. Book the conference for four days and then give up after three. Maybe it’s all part of the prisoner early-release scheme.
Still, Keir did still leave his mark. Before heading off he sat down with the broadcasters to pre-record a media round. Something he’s getting better at. The ability to talk for hours on end and create almost no news whatsoever. Even the freebie row that dominated the first day of the conference has become a virtual non-event. All the poison drained. Death, where is thy sting?
Nick Robinson and others only bother to mention it now out of habit. It’s all just words to fill dead air time. It’s not even as if Keir has perfected the ideal answer. His responses still feel faintly ridiculous. It’s obvious he should have just said no.
Instead Starmer tried to claim he took the suits and glasses because it would have been rude not to. So, I’m putting all readers on notice. Anyone who thinks I need a makeover and is prepared to fork out for it, please get in touch. Am happy to have the sketch sponsored. So, we should be delighted for Keir that he can now see properly. A week on and no one really cares. The world has moved on. The Middle East is on the verge of yet another war. A budget is imminent. These are the things commanding our attention.
Inside the hall, the last rites of the conference were being observed. First on stage in the graveyard slot was Wes Streeting. But even as energised a performer as Wes struggled when the seating was half empty. Still, he gave it his best shot. Rattling through everything the Tories had done to the NHS and how it needed to reform or die. This was a greatest hits compilation. All his best speeches since becoming health secretary rolled into one.
Wes did just about remember the obligatory “two minutes hope”. The clarion call that if we can all find a way to carry on living for another day then tomorrow might be different. Here we were being asked to place our faith in AI and technology. With this we were being offered eternal life. Health secretaries often forget we’re all going to die of some thing eventually. And that some deaths are messier and more painful than others. No one has yet beaten the system.
Next up were Bridget Phillipson and Liz Kendall. Bridget is something of a natural. Comfortable in her skin and in her job. Best of all she comes across as a normal human being. No forced grins or amateur theatrics. Just her doing her job. Liz … less so. Though she did get a standing ovation for saying the government had had no choice but to cut the winter fuel allowance.
How she managed that was a mystery. Maybe she’s a hypnotist. She also managed to convince herself that the whole purpose of cutting the WFA had been to increase spending to make sure everyone in need claimed pension credit. Reality is no object to Liz. She has somehow convinced herself she thought up the triple lock. Truly, she moves in mysterious ways.
We then came to the one moment of conflict. Or what should have been a moment of conflict. The debate on the winter fuel allowance that Unite had wanted to be held earlier in the week when people were there and the world was half listening. But the conference arrangements committee had it shunted into a 10-minute slot on the last day. Still, there was some transparency in the dark arts. If this had been the Tories, there would have been no debate at all. Just garrotting behind closed doors.
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Sharon Graham moved the motion. Yes, the Tories were to blame for the state of the economy but there was no need to cut most pensioners adrift. Just tax the wealthy to pay for it if necessary. Or invent your own fiscal rules. Take your pick. Apart from a pocket of Unite members near the back of the hall, only a smattering of delegates stood up to applaud.
Then it started to get weird. The debate consisted of just two speakers. Both of whom spoke against the Unite motion. One, a pensioner, said she always gave her £200 to a food bank anyway. It seemed that most delegates were on the government’s side. When it came to the vote, the show of hands looked 50-50. But the conference arrangements committee declared that the motion had been carried. Long before it got to a card vote. Not that anyone seemed concerned. The government had lost. Long live the government. Keir wouldn’t be losing any sleep. No one would.
That just left the closing formalities. Jerusalem and The Red Flag sung more out of habit than conviction. The conference done and dusted with more than half a day to spare. The zombies sent away, blinking into the daylight. The Labour conference over for another year. The perfect conference. One in which almost nothing meaningful had happened.