. Hands, peering over his glasses to look for laughs that rarely came, followed the classic wedding speech formula: thanks, a few anecdotes and endless lame jokes. Clunky visual metaphors flew forth. The 'no money left' note was brandished at the mostly-empty hall, to limp applause. He even whipped out a pair of patented 'Sir Keir Starmer flip-flops' – on sale for £16.99 at the conference shop. To call this a dad joke would be an insult to fathers everywhere. The Conservative Party in 2023 feels a bit like a long-running sitcom limping into its final season; almost all the original characters have been recast (a shout out to Michael Gove for clinging on throughout, the Kenneth Williams of){kind=link}
The long-running sitcom that is the Conservative Party feels like it is limping into its final season
Welcome to conference! After last year’s Chernobyl-themed event – where Liz Truss gave a final cheery wave to her acquaintance with reality – this year looks set to be comparatively calm. Part of the reason for this is that Tory MPs are staying away, engaged in more enjoyable activities – golf, trips abroad, poking their own eyes out, etc. Who, then, is conference for?
Someone had an answer. “Conference is about the members” purred Priti Patel on Sky News, definitely not mindful of the fact that they not only make up the majority on the conference floor but also that a majority of their votes are required to be the next leader.
It was left to Greg Hands, the party chairman, to open proceedings on the main stage. His general demeanour was that of a father of the bride at a Home Counties wedding; which made a change from the normal funereal approach most cabinet ministers take when speaking in public.
Chris Heaton-Harris proved uniquely ill-equipped for emoting enthusiasm. “For the last 391 days,” he announced, in the manner of an undertaker explaining the embalming process to a trainee. “I’ve had the best job in Government … being Secretary of State for Northern Ireland.” (Famously, people who love their jobs laboriously count down how long they’ve been doing them, to the exact day).