13 observations from the 'hell on earth' that was Labour Conference
Wikipedia says the annual Labour Conference is “formally the supreme decision-making body” of the governing party of the United Kingdom. Which is sort of true. Unlike the Conservative party conference — a largely champagne soaked talking shop — Labour’s yearly jamboree does have binding political consequences in the form of various resolutions voted on by hundreds of elected party delegates and affiliates from across the nation. Party democracy is nowhere near as powerful as it once was, but there is a justifiable purpose to funnelling thousands of people into an expensively policed few square kilometres of a provincial city for a few days every year.
But for many of the thousands of people who attend — party members, journalists, senior politicians, lobbyists, PR types, etcetera — many not casting a single vote in the conference hall, Labour conference is also a sort of social bedlam, an intense and energy sapping whirlwind of nods and winks and meetings and chats and interviews and jokes and parties and drinks and cadged-cigarettes and regrets and hangovers. This quickly becomes apparent when, as an observer, one attempts to knock it into any sort of coherent narrative shape, ex post facto.
Many journalists try — this year’s overriding conclusion seem to be that Labour has won the war but can’t secure the peace — but there was simply too much going on, very little of it to any meaningful end, to honestly sum it up in a sentence. Instead, a few observations from your correspondent’s conference notebook over the course of the four-day event.
Morgan McSweeney owns one suit. Ok, possibly more than one. But every time we saw him schmoozing it was the same. At conference — his evenings were often spent at the Revolucion de Cuba bar on Liverpool’s Albert Dock where various exclusive events were held — the PM’s head of political strategy was decked out in a certain lapis blue two piece which we’ve also seen him wearing around parliament. Rarely photographed and more of a backroom man, McSweeney doesn’t pay as much attention to his wardrobe as his freebie loving boss Keir Starmer.
Public figures start to go slightly doolally after days trapped in a hotel-cum-exhibition centre with every other politician and hack in the country. Towards the latter end of the conference I watched an incredibly prominent television journalist wandering around a champagne reception shouting at various men: “why are you so tall?!”
Power can’t buy you canapes. The snack game was weak this year. One of the most prominent opening night parties had nothing to offer but mini-pretzels and crisps (they also cut the fizz budget this year). Credit though to the Sky News team, who decorated cupcakes with the faces of the Cabinet at their party. Delicious…
Wes Streeting recycles his jokes. On opening night, the high-spirited Health Secretary did the speaking round at various welcome drinks receptions. But he didn’t have the time to write a whole different speech for each event. Instead he recycled a joke about Sue Gray being responsible for the assassination of John F Kennedy, the disappearance of Shergar and the disappearance of Lord Lucan for audiences at the New Statesman party and the Labour Together/IPPR reception.
The basements of Chinese restaurants make excellent party venues.
There is no love lost between the Labour party and Owen Jones, once the most prominent Left-wing columnist in Britain. Once a fixture of conference’s exclusive parties in the Corbyn era, OJ was frozen out with his camera team this year as he attempted to interview MPs and Ministers in the conference zone. His attempts to talk to Chancellor Rachel Reeves were strongly rebuffed by her team. One Labour MP, Oliver Ryan, publicly called for Jones to be stripped of his media accreditation and banned from future Labour conferences.
Sue Gray was absent but her son Liam Conlon, newly elected Labour MP for Beckenham and Penge, was representing the family well. He hosted this year’s raucous Irish Society drinks, putting on a massive spread of Tayto’s and Jameson’s whisky. The Irish Ambassador in London came along, along with multiple cabinet ministers. Conlon has strong Irish roots through his famous mother and his country singer father Bill Conlon.
The massive 2024 intake of Labour MPs has quickly stratified, like the first week of secondary school, down the lines of prominence and popularity. There are broadly: jocks, inbetweeners and dorks. The top group — those with illustrious former careers in the media-political world along with Labour nepo babies and hot people who have gone — barely recognise the lower sorts (councillors, local people, no-hoper candidates who accidentally became MPs because of the Labour landslide and the ugly).
Emily Thornberry is trying hard to be “brat”. She presided over a DJ set at the Labour Students disco on final night, playing Charli XCX’s 360 and swaying along on stage to adoring screams from the young Labour members in the crowd. When a video of the incident found its way onto X with a caption about how Thornberry “has finally put the argument about who is the most Brat UK politician to bed”, she proudly retweeted it.
“Labour Voice” is contagious. Keir Starmer, Rachel Reeves, Ed Miliband. The adenoidal speaking style associated with these Labour big wigs has spread to the younger wing of the party. We heard tyro-delegates and red students who sounded remarkably like their political heroes.
The cigarette banners love smoking cigarettes. Liverpool’s Albert Dock lends itself perfectly to social smoking. Dozens of Labour MPs could be seen hanging off the dock’s railings, puffing away at late night parties. One prominent MP was crafting roll-ups for fellow revellers. Don’t tell the PM.
“There’s only one Pat McFadden.” A chant heard echoing down the Liverpool waterfront on Monday evening, eliciting a smile from the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster and his entourage. Only true political nerds could come up with this sort of thing.
Everyone drinks too much for their own good. The free bars and long drinking sessions into the early hours, not to mention bibulous lunches, were particularly jarring this year as Labour self-confessedly goes a bit “nanny state” (the words of Health Secretary Wes Streeting). In an interview with LBC the PM had to pooh-pooh a story about pubs closing early when confronted by Nick Ferrari about the subject. The hypocrisy would have been stinking given many of the people at Labour conference were nursing force-12 hangovers much of the time.