One of the more surreal moments of Labour Party conference last week was emerging from security into the area in front of the Brighton Centre to see three people going round in circles on Segways. For those of you not familiar with ‘ginger’, it’s a two wheel gyroscope enabled human transporter. I once had a go on one at Stanford University and didn’t fall off (unlike one person). For some reason they always make me giggle. I mean, what’s the point?
If I was being cruel I could ask the same about Labour Party conference as a whole. I realised this year more than last that it’s a place of strict divides and categories. What type of pass you have; who’s up, who’s down; whether you’re on the list or not. Everything is carefully managed to make sure there’s an ‘us’ and ‘them’.
I’m usually on the outside and I’m certainly not important enough to get invited to the good parties. This year the only one I got into was hosted by The Telegraph which was full of men with unfortunate haircuts and pinstripe suits. The wine was awful and I left after about five minutes.
