At all three party conferences, I felt cut adrift

Perhaps it’s age, perhaps disillusion, or perhaps party conferences really aren’t what they used to be, but I have struggled this autumn against something that has seemed to be carrying me away. As with a swimmer drawn from the shore by a strong current he cannot see, I’m trying not to leave but the people on the beach seem to be getting smaller, and the holiday noise, the shouts and laughter, grows faint.

I knew my duty on arriving on the south coast for the Liberal Democrats’ annual gathering. It was to sit through conference debates in the vile windowless warehouse that is the Brighton Centre, scarring the waterfront with a great slab of concrete that’s blind to the sea, and take the temperature of a party in sharply reduced circumstances. A columnist ought to find that interesting. God knows I tried.

But as I left the railway station to walk down to the seafront, only one ambition, one strong curiosity, one love, gripped me.