Inside Labour party conference: 'Miserable' £8.50 sandwiches, Duolingo, bad merchandise and the worst DJs

I’m at a fringe on the environment listening to chief executives of energy companies talk about the green transition.

They’ve got five minutes each, and so far nothing they are saying is making news. Scottish MP and energy minister Michael Shanks was supposed to be here half an hour ago, but he’s late and I’ve got another event in 30 minutes, so I lift up my bag and sneak round the back to the exit.

I almost get away with it, only for the door to scratch the floor as I depart. Stepping past artwork of a miner, in the Museum of Liverpool, I see the rain is torrential. If I’d skipped this event, I’d be inside the conference centre, 15 minutes away. Instead, I’m going to get soaked.

This is the quintessential Labour conference experience - heading to fringes, talks and events in case something happens, gambling that a minister or MP may go above their brief, or accidentally announce policy. It’s a big ask at any conference, but at this one, where the dissent is quiet, it’s almost impossible. Because that’s the theme of this conference, one where delegates, supporters and MPs desperately await some positivity.

There is some cheer here, with multiple fringes being not just discussion, but often outright celebration. MPs are quick to mention how exciting it is to be addressing conference in government. Activists tell me they have come on and off again for years, but couldn’t miss this, with the party finally back in power.

Sadly, that doesn’t mean it’s all comfortable, not least due to the lack of seats in the conference area. People queue up to pay £8.50 for a miserable salad, then scramble for a space to eat it on the floor.

Prime Minister Keir Starmer with the Chancellor of the Exchequer Rachel Reeves after her conference speech | Stefan Rousseau/PA Wire

If they are not spending their money on that, there’s merchandise - and oh what merchandise. Mugs that celebrate the win, tea towels, pens, clothing. All are available at the Labour merchandise stall.

If you want something for free, that’s sorted as well, with pens, tote bags and chocolate available, if you pick the right stall. I secure ice cream after taking a photo at the Duolingo stand and head off to file.

At night things get even weirder, at receptions where staffers queue up to take pictures with MPs, if they even are MPs. There’s so many new ones, I’m convinced some conference goers are just pretending.

On the Monday night I go to an Institute for Public Policy Research (IPPR)/Labour Together party, where, because the latter is the influential Starmerite think-tank, there will be speeches from a series of ministers.

Despite this, it’s taking place in a Revolución de Cuba, a chain bar I’d have avoided even as a student. Now, I queue to get in. I follow this up with a Tony Blair Institute reception, where I network and meet people who will be helpful to my work and some who won’t.

This is naturally soundtracked by the worst DJ imaginable, who plays a remix of Taylor Swift’s Love Story that is so bad it warrants its own Chilcot Inquiry.

Coming to conference can be overwhelming. You work, you network, you work, you network. If you’re very lucky, you sometimes eat, though rarely before midnight.

It’s a lot, but it’s the best kind of lot, seeing a party not just in its representatives, but who makes it, the people and thoughts that keep it alive.