The Labour party conference, politicians, aren't they wonderful?

The Labour Party conference- politicians, aren't they wonderful?

I know what you're thinking. It's time to move the conversation back to politics and this week it's the turn of the Labour Party conference. Yes I know not that subject. You may be yawning your indifference and I understand perfectly. We've all had the most magnificent summer without a single mention of Brexit. That word again. And then there were the frequent references to Britain's departure from that huge courtyard of Western and Eastern Europe back biting and squabbling. It's been enough to get on anybody's nerves.

But for one week only it's time for the well drilled squadron of the Labour Party to load up their political ammunition before launching their heavy duty firepower at the Conservative Party. It's time for Theresa May to hide under a table or a dark underground room in case one of those Labour verbal grenades lands in the Tory heartland.

 It could all get very nasty and unseemly, childish and silly but none of us would have it any other way. We're all hardened to these party political conferences and this week sees the opening of the latest instalment of the party political bunfight. Here we are at the point where accusations and counter accusations fly viciously and virulently at anybody who finds them in the wrong place at the wrong time. Once again we'll all converge on the seaside and make ridiculous faces at each other.

Today the Labour Party conference gathered by the bracing, breezy and invigorating seaside resort of Brighton. For years Brighton has hosted that famous end of pier comedy act known as the British political party conference where the argumentative battalions of blue, red and yellow have frequently come to meet if only to get everything off their chest. The forces of Labour socialism will be followed by the prosperous capitalism of the Conservatives next week before the Lib Dems wrap everything up with more muted mutterings among the team of yellow.

Today John Mcdonnell stood up purposefully in front of the Labour faithful and gave us a whole shopping lists of promises and guarantees, declarations of unity and continued cohesion among the grumbling sceptics among his party. It was time to pull together, to round up the troops, become much more positive and assertive and whatever happens, to sing from the same hymn sheet. But poor old Labour are now on the back foot because although they came an admirable runner up to the Tories in the general election, the consensus is that the Tories are just about clinging onto power. This much is all that matters.

Meanwhile there's Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn. Oh dear, what exactly do you tell a man who quite clearly believes in the impossible and miraculous? Do you sit him down in your kitchen or some private room and tell him quite frankly that he's simply whistling in the wind or do you just drum some home truths into the man? Mr Corbyn continues to give the impression of a man who thinks, quite absurdly, that Labour did win a moral battle in the General Election earlier on this year.

But here we are at the end of September and here is a defiant and remarkably delusional man who kids himself that one day 10 Downing Street will become his residence. Call it bravado or maybe just foolhardiness but at the moment Corbyn wanders the corridors of the Westminster like a man searching for any kind of coherent policy. This maybe a tad unfair but at the moment Corbyn carries a Walter Mitty fantasist air about him that is truly laughable.

Wherever Corbyn goes there is the ever present smile, the grey hair and the thick greying beard, the crumpled white jacket and that formidable self confidence that may prove to be his only source of consolation. Now, his critics will snipe and sneer at an apparent lack of fashion sense and political nous. Corbyn leaps onto political stages and platforms rather like some militant Socialist who would re-nationalise the trains, give complete control back to the unions, eradicating both poverty and  deprivation overnight in the inner cities and then waving the ultimate magic wand. He would be the man to wipe the slate clean and turn the Labour party into a credible force.

Sadly the reality is that at the moment Labour are more or less non existent, voices in the wilderness, crying wolves in distant lands, a broken car or piece of machinery, wounded, battered, emotionally exhausted and resigned to their immediate fate. The energy and eloquence that so galvanised them under Tony Blair as Prime Minister has now fizzled out, a distant puff of smoke that now seems like a hollow echo.

Today John Mcdonnell tried desperately to blast out a harmonious note on the Labour bugle and found that even though some were listening others were just mumbling their objections and cynicism. Mcdonnell talked the familiar talk of public finance being transferred back into the right hands, the National Health Service(NHS) addressed as the most important issue of our times, schools and hospitals should be of paramount importance to future generations and Britain should thrust out its chest with a deeply patriotic statement of intent.

And yet as the Labour party brush up on their blusteringly boisterous speeches and the final touches are applied to the popular jokes of the moment, Jeremy Corbyn prepares himself, takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself. Corbyn, we all know is on a hiding to nothing, marooned on some very lonely island where only his most fervent supporters will take his side and just trapped on the most distant sidelines. Maybe he isn't suffering from loneliness because there are some who genuinely believe that things could change. The reality though is entirely different.

Back at Labour party headquarters the party loyalists are sitting tight and biting their lips, hoping against hope that our Jeremy will get it right eventually. Politics is a messy, confusing, complicated business where the men and women in both the Cabinet and the Shadow Cabinet spend all of their lives whispering malicious comments and superficial praise as if it were some kind of children's party game.

 Poor Jeremy Corbyn. There are times when even the most lost causes can seem pretty hopeless. When Mr Corbyn wakes up tomorrow morning he may be hoping that Brighton has still got that pebbly beach and those wonderful Regency properties. It may be time for a radical re-think because 10 Downing Street may be the most optimistic of thoughts. Good luck with that one Mr Corbyn. The jury may be out on that one for quite a while.