So endeth the great windbag-athon. From the foot-stamping in the hall, James Cleverly took the day; yet there is still some game time left.
The four Tory leadership wannabes were each given 20-minute slots. Did they all exceed their limits? Certainly felt like it.
Each speech was preceded by that must-have item in modern politics, a cheesy campaign video.
Tom Tugendhat went first. Over the top you go, soldier. Not for the first time he reminded us that he had served in the Army, yet the Afghan war veteran seemed nervous.
His tie was too long, dangling down to his flies – for some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off it – and when there was sporadic applause, he grinned uncertainly.
Tom Tugendhat went first. His tie was too long, dangling down to his flies – for some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off it
‘I can feel hope,’ whispered Mr Tugendhat. He did a lot of whispering at the start. Speak up, matey. You’re auditioning to be Leader of the Opposition, not the new Ted Lowe.
He could feel hope but could he impart hope? Or was he a diffident deer glimpsed in a forest glade, a curate giving one of his first sermons? A passable Horatio but not, perhaps, a Hamlet.
At one point, he said ‘you’ve had enough’ and there was a ripple of agreement round the 1,500-seater hall. Tom bombed. He gave no fewer than 16 wooden waves before finally departing.
Enter Mr Cleverly and that dreadful beard of his, with the mincing gait of Hercule Poirot. He was the only one to use a lectern and that helped. ‘Conservatism with a smile,’ was his offer. It was time for the Tories to ‘be FOR stuff again’ rather than always moaning. Decent point.
He, too, had done military service, mostly as a reserve. One day he was called up. ‘I thought I was going to Baghdad or Basra,’ he said grittily. ‘But I was sent… to Luton.’ The activists liked that self-deprecating moment.
Enter Mr Cleverly and that dreadful beard of his. He was the only one to use a lectern and that helped
‘Let’s be enthusiastic, let’s be relatable, positive,’ he roared. ‘Let’s be normal.’ As he finished, one activist shouted ‘crown the emperor!’ But he would have done even better had he stopped ten minutes earlier. He enchants himself a mite too much.
‘Next!’, as they say at the dentist. Young Robert Jenrick. The dark suit was boxy in the shoulders, as if just from the school outfitters.
There had been word beforehand that his voice was fading but that was not his problem. The trouble was twofold: too skinny, too glum. He tried to link 2024 to the year 1974, which was when he said Mrs Thatcher became Tory leader. Er, it was actually 1975.
Finally Kemi Badenoch, the only one to be known by her Christian name. She stood on the distant stage a tiny, determined figure in a staid blue outfit.
She made my spine tingle by talking about her late father and how he told her ‘never take your spouse for granted’ and ‘never run for fun because you’ll get bad knees’.
 Jenrick’s dark suit was boxy in the shoulders, as if just from the school outfitters
Finally Kemi, the only one to be known by her Christian name. She stood on the distant stage a tiny, determined figure in a staid blue outfit
Sucking on her gums, she said ‘I miss my dad’. Quite unexpectedly, I found my eyes prickling a little.
Mrs Badenoch’s was the least cliched, the most thoughtful of the speeches, yet it might not grab a non-wonk audience. The next election will be decided not by think-tankers but by voters who think of politics only once every five years.
She talked of the illiberalism of the Left and its ‘stealthy poisoning of our society’. She denounced activist judges and quangos and civil servants. All spot on.
She won warm approval when she pointed out that when you have known life in far-from-free Nigeria, a few rude words on Twitter make little impact. ‘I am not afraid,’ said the remarkable Kemi.
And she talked of how the Cameron coalition government was really little more than a continuation of Blairism. George Osborne, who was sitting just in front of me, gave a sphinx’s smile at that.
But was it demotic enough for breakfast telly? Kemi could be the brains, but blowy, broad-brush, boastful Cleverly was the one who got them jumpin’.
