Mild subversion from the petty men

Gordon Brown spoke for over an hour on Monday; his Cabinet colleagues, even the most senior, are supposedly confined to seven minutes. “He doth bestride the narrow world like a Colossus,” as Cassius put it, “and we petty men walk under his huge legs and peep about .”

Two petty men had their brief shot at fame on Tuesday: the two least petty, perhaps; men who might be considered potential successors when that becomes an issue worthy of discussion. (This could happen surprisingly soon after an election, because that’s how this business goes – which may be one good reason for Mr Brown to put it off.)

Already, a little mild subversion seems to have crept in. Alan Johnson, health secretary, spoke for 11 minutes, and David Miliband, foreign secretary, for 15. Their word counts were almost identical. But Mr Miliband was talking about the world. A grave subject. Full of difficult problems. And he was speaking slowly. Portentously. And badly.

It was a wet lettuce of a speech, received with indifference by the delegates and guffaws by the press. He was determined to say nothing (in the best Foreign Office tradition). But this was the party conference, not a speech of welcome to his counterpart from the Congo. Even the modern Labour party expects better. Mr Miliband was trying so hard to protect his shoes from the puddles that he slipped in the mud and wrecked his suit.

The prime minister was not exactly helpful. Her Britannic Majesty’s principal secretary of state for foreign and commonwealth affairs was given the graveyard shift just before lunch (which he delayed by speaking the way he did). He also has to cope with a somewhat opaque foreign policy.

His response was to concentrate on the places where Britain has no influence. Indeed, the session was introduced by a trophy speaker who had escaped from Darfur; and the news from Burma, we heard, was “brilliant”. On Iraq, Mr Miliband blathered (“We’ve got to focus on the future”); Afghanistan he dismissed in a sentence; Europe was hardly worth discussing (the treaty “should be studied and passed by parliament”).

“Yes,” he summed up, “the world can be a scary place.” It is for him. He looked scared of his own shadow (as well he might – it’s William Hague) and terrified of the Colossus who really overshadows him. Lord Palmerston was unavailable for comment.

Earlier, there had been a crisp and confident speech from Alan Johnson. In a job where political reputations traditionally crash, he felt so much on top of his brief that he even brought in that archaic oratorical device now generally spurned by New Labour i.e. a joke. He was introducing Ara Darzi, the surgeon who now doubles up as a junior health minister. “The Conservatives always had ministers who could stitch you up,” he said. “We’ve got one who can cut you open as well.”

Unfortunately, Professor Darzi seems to be revelling in the chance to add political clichés to his medical jargon and offered a PowerPoint presentation about “enablers”, “critical pathway groups” and “local accountability”. It also had pictures of the NHS as it was before 1997, when mental health meant Bedlam and surgeons used leeches.

There followed four speakers from the floor. Three of them bashed the Tories and the other said nothing much, whereupon the chairman called on an NEC member to reply to the “debate”, a word that reduced the hacks to yet more giggles. “Oooh, cut and thrust!” said someone. “Ludicrous,” growled an old hand.

Then came a question-and-answer session in which (now an established Conference trick) questions were taken in groups of three, thus enabling ministers more easily to evade anything they don’t like. But credit where it’s due: the questions weren’t all sanitised and Mr Johnson thrust himself forward to take the hardest ones himself rather than hiding behind his subalterns. There was a sense, just a few moments, that the Labour party was being treated as grown-ups. And delegates enjoyed the unfamiliar sensation.

Advice: Take profits on Milibands. Keep buying Johnsons.