When the speech began, Bournemouth was awash with autumn sunshine. By the time it was over – and it seemed like a very long time – there was a dark cloud overhead, and the wind had shifted to a colder quarter. Everything felt suddenly wintry.

Under the old regime, the leader’s speech came on Tuesdays. But Gordon Brown is a Monday kind of guy. And this was a Monday kind of speech, and a wintry one too: grey, relentless, humourless, bludgeoning. My neighbour in the hall, who has been listening to Labour leaders’ speeches since Attlee’s day, suffered an attack of cramp. I just had a headache.