At the end of the conference season, one is bound to get a bit disoriented. (Is that the beach down there? It can’t be Manchester, then. Or are sea levels rising quicker than we think?)

This year it feels as if we have been kidnapped, bound and gagged, driven round the country, turned round six times and dumped who knows where. Which party is this, for heaven’s sake? Not the Conservatives. Don’t be silly. It can’t be.