Connor Wallace

“The speech started well, but then things went downhill faster than Sir Eric Pickles on a Toboggan.”

The annual political party conference season holds a reputation of being notoriously and unfalteringly boring. Hordes of suit-wearing party-faithfuls descend upon various cities of the UK, followed reluctantly by groups of misfortunate journalists. The news channels report on the autocue-prompted speeches; MPs tweet their support of their respective leader’s performance and the majority of the nation go about their daily lives with little to no idea that any of this is taking place in a cavernous exhibition hall, perhaps only a few feet away from them.

On Wednesday October 4th 2017, however, the traditional monotonous narrative of Conference Season was rewritten in its entirety. As political nerds slouched in front of monitors, excitedly awaiting the Prime Minister’s policy announcements, a whole different set of events unfolded. These events were calamitous, unprecedented and more exciting to observe than anybody could have ever imagined. Viewers gained a sense of voyeuristic schadenfreude (coupled with sympathy, shock and relief that it wasn’t them suffering such an onslaught of public bad luck) as they sat, awestruck, and watched as the MayBot malfunctioned before their very eyes.

Ridiculed and mocked for months for being too robotic and unhuman, Britain’s Premier, Prime Minister Theresa May, suffered a trilogy of misfortunes throughout her hour long speech to the hall-full of Conservative delegates and media. We have seen a very, very human side to Theresa May and it was excruciating to watch.

The speech began well. May’s announcement of government policy on organ donation shifting to the implementation of an ‘opt-out’ system will save many lives and has broad cross-party support. May seemed confident, and the sweeping camera shots of cabinet secretaries captured relatively positive reactions from them – or at least not the sight of a knife in any of their hands, which Tory bigwigs do have a tendency to wield.

Then Simon Brodkin appeared.

Known for his pranks on personalities like Sir Philip Green, Sepp Blatter and Donald Trump, it’s a wonder that Tory HQ hadn’t provided security with an image of Brodkin, bearing a caption of ‘DO NOT LET THIS MAN ENTER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. DON’T. NOTHING GOOD WILL FROM IT. PLEASE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. DO NOT LET HIM INSIDE’, or something of that ilk.

He handed the PM a mocked-up P45 – which she misguidedly accepted, leading the gaggle of photographers to jump with joy for such a perfect photo opportunity – before being bundled, very slowly, out of the conference hall and into a police van. The stunt was simple, an easy-shot, and May dealt with it relatively well. She resumed her speech and the atmosphere calmed but things soon started going downhill faster than Sir Eric Pickles on a toboggan.

As well as the infamy for being incredibly tedious, Conference Season is also known for attendees falling victim to the ‘Conference Cold’. During her pre-speech interviews it was clear that Mrs. May was suffering from this ailment, but nothing could have prepared us for the thirty minutes of wheezing and coughing and awkwardness that ensued in the latter half of her annual address.

She could not get through any full sentence without pausing to splutter, or losing her ability to speak altogether. Attempts were made to mitigate the humiliation (and physical deterioration) of the Prime Minister: Chancellor Philip Hammond handed her a lozenge, Home Secretary Amber Rudd began a bizarrely timed standing ovation to allow Theresa the opportunity to clear her throat (which she tried to do, but was unsuccessful in the endeavour) and May made several self-deprecating quips to try and retain any remaining authority.

It was embarrassing and toe-curlingly cringeworthy and it evoked more empathy and support for a Conservative politician than I ever thought capable of exhibiting. The PM went into the conference with majority of Tory members ambivalent towards her at best, but her breakdown in front of the world’s media led to her leaving the stage with the sympathy of her delegates and cabinet. Sky News even reported that there were “tears in the eyes of Health Secretary Jeremy Hunt”, which is so sinisterly out of character, it is akin to Hannibal Lector declaring himself vegan.

In an astonishingly apt metaphor for the Prime Minister’s speech, the stage set began falling apart around her in the final few minutes. Letters plummeted down from the slogan stuck to the wall behind her, likely caused by an aide backstage smacking their pale face against it to wake themselves up from what could well have been somebody’s anxiety dream. Water was sloshed down the front of her dress as she struggled for sips between coughs. Cabinet ministers watched helplessly as the MayBot suffered a drawn-out, painful and catastrophic malfunction live on television, as the discarded P45 stared temptingly up at her from the side of the lectern.

Everything that could go wrong did go wrong but, hey: you can’t say she’s not human.