One of the best things about being a correspondent based in Britain is the glamour. I was musing on this point somewhat facetiously as I scoffed lunch – a little box of fried chicken and chips – while walking down a ramp towards an exit gate at the Labour Party’s annual conference at the ACC arena in Liverpool on Sunday.
I had only recently disembarked a train from London that was three carriages shorter than it was meant to be. This meant that all the seat reservations had to be cancelled and the journey was essentially a free-for-all – there were people sitting on the floors, in between carriages, and even in the toilets.
After three hours of that delight, I made it to the conference.
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