It's lovely to see how far the Labour party have come from their working class roots. Walking around Brighton town centre yesterday afternoon there was a definite trend on display. As I looked through the windows of restaurants (with my nose pressed up against the glass like a malnourished street urchin) (to the untrained eye I'm verging on the anorexic) (no, really) it was noticeable that the posher the establishment, the more Labour party delegates were inside doing lunch and chatting on their mobiles about 'hooking up' (which I think is something to do with drugs). The swankiest restaurant in North Street was packed with red ties and security passes, while Burger King and the fish & chip shop nearby were strangely quiet. But hey, when you're on expenses, why settle for a meat pie when there's sushi round the corner.

Anyhoo, I successfully mingled with the delegates on the seafront, which was actually quite exciting, since we all had the same aim - to get on TV. I hung around the outside broadcast vans hoping to bump into a few political correspondents, attempted to get involved with one of the protest groups lined up on the promenade (some of them had John Prescott's face on a banner - I felt like protesting about that), and made my way through the concrete bomb barriers to touch base with a few policemen. But all to no avail. The TV crews hanging about nearby simpy refused to turn on their cameras and film me. They just don't know a star when they see one. Admittedly all I was doing was wandering up and down, but even so, I have the x-factor (ask Simon Cowell) and I deserve a bit of public exposure.

Fortunately all was not lost. After much suspicious loitering I eventually spotted a Sky News crew setting up, and a pretty female reporter (who's probably famous, but I don't have Sky, so she could've been the New Deal girl for all I know) preparing to do a piece to camera. Sadly she was standing with her back to the road, so short of doing a mercy dash into oncoming traffic, it was going to prove difficult to get into shot.

I needn't have worried. The good thing about political conferences is that there's always a nutter around when you want one (often on the stage inside the hall). Just in the nick of time, a group of young people wearing Gordon Brown t-shirts turned up with guitars and started singing 'Give Brown a Chance', to the tune of 'Give Peace a Chance'. It was quite moving. Naturally Sky immediately turned their camera around, and I spent a good five minutes shamelessly walking back and forth behind this musical ensemble, pretending to be out for an afternoon stroll along the seafront. This EXACT bit of seafront. About half a dozen times.

Sadly I then had to go and meet Lisa from work (she's consistently standing between me and the fame I so richly deserve), but I expect I was a star on international satellite television last night. In living rooms up and down the country, people were probably saying "Those singers are all very well, but who's the berk in the background?". Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that berk was me.