Welcome to the Labour party conference as sponsored by Prozac. Also known as the Liberal Democrats’ conference.

This is a happy place. Where nothing needs to be overthought. Where money is no object. Where the imagination doesn’t have to collide with reality. Where the NHS and the economy are as good as fixed. A sweet, anxiety-free spot. For the time being at least.

The next election is almost five years away. So now they can dream of winning more MPs. Especially if the Tories continue to tack ever rightwards. Maybe they’ll get round to worrying about shedding seats in a few years time, but not now. Now is a time for celebration. For thinking big. Hell, after their near annihilation in recent years, they reckon they deserve their glimpse of the Promised Land.

So for the last 72 hours, Brighton has been party central for the Lib Dems. Smiles, hugs, self-congratulation. Regular break-out sessions to pinch themselves that this was really them. That it was for real. An election result like last July only comes round once every hundred years. So now was the time to enjoy it. Not to really wonder what they are for. Other than not being Tories. The existential questions could come later.

Come Tuesday morning, the strain of too much party partying was beginning to show. Maybe it was the late nights. Maybe it was the excitement of an Ed Davey speech early in the afternoon. Either way, the conference hall was three-quarters full for the entire morning as the Lib Dems debated clean water and more money for family carers. Both were approved unanimously. Hold the front page. At one point, Daisy Cooper in her umpteenth appearance of the conference had to remind everyone that they were allowed to applaud.

There was a very different vibe after lunch as delegates queued for prime spots in the hall. A notice outside the door warned: “Please be aware there may be loud noises.” Hopes were raised. Was Ed going to fire himself out of a canon on to the stage? It would be very on brand. As would the health and safety trigger warning for the Lib Dems. As it turned out, the loudest noise was a small pop from a confetti machine right at the end.

Before the start of Ed’s speech, an organiser tried to seat the 72 Lib Dem MPs in order at the back of the stage. The only slight problem was that she had no idea who most of the new MPs were. There again, nor did anyone else. They could have just hoiked any number of people out of the audience and no one would have known the difference.

And pause. It’s a Lib Dem tradition to preface the leader’s speech with its annual awards for those who have gone above and beyond the call of duty for the party. This year’s was something of a damp squib. Every single category was won by Rishi Sunak. No one has done more for the Lib Dem cause than the former prime minister. Unfortunately, Rish! wasn’t in the hall to collect his trophies. Though he did send a sweet message from his Santa Monica penthouse. In my dreams.

Next we got the party treasurer touting for cash. Her style was unusual. “I want to talk to the dead,” she began. In which case, she was probably a year late. She then proceeded to trash talk her mum, a Brexit-supporting Tory. This all felt like a bit of Freudian overkill. She may have been better off seeing a therapist. “What do you think the money is for?” she asked. A few new suits maybe?

Then it was Ed’s turn. A big disappointment. The least he could have done was abseil from the ceiling. Instead he appeared from behind a screen while Abba’s Take a Chance on Me played out through the public address system. Needless to say, Ed couldn’t resist singing and dancing along. Mr Fun had to have his fun. The audience indulged him. This was no time to rock the boat.

It’s always surprising how long party leaders can drag out a speech in which they don’t really have anything to say. They merely do it because they always do it. The epitome of performance politics.

Ed could have got the whole thing done and dusted in less than 15 minutes. A quick round of congratulating himself for leading the party to a brilliant result. Five minutes on the NHS and carers. Then a long coda on how the Lib Dems were essentially the Labour party in disguise. Opposition by pen pals. A bit of Tory bashing. Bish bosh and we’d have been out of there and everyone could go home.

Instead, Davey spent the first 15 minutes admiring everyone in the room. And by extension himself. He even invited everyone to applaud themselves. It was all getting very CBeebies. The closest he got to news was saying he had planned to stick his hand up a cow’s bum during the election campaign, but had been persuaded not to. We never did learn what he had been hoping to find there.

“We’re fun, but serious,” Ed said. Though not that serious. The emphasis was much more on fun. He wanted to spend more money on the NHS but he couldn’t be bothered to say how that would be funded. That might have spoiled the vibe. He was, however, quite touching when he talked about his son. “What happens to him when me and my wife are gone?” he asked. It’s a question every parent has asked themselves, though more pertinent for those whose children are disabled.

About half an hour in and you could feel the audience flagging. The applause dropped off. The snores got louder. Maybe these were the loud noises we had been warned about. Ed rescued the day by mentioning how Brexit had wrecked the country. That got the biggest cheer of the day. There were also callouts for former leaders, Charles Kennedy and Paddy Ashdown. Though none for Tim Farron who was seated in the front row. Like Nick Clegg, he’s a forgotten man.

Several times it felt as if we were coming to the end, only for Ed to start again. He knows how to let a crowd down. Labour was too depressing, he said. The Tories were evil. That old shtick.

Eventually he stopped before breaking into another song and dance. This time Sweet Caroline. Hell, why not? It had been an afternoon of greatest hits after all. But sooner or later, Davey is going to have to find some new tunes. He’s already sounding like a broken record.