Today is the last day of the conference. My impression is that everyone is really fed up. Maybe they have been accepting too much hospiality like me. I watch from the press area as Straw makes a speech about why it was right to invade in Iraq. He makes some joke about shaking hands with the wrong person which I think is unfair since he did not laugh at me last night when the gag was directed against him. I start to explore the conference centre in a bit more detail, going in to the no entry areas as I almost want to get thrown out of here, but I seem to be able to go everywhere unchallenged. Maybe all the challengers are fed up too. There are miles of rat runs in this building. I think it will be sad to see it go if and when it is replaced. At one point I go in a lift to the top floor and come out into a large room with a long table with two men sitting at it. It's the new head spinner David Hill talking to Andy Marr. I've been meaning to talk to David all week as he looks so lonely; no one ever seems to speak to him or vice versa, so I ask them if they'd mind if I join them. It's not until I see the exclusive coup Andy picked up with Blair announcing his heart operation and retirement plans on the evening news that I fully understand why they would not want me around, but I expect there were any number of other reasons as well.

Later that evening I walk past a room that is guarded by two stewards. I can see a TV camera inside and sense something interesting is happening. So do others, and within minutes the who's who of political reporting are scrambling to get in, but no press are allowed, aparently. Eventually it transpires Tony Blair will be attending a fringe held by the Muslim Council of GB, so it's about the most interesting thing happening at the moment. I spoke to Mark Urban about my chance encounter with Dave Hil and he tell's me it's not much of a story is it? How little he knows! One reporter is persistant and is allowed in by one of the clerics who declares there is no ban on press, so I seize the moment and squeeze in. The only action inside is the Sky camera crew doing a warm up live to camera bit. Soon after one of Hills minions comes up to Adam Boulton and tells him that they are not allowed to broadcast Tony live. The man goes completely ballistic, and delivers a stream of poisonous invective including the fact that she does not know how to do her job. I wonder at this point whether the source of his inner anger stems from racism, mysogyny or just anti-New Labour? Later I ask her about it and she tells me it's a long story which she'll tell later. Maybe we'll meet again to hear it at the next conference. In any case we are destracted by the entrance of Tony & Cherie, who shakes everyone's hands except mine. Has he been warned off by Straw?

I can't help notice Tony can't take his eyes off me even though I am trying to avoid his stare by shifting my position behind the necks in front of me. Has he been told to look out for me or could it be he fancies me? On his way out he asks which part of the Koran was read out for him but he does not wait for the answer as his posse makes its way out. For some reason I am drawn to follow but his biggest bodyguard closes the door behind them as I pull if from the other side of the glass. I am gambling on him not wanting to get too distracted by me, and by now Tony has stopped and is beckoning me through. Actually it turns out he wants a word with David Hill, who as I have observed is never anywhere near Tony. I assume later he was checking the interview with Andy was all set.

On my way back I leave by the wrong door and get issued with a Terror Act 2000 search receipt. But I am allowed back in to the island site, so I join the Independant party where I ask David Yelland if he is looking for a job. Since I seem to have upset most of the cabinet, when I see Robin Cooke I decide to try an different ploy: I congratulate him on his bold stand against Blair and his rare qualities of principles. Sadly this also backfires: I expect he gets this almost every waking minute of his life. Perhaps he would have preferred a confrontation? I hang around talking to less VIPs until almost everyone is gone and the champagne runs out. Luckily the editor orders more so I get a nightcap before leaving. Unfortunately the usually exit is closed so I have to walk beside traffic to the entrance to my street where the police tell me I will be arrested to prevent terrorism as it has been changed into a one way car only street. I was very tempted to invite them to arrest me until I realised it would interfere with my diary so I grudgingly complied.

Today I have resolved not to start drinking until the evening sessions otherwise I will end up fighting minister's PPSs again before the sun is down, but I still need nourishment so I enter the first fringe meeting that has signs of food on offer, and work my way through a range of sandwiches, tiger prawns tempura, and moroccan pastries. It turns out the event is for the Health and Safety executive, so while I am sure that they may have something fascinating to say, having filled my stomach I slink off to find something of interest. I find this next door in the Metropole hotel where there is a meeting for http://www.sustainweb.org/childrensfoodbill/ to discuss what the government plans to do about the appalling malnutrition that is promoted by school canteens. Not much apparently. The Minister, Stephen Twigg, tells us that although they are obsessed with controlling the curriculum, New Labour likes to be less prescriptive when it comes to the physical health of today's children. We are told that it would cost £2 billion to deliver free food for all, but we are not told how much would be saved in other areas if the next generation is given the right food for thought.

NUT secretary Steve Sinnott responded by distributing a school canteen handbook from 1940 that prescribed almost exactly what foods should be eaten as today's nutritionalist would. Apparently it all went pear shaped after 1979 when the conservatives relaxed regulations and saw dinner ladies as a cost to be removed. Now most contracts go to the lowest tender, and with a budget of 39 pence it's not surprising that all they can serve is chips, pizza and burgers. And soft drinks are seen as an important revenue stream, so banning machines is not an option.

I wanted to ask the nutritionist about evidence linking ADD and other common disorders to malnutrition, but my hand is not chosen from the packed meeting where it seems there is a huge consensus against the government laissez-faire position.

I go over to the conference hall and meet a Jamaican man campaigning for some consideration for the recently devastated islands. He tells me he is looking for MPs but he would not recognise one if he sees them. I always have a soft spot for these folk, but there is something specially pathetic about this good natured man in the middle of all these sharks that he does not even recognise. I just about refrain from crying after giving him some rather shallow words of encouragement.

In the evening I go back to the Grand and discover the Sun team is gathering to plot the next days headlines. I'm a bit surprised they are taking so much interest. Seeing Rebekkah Wade talking to Kevanagh is like watching Cruella instructing her henchmen to go steal some dalmations. There are two other henchmen left in the bar after they leave so I ask them what they have been told. Interestingly they are very reserved about their plans. I assume they will overcome their shyness in time for their deadlines. Not sure how I can insert the picture I took but hope it will go here.

The bar is quite expensive so I go round to the olympic 2012 meeting to get some wine. It is actually quite packed thanks to the presence of Ken Livingstone. I met a reporter from the Sunday Times who pretends to indulge me but as I watch him in action I notice he will stop at nothing to get a story, any story. I expect I will be like that one day.

I go next door to the ASA meeting where only two others have turned up despite a huge catering provision. Since no one else is around I ask a question about why ASA seemed to agree with the cinema ads that claimed society will be destroyed by piracy is a plausable claim. He asked me to mail him details so I referred him to the middle of http://www.ntk.net/2004/04/23/ where there are links to the ajudication. I doubt he will reply.

Next up I go to the Nationwide reception for more bubbly where the affable Chairman informs me they are still mutual which was rather encouraging. I guess I had negative association of them since they sponsor some football teams. For some reason Jack Straw turns up, and to be fair he did shake my hand without realising who I was, so I told him my name is Robert Mugabe. He clearly did not see the funny side and turned his back on me. Later his private detective interrogates me for about 10 minutes but I am so pissed I just think he's an inquisitive type. Going outside for a breath of fresh air I find his convoy of bomb-proof vehicles. One cheeky policeman tells me he doesn't see why Straw needs as much protection since Brown moves around without feeling the need for outriders. I guess that's the only perspective you are qualified to speak about when you're a member of the force.

Started evening session with Network Rail who mentioned champagne. This was there as advertised but I should have guessed I might be stuck with the train spotting elements of the party. In fact there were so few of interest I walked next door to find Robin Cook, Ed Balls & Charles Clerk fielding questions for the Independent debate. I asked CC why 5 & 6 years olds were being forced to read & write. He answered 25% of 11 year olds were illiterate. I heckled him to answer the question. He started talking about 11 year olds again so I had to heckle again before being told to shut up. Went back to the rail thing and met alistair darling who claimed he had no time for me after seeing my microphone. Got a good piece to tape from his assistant telling me I was the rudest person ever. Went downstairs and spoke some french to some EUcrat. Asked Mandy if Tony should resign and saw him accelerate as he automatically denied this should be done. Bumped into Estelle again who told me she had bumped into a man we both earlier agreed was the shame of new labour since he could not afford to repair the soles of his shoes. I was on my sixth glass of champagne as I walked past the miniature chairman McCarthy who asked me where I got my booze from. Not sure where I was when Mr AND Mrs Prescott swepped in. He also did well to avoid me but his immaculated dolled up wife got trapped into small talk with me so I asked her if she empathised with Cherie's goldfish syndrome. She told me she agreed but I am not sure if she understood the question. Went into Yorkshire TV reception but did not recognise anyone. Presumably they were all regional heroes. I try to break out through a fire exit and get charged with attempting to breath fresh air under section 44 of the Terrorism Act. The police kindly gave me some receipts in case I attributed the incident to a dream. Not sure how but I woke up in my own bed this morning.

Finally into the conference proper! Unfortunately I have over slept meaning I have missed most of G Browns much anticipated pro old Labour speech. Interesting to be able to see how stage managed the whole thing is although I notice PM is given grotty old chair in which to attempt to smile througtout constant press pictures of the snappers who are given front row access to capture every nuance not just of the speaker but the reaction of colleagues. Gordon really milked the applause for all he could get -finally some proof in my eyes he has ambitions for wider adorement. Notice how shallow the support is when Tony slips off at earliest opportunity, after which delegates follow, like a congregation waiting its queue from the high priest.

I make my way to media area where David Milliband is giving a press conference on the stairs about the speech. I find it very interesting to note that only the glamorous journalists have the courage to ask questions starting with Andrew Marr, Michael White and Kevanagh from Sun. Makes me wonder if that's all it takes?

Unfortunately I find it hard to take an interest in the minutiae, although I think 20 years ago in the same position I would have jumped at the opportunity to ask. But most questions are acenine, and even Kevanagh's attempt to stir controversy by asking if Milburn approves of Gordon's performance draws little blood or interest.

I correctly identify the EU fringe meetinng as the one that will provide the best catering, but the queues for food are long so I pop into the Manchester transport fringe that would was dull. Tony McNulty as the minister was entertaining in his vitriolic comments about LibDems, so much so I suspect he feels a greater threat from them than the tories.

Moving into some guardian debate starring J Straw I enter the moment he is describing threat from BBC. Apparently they are "secondary media" who draw their discenting ideas from the paper press. I imagine many from the BEEB would have something to say about that but I guess there is a ring of truth, if only that the entire media is prone to feed from each other, secondary or otherwise.

Outside I come within spitting distance of Alex apologist Douglas. Never seem to have enough saliva for moments like these. He meets a pair of unlikely bimbos and moves along before I have a chance to interview him. Moving into the bar Marg Beckett is too busy opening her gob for me to ask about apologies so I find a quiet corner to reflect. My piece is disturbed by Estelle Morriss begging seats for her and Arts Council chair. I miss all opportunities to get favours returned but hope she will repay me later.

Today I rushed back from Center Parc to attend the first day of conference. Unfortunately it is after 6 pm before I gain access to the site, so most of the exhibitors have left. In a way this is a bonus as I have the chance to inspect their stands without having to enter any dialogue with corporate drones. I am a bit surprised to find only about 10% of available space has been taken, since I assume this is an ideal platform for the military industrial complex to lobby the government to pass contracts their way and to reduce any human rights legislation that might curb their freedom to exploit.

I really need to get some information about what is happening where, so I search for a media centre. Eventually I discover a zone that is marked "press only", and although unchallenged I feel I have entered some kind of inner sanctum. The most interesting, in my view, is a room the size of half a tennis court, where the top dozen or so media have cubicles seating 3 or 4 each. In the guardian booth I see their political correspondent Michael White studiously filing something, or maybe just surfing or blogging. I judge it imprudent to interrupt in any case. I am amazed as I move along to see the Mail correspondents working alongside the Mirror, the Independent and the Express. Presumably they have similar stories which need to be reported in ways that would make them appear to be reporting on different events in different places?

Round the corner I see the Campbell's replacement David Hill talking to a journalist. I feel I can legitimately approach him and ask him why no one knows who he is. But when they see me they drop their conversation to a whisper, so I assume whatever he is spinning is an exclusive. I'm surprised he is not with TB who is fielding questions from "selected members of the party and public". In Campbell's heyday the pair would have been inseperable in a potentially vulnerable moment like this. I guess they must have been carefully selected.

Outside the Grand Hotel I spot newly promoted newly promoted "Minister for the Cabinet Office" Ruth Kelly being met by psychophantic colleagues who have read some Sunday paper naming her one of the top five rising politicians to watch out for. I am tempted to loiter and pretend to read the menu, but my lack of nerve kicks in - perhaps it is the overwhelming police presence? I am tempted to enter the Grand where I am sure to meet loads of MPs and press, but I always feel intimidated entering a building where I may end up being charged a ransom for a coffee.

Instead I resolve to inspect the action at the adjoining Metropole hotel but seeing all the fences I feel defeated having already been searched six times today and so call it an evening. This investigation is not going so well is it?

I made the mistake of attempting to leave my own house through the basement. The first police I met was friendly and let me by but the second said I had the wrong colour pass. Apparently only army and police are allowed under my flat. Army? I did not realise there was a war going on beneath the very chair on which I now sit. In any case my attempted escape had aroused her suspicions so I was forced to wait while she made an "ID check". Fortunately I am not familiar with current gestapo procedures, but it seems they can tell whether or not you are a terrorist by radioing your name and birthday to HQ. And fortunately they do not yet suspect me. Unfortunately this is not the impression that is given whenever I attempt to enter the secure site that spans several blocks across two hotels, a cinema, a conference centre and an exhibition area. The metal detectors have been cranked up to highest sensitivity, so even the zips on my clothes trigger an alarm necessitating a humiliating body scan. If you are really unlucky you are subjected to "random" body searches. I start to empathise with victims of repressive regimes where I am physically pushed into a corner of the scanning facilities to have some security guard rub hands over my entire body in an attempt to discover weapons that they feel cannot be seen by their traditional methods. If they believe that this type of search is necessary why not apply this universally, routinely? It would take more time and resources, but I doubt this is an obstacle in an operation they admit will cost £2.5 million. Personally I am convinced this is a gross underestimate, but perhaps more information will be revealed about this later when it's too late to object.

According to this Guardian newspaper article the party in its infinite wisdom has not seen fit to admit anyone admitting to wanting to write a blog about this conference. I hope this one will be by no means unique, but having blagged my way into getting press accreditation I thought I would use the opportunity to enter some observations using this banned medium.

Operation Otter, imaginatively named after the operation with the same name and purpose last year, has been visible to the humble public for the last three months. It started with door to door visits by detectives inspecting properties with a view of the conference facilities. I have no idea what they hoped to achieve by getting a snapshot of potential terrorists so far in advance of the start, but needless to say they failed to discover any of my WMD, maybe because I am cunningly outwitting them like Saddam, or maybe because, like Saddam, there are none.

Fast forward to the week prior to conference. My street has more armed police stationed 24/7 than Downing St. I reckon if the terrorists were to start their offensive before any delegates arrive would make them as stupid as our security servants. Part of the measures taken to secure the area is to ban all bicycles from beside the bins beneath where I live.

It may seem trivial but I feel I should stand against this random act of discrimination against innocent transport. My argument is that if bikes are as potentially lethal as they claim they should be banned everywhere all the time, not just at times when VIPs are within a mile of them. Suitably incensed I turned up at the Chief Constable's press conference and put asked him about this. Here is the recordingI made where he claims to know nothing. So it appears the ban is not exactly official policy but is being carried out by whoever has been charged with securing my area. Attempts to discover the logic behind this arbitrary decision by emailing conference.questions@brighton-hove.co.uk were initially answered with as follows:

You are correct in that we are not allowing the parking of pedal cycles in the immediate vicinity of the Labour conference venues. The reason is straightforward. A pedal cycle is basically a connected series of hollow tubes. Terrorists have previously used the tactic of filling these tubes with explosives and setting them off remotely. Although there is no suggestion that we are expecting an attack of this kind, it would be remiss of us not to take it into account, which is why this restriction will be enforced. Please be aware that the steps we will take to ensure safety include making any item or vehicle close to the site subject to an assessment by specialist army officers who may damage the item/vehicle. Finally, we are not just protecting VIP's but we are also protecting the visitors and residents of Brighton and Hove, not least the residents of Sussex Heights.

I answered: you say "Terrorists have previously used the tactic of filling these tubes with explosives and setting them off
remotely", but I have searched google and find no precedent for what you describe; all previous attack involving bicycles have used externally attached explosives as far as I can tell.

Who can tell me where I am allowed to secure my bike, and what happens if that location does not prevent it from being stolen?

If you are concerned about all the public and not just VIPs why don't you just ban all bikes everywhere? After all they could all contain explosives, so they are clearly a threat to public safety.

This resulted in a predictable: "I'm sorry, but I can't get into an extended debate, as I have no time." No idea more like. With thousands of police drafted in from around the country to guard our leader's visit to the seaside you'd have thought they could find someone with enough time on their hands to argue with me?