Forget the bunker. Gordon Brown's motorcade swept out of the Labour conference centre at around 21:30 yesterday evening, taking the prime minister off to gnash his teeth and cry into his pillow after being dumped - rather publicly, you have to admit - by those judgmental individuals at the Sun. At least he would have the love of his wife to keep him warm at night. What could more lowly creatures do to comfort them in the cold chill of a late September Brighton evening?
All they could do is sing and be merry, so they did. As the presses rolled throughout the night, spelling impending doom, the man who hit back at another Murdoch's comments about the BBC led the way in escapism.
The culture, media and sport secretary sang: "When I find myself in times of trouble..." The Beatles, Robbie Williams, it didn't matter who: in the wee small hours, Ben Bradshaw deployed his dulcet tones in an astonishing example of the arts as escapism. He may have erred by questioning the judgment of a Murdoch. Perhaps he should be more pitied than censured. Either way, with the morning news programmes just hours away, there was very little he could now do.
So Ben and co forgot the misery of the polls, the looming electoral disaster. They forgot the damning withdrawal of support which will make a very big difference. For our Ben and his band of worryingly willing backing vocalists the only purpose in life appeared to be bawling out emotive popular hits at the loudest volume possible.
"For in our hour of darkness there is still a light that comes to me..." In his best Paul McCartney voice they sang on and on. Alas, poor Bradshaw - I knew his anti-Murdoch policies well. Even the merest possibility of a glimmer of hope seemed woefully delusional. But with camaraderie there always comes a grim optimism, perhaps all that is left for this ailing party. It was time to slip away into the night, leaving Bradshaw to his music and Brown to his headlines.