Sir Ed had applied near-Trumpian levels of cosmetic tan. But whereas The Donald merely tilted his head and spoke huskily, Sir Ed was a box of oratorical tricks. Not that Sir Ed ever thinks he can lay things on too thickly. Not for the first time at a Lib Dem conference we blunt nibs of the sketch-writing guild wrote the word ‘barking’ in our notebooks. Before us stood Sir Ed, man of destiny, jutting his jaw, stiffening his neck, raising an eyebrow, nostrils flared.