Birmingham is... and I realise at once that I was never cut out to be a branding whiz-kid because what I really want to say is: “...so much nicer than you think”; and “Birmingham is so much nicer than you think” is not the stuff of which great marketing concepts are made.

But it's what I mean. The Tory party conference in Birmingham this week is full of people who haven't been to the city for decades - or at all - and are going round saying things like “Isn't it nice here?” or “This isn't nearly as awful as I expected”, or (and you keep hearing this) “Aren't Birmingham people friendly?” in tones of mild surprise.

The Symphony Hall, where, as I write, David Cameron is due to speak, is amazing: a modern wonder and one of the finest auditoriums I've seen in Britain. There's an openness about the wide public spaces, the architecture, and the people too - who, if asked for help or directions go to great pains. The stone-paved squares and grand 19th-century neo-classical sandstone and white Portland stone buildings have all been cleaned up and opened out.

The light and space and the indefinable modesty of Birmingham contrast with the snivelling swagger of Manchester (where we went for Labour's conference last week) with all its oh-so-casual people in stovepipe jeans and black T-shirts, thinking their silly trams and Manchester accents are seriously cool.

Far be it from me to question the architectural heritage of that sunless place, but after a week entombed by dark red brick, gloomy streets that seem to close over your head, wet walls and glazed tiles, you can be forgiven for thinking you're trapped in some kind of giant, celestial public lavatory.

My kebab shame

I've just sustained my first conference injury. Toying with a kebab at a Guardian reception, I stabbed myself in the lower lip with a cocktail stick. There was blood everywhere - and the wound keeps breaking open again. Townspeople stare in horror, fearing headlines about a new Tory row, as I emerge from the security zone gates clasping a bloodstained paper serviette to my mouth. As injuries sustained in action go, it's just so inglorious - like choking on a Twiglet.

No thanks

Modern politicians are all ending their speeches with a lame little “thank you” these days. It's so feeble. Nick Clegg did it in Bournemouth. Gordon Brown did it last week. David Cameron did it on Tuesday.

Why? Can you imagine Gladstone during his Midlothian campaign, or Disraeli in the Commons, bleating “thank you” to the crowd? Can you imagine William Wilberforce concluding a passionate oration on the evils of slavery with a simpered “thank you” to the mob? Modern speakers seem terrified that the audience won't know when they've finished. A good speech, properly delivered, should leave no doubt.

Still, at least there was no roaming around the stage without notes, like last year, from Mr Cameron. I'd feared he would want to top it this year and perhaps deliver the speech while changing a nappy or frying an egg. Happily the days of extreme speechmaking may now be over.

Heavyweight

Pity the poor 21st-century party member who attends the conference. Big city hotels (unlike in good old Blackpool) jack their prices right up and insist on five-day deals, and (unlike us journalists) Tory representatives are paying to come, rather than being paid. Some take holiday leave. Yet hundreds have to stand outside the packed hall for big speeches, while we journalists slide straight in to special reserved seats.

It embarrasses me. But in I slid before concluding this column, to get the taste of Mr Cameron's big speech among a real audience, in a real place, in real time.

I thought it masterly. I thought it occasionally plodding, and admired even that: Mr Cameron has gained the confidence not to dazzle. In an age of flimsy political performance, I respected this speech's heaviness, and the absence of endless pages of Brown-bashing. There will be many who have long found Mr Cameron engaging but who will now begin to find him compelling.

Drop of humour

But golly, that suicide joke was brave. In virtually his only reference to Gordon Brown he pointed out that Brown's “no time for a novice” argument can only mean that Brown should stay PM for ever. Then Cameron paused. “I won't go on,” he said, raising his eyes to the Upper Circle. “There are people in balconies up there.”

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