Ed Miliband would certainly have shared her conference pain

It’s a venue that strikes fear into my heart even today. I still wake up in a cold sweat thinking about the political speech I was involved in there three years ago. Like Theresa May’s yesterday, it took place in Manchester Central – the hall of horrors where political dreams can turn into nightmares.

I was an adviser to Ed Miliband in 2014 when Labour last had its conference in Manchester. It was just after the bruising Scottish independence referendum and everyone was on their knees, including Ed.

He had wanted to memorise his big conference speech, as this had become his signature performance trick. But many of his advisers had become nervous about it as the political mood had moved on so rapidly.

When the big moment came, we all had an ominous feeling. The speech he’d learnt in a hotel room in Glasgow felt too small, given that it was the last one before the general election. Many thought it didn’t feel as if it was addressing the big issues everyone was talking about.

As Ed ploughed his way through the speech, something wasn’t right. “Oh God… He’s missed the deficit section,” hissed my colleague. His advisers started looking at each other and texting hysterically.

It was a nightmare. As he left the stage to the obligatory standing ovation from the party faithful, I knew it was game over. I knew how terrible Ed would feel about it.

The press team and key shadow cabinet members were despatched to speak to the media to declare the speech a historic oratory triumph, and that Number 10 still beckoned. But when we all gathered privately, no one could make eye contact and we all felt sick.

Ed’s chances of becoming prime minister had tanked in that moment – he became the person who cared so little about the economy that he forgot to mention the deficit.

And that’s what it felt like watching poor Theresa May yesterday. That’s her new official descriptor now – poor Theresa May.

Everyone feels sorry for her. How can you have a heart and not? She’s gone from being that bloody difficult woman to being that poor wee thing.

Conference speeches are like performing a solo show at the Edinburgh festival: standing on stage for an hour, trying to hold the attention of the audience, high expectations and harsh critics.

As a political adviser turned stand-up comic, I well understand what a tough gig it is. And poor Theresa had already toured her own one-woman show earlier this year, Strong and Stable. It got terrible reviews.

It’s not easy when you feel you’re losing the crowd, and yesterday was excruciating. A good performance makes you and the audience feel at ease. This was like an hour-long panic attack.

There was already this sense of impending doom. And boom. First, the comedian made his crass, cruel and rather unfunny intervention. And then the Prime Minister lost her voice.

It was almost a relief when the stage fell apart. We could all relax into a national sigh of “poor Theresa”.

She was now officially the victim of her own conference in every sense: weak, lost and in need of a hug. FOLLOW Ayesha Hazarika on Twitter @ayeshahazarika; READ MORE at telegraph.co.uk/opinion