AS the faithful waited for their long-serving leader to arrive, the loudspeakers blasted out One More Time by the dance duo Daft Punk.

Meanwhile, the stewards on the balcony were frantically urging people to get downstairs, where an alarming number of empty seats waited to be filled.

Could this be the evidence that the Blair bandwagon was finally spluttering to a halt? Was the public address system trying to tell us this would, after all, be Mr Blair's last leader's speech?

The screens behind the platform displayed the familiar images of triumph since 1997 - a miserable Portillo, announcements on African debt relief and the winning of the Olympics.

Strangely, there did not seem to be time for scenes of grateful Iraqis dancing up sunlit streets garlanded with roses, as they celebrated their peaceful new democracy.

Could Mr Blair pay the price for invading and occupying the Labour Party without a fully worked-out exit strategy for getting out again at the right time?

The mood was not helped by a 20-minute delay - a small taste of the endless waiting endured by Gordon Brown ever since his friend became his deadly rival.

And only half the hall stood up when the Prime Minister finally made his entrance. The unions sat on their hands, as the normally carefully-orchestrated choreography misfired.

But then the fightback started. Cherie, heading to her seat, bear-hugged the Blairite Charles Clarke, while the Chancellor had to make do with a peck on the cheek.

The Prime Minister began at his most humble, making clear that his third election triumph had been down to the "hard work, faith and courage" of the rank-and-file.

The indomitable spirit of terror-struck London was successfully resummoned by a sudden octave drop in tone - a reminder that Mr Blair was a student actor.

And the skilful pregnant pauses that have, for so many years, had the delegates eating out of his hand were in full working order.

Every year, the Prime Minister tells his followers to ditch their cherished beliefs or die, and every year they grin and bear it. This year was to be no different.

The conference will never love Mr Blair as it once did in those innocent, pre-Iraq days.

And, at the end, the ovation was notably shorter and less ecstatic than in previous years.

But he is long past caring. Everyone recognises he has the power to pick his own departure date - and it was clear he had picked a date a long way down the line.

Forget Daft Punk, they should have played Status Quo - Again and Again.