Everyone’s talking shite. I’m just breathing it in.

There’s a moment politicians live for — not the handshake, not the headline, not even the power. It’s the applause. That wall of sound that says: you’ve done it, they love you, you’re right.

Kemi Badenoch got that this week at the Tory conference. Standing ovation, beaming smile, that little glint in the eye that says: I’ve nailed it. Sky News and The Times even caught it — that pure, unfiltered look of delight. You could smell it through the screen.

The problem with applause is it’s like perfume: intoxicating in the moment, but it fades fast and usually masks something deeper.

Because behind every ovation, there’s usually a cloud of shite floating quietly above the room — the promises that won’t add up, the cuts that sound brave but mean misery, the soundbites that fit neatly into a headline but not into a life.

And yet, there she was, soaking it up. Smiling like someone who’s just been told the dinner she didn’t cook was Michelin-starred. The crowd clapped harder, because in politics, the louder you clap, the less you have to think.

It’s not even about her — it’s about us. We love a confident liar more than a hesitant truth-teller. We love the theatre. We love someone who believes their own shite, because it makes us feel like maybe ours doesn’t stink either.

Applause is a loop of delusion — giver and receiver locked in a mutual exchange of noise and nonsense. She smiles, they clap, and for a few seconds everyone forgets the smell.

Then the cameras turn off, and the room clears, and all that’s left is the faint echo of clapping and the unmistakable whiff of performance.

— Tom Kite.