Anthony Albanese, Kevin Rudd and Paul Keating at the ALP campaign launch in Perth (Image: AAP/ Lucas Coch)

While the accreditation desk is struggling to find my lanyard, ABC political editor Andrew Probyn pops up next to me, immaculately turned out, neat and compact and welcome everywhere like the TV guys always are. I head for the lift, and think about holding it for him, but he’s in a friendly conversation with the people behind the table and besides, what if he asks where I work?

This is the dynamic of the first few hours of Crikey’s time at the ALP campaign launch, held in Optus Stadium, the first Western Australian campaign launch for either major party this side of World War II. I’m one of the first to arrive in the media room and watch it fill with various high-profile journalists; the out-of-towners arriving masked up, the locals not (the pandemic really didn’t bed in here in the same way).

And it’s real “first day of school and no one will sit with me” vibes; the Australia Financial Review, Guardian Australia and the News Corp crews all grab tables together. I briefly make eye contact with Peter van Onselen, standing across the room, and he looks sorry for me. The TV presenters are all spotless and made up, while the writers (particularly of the older, male variety) are all jeans and comfy shoes.

There’s the briefing, talking us through the various security checks we’ll be subject to and etiquette of the event — don’t do a live cross in front of Albanese’s speech, it will echo throughout the room, everyone will roll their eyes and apparently “Michelle Grattan will rip my balls off”. I see David Crowe in my periphery, glazed and distracted like a frequent flyer during the safety demonstration.

We’ve been promised the shadows will be having a wander around — Matt Keogh and Patrick Gorman arrive, each looking like the other, but run through a malfunctioning photocopier. Kristina Keneally and Jim Chalmers chat to various tables. It’s fascinating to witness the subtle dance of events like this, the “we’re all mates here” tone of journos and politicians off the clock while each subtly attempt to extract information from the other, or plant it.

Albanese had spent the previous day visiting an electric vehicle depot, he and Bill Shorten in matching Johnny Cash tribute-act gear. I was surprised to see no high profile WA MPs front the cameras in his press conference, though the launch goes some way to putting that right. Once we’ve been lead through into the conference room, a mix of brilliant red shirts and jackets and grey suits, looking like a shark feeding, Swan candidate Zaneta Mascarenhas — getting a profile bump for one of the seats Labor sees as a possible pick up — opens proceedings.

Kevin Rudd is in the front row. I’d seen him on Friday night at Curtin University, pitching his new book. You’ve never seen him happier: the smartest guy in the room, that remarkable grasp of facts, his jokes landing, a tonne of applause. It was striking seeing him in full Ruddbot mode, cycling effortlessly from Sun Tzu to stats around the car industry under his government, and reflecting that Labor is currently struggling to dislodge a PM whose appeal essentially boils down to “I would never make you read a book …”. Rudd and Paul Keating, the two former PMs in the crowd, get several shout-outs.

Following Mascarenhas, there’s Penny Wong and Jason Clare, both in top form — Wong’s focus is on Albanese’s great personal decency and integrity, while Clare in particular is having the time of his life, as the event’s chief attack dog. His gags — “A government who thinks climate change is when you check out the ‘April Sun in Cuba'”, and saying Morrison’s government features “more smoking guns than a Clint Eastwood movie” both top anything Albanese cracks.

And of course there’s WA emperor premier Mark McGowan, who introduces Albanese, and it’s extremely clear who’s doing who a favour in that bargain. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it for a state-level politician; the crowd near enough leaps to its feet, there’s sustained hooting and hollering, starting slowly as he’s introduced and reaching a crescendo as he takes the stage.

Apart from selling the economic achievements of his government, and using that to fight the Libs on their own territory — “We know the Liberals can’t manage money! They just can’t!” — McGowan gets the biggest laugh of the night, noting sadly that no matter how much dieting he and Albanese do, they can’t get as shredded as the new South Australian Labor Premier Peter Malinauskas, also in the crowd.

The danger is that you’ve warmed the crowd up with James Brown and that doesn’t leave the headliner anywhere much to go. Indeed, Albanese’s speech is long, made longer by the applause after nearly every sentence (sometimes, surreally, a ripple would start halfway through a linking sentence and swiftly stop), and by the fourth point of his five-point plan, the event is starting to drag slightly.

Perhaps that was anticipated, given point four is core Labor business, the jobs training education section, and it’s hardly a coincidence this is the most assured piece of policy from my view — the neat meshing of several interlocking pitches linking dignified, secure work, to female economic participation, to care workers, to pandemic management. And Albanese, as you would hope given he’ll never be on safer ground, gives probably his strongest and most energetic performance of the campaign.

And then it’s over, Albanese exits to “This is Australia”, camera flashes popping and spitting like frying bacon. We’re ushered — after a grumpy wait in a mistakenly locked corridor — back into the media room. Within half an hour of silent hunching over their laptops, the bus journos drain out of the room, off wherever they have to go next, the camos pack up their gear and the TVs fall silent.

Out through the wall of windows, Optus Stadium falls like a crater, empty and still in the midday glow, oddly calming under that pristine blue of Perth skies.