It was “Mend Our Broken Society” day in Blackpool. The Tories are doing this in two wildly different ways. First, there is David Davis, the one-man commando rescue unit, who abseiled into the Winter Gardens, silver hair glinting in the late autumn sun. You may think I am being over the top but Mr Davis would say that this was an understatement. In his eyes, he is a superhero more powerful than any other. Captain Super-Glue has the power to mend anything that is broken, even our society.

Superheroes, despite what they say, cannot be in two places at once. So while Captain Super-Glue prepared for the speech of his life (everyone’s making them this week), another attempt to mend our broken society was going on a few miles away in a deprived bit of Blackpool called Grange Park. Conservatives have been bused in all week to help try to create a community garden out of wasteland. It’s like a Tory version of Ground Force.

I asked Captain Super-Glue if he was going to help with the garden and he looked appalled. I’m not sure superheroes really do gardening, for they don’t like getting their leotards dirty. The same cannot be said for mere mortals like Theresa May, the Shadow Leader of the Commons, who is best known for her footwear.

This week Theresa has been appearing in leopardskin print wellies. They looked suspiciously pristine when I saw her prancing around in them on stage at the convention, urging Tories to get gardening to mend our broken society. Those boots looked made for posing, not for walking. The party of Wellington has become the party of wellingtons.

But when I arrived at Grange Park yesterday morning, there was Theresa in her wellingtons. All around her was frantic activity: people were digging, planting bulbs, throwing rolls of turf to each other. It’s a race against time: in 24 hours William Hague is due to open the garden by planting a daffodil bulb named after his wife, Ffion (I am not making this up).

But back to Theresa. There she was, as still as a statue, shovel in hand. Her right foot, welly-clad, rested on the blade of the shovel. “Are those boots made for working?” I demanded. “Yes!” she insisted, her full ballerina skirt looking just a little out of place. Sure enough, upon examination, a small smudge of actual dirt could be seen on her right boot.

“Is it a stunt?” I asked one of the gardeners.

“Absolutely not!” he cried, though I think he was speaking about the project and not the wellingtons. Soon a car came to whisk Teresa away. Those boots will never see action again.

Back in the Winter Gardens, they were preparing for the great “Mend Our Broken Society” debate. A woman came on stage and cried: “Please welcome the man whom every Home Secretary fears!” Then DD strode on the stage, his suit hiding his superhero leotard. About 15 people jumped up for a standing ovation and I heard a distinct “Moo” in the hall, I know not why.

David Davis began by talking about Margaret Thatcher, who did not even believe in society, much less a broken one. He then gave us his superhero plan: zero-tolerance, more prison places, more pictures of himself meeting have-a-go heroes. Basically he wants to give it some welly, though not, perhaps, leopardskin ones.

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