It is one of my rules of the universe that politicians almost always say the opposite of what they really mean. So when they say “It is very clear” we are swimming in a sea of ink. When they say something is simple it is almost certainly fiendishly complicated. It’s not that they are fibbers, per se, for they believe it when they say it. So it’s not compulsively lying for, as they see it, they are compulsively telling the truth.

Given this, I was on high alert when George W. Bush started to ruminate on Gordon Brown’s character this week. “He’s not a dour Scotsman,” said George W. as the thundercloud in a suit stood next to him at the Camp David press conference. Nor, George W. announced, was he “the awkward Scot”. Gordon Brown, the man who smiles in syncopated time, looked distinctly ill at ease. Then, finally, the punchline. “He’s actually the humorous Scotsman,” announced George W.

Is he? Well, at least George made me laugh with that.

At least we now know the truth about the special relationship. It’s not so much “Yo, Blair” as “Doh, Dour”. And what does Dour think? I’m not sure if he’s recovered from that ride in Golf Cart One, actually. He could hardly wait to escape all that Camp David chumminess and get to the UN to solve Darfur.

And that’s Gordon. George, once his words were decoded, had it about right. Gordon’s dour. He’s awkward. He’s a Scot and a Presbyterian to boot (dour and awkward is code for that, by the way). Since Gordon became Prime Minister, the spin has been that he is merely serious. “A serious man for serious times,” is the slogan. Even my hairdresser said this, so it must be true.

At Westminster the Brown era does feel different. “He’s so serious,” people whisper, eyes wide. Yes, well, he is serious but so, can I note, was Tony Blair. How I used to dread those press conferences when he was obsessing about Iraq. Or the NHS. Or schools. He bombarded us with charts, graphs, data, quotes, percentiles. Seriously serious and seriously exhausting.

So the main difference is not so much substance as style, and I think that much of it comes back to religion. Essentially Blair was a Roman Catholic, not officially but certainly in spirit. And his premiership was often marked by some of that religion’s characteristics: theatre, surprise, admonishment, complications, warnings, rigidity, warmth, magic and, of course, hypocrisy. Sometimes, as he worked his transformational arguments in a speech, I could almost smell the incense.

Brown, though, is a Presbyterian. I know a bit about this for I am, too, if a bit lapsed now. I think that the man’s sheer Presbyterianism has taken England by surprise. People are always wanting to know what Brown is like. Well, I say, he’s a Presbyterian. People look at me blankly. Yes, but he’s serious, right? Yes, I say, but in a Presbyterian sort of way. People then look quizzical and perplexed.

“So what do Presbyterians do?” I ponder this. “Well,” I say, “we work.” “All the time?” “Yes. And when we aren’t working we are thinking about working or wondering why we aren’t working. We believe in work and the value of work. Oh yes, and as you can see, we are also dogmatic.”

“But do you sing hymns?” I ponder again (we like to ponder). “Yes,” I say, “but not in a joyous way. We do joy only in a serious way.”

“So what else do you do?” I think back to all those years of going to church. We never did anything as blatantly showy as going up to the altar and kneeling for communion. Instead, trays that held croutons and tiny hourglasses of grape juice were passed down the pews. I can still remember how wicked it felt when I took Church of England Communion. The wine was terrible, but it was wine. And that whole thing with the wafer: it was so complicated! So exotic!

Yes, I know, pathetic. But that’s me as a Presbyterian being honest. Presbyterians don’t do froufrou (Catholics are brilliant at that). Indeed, we aren’t naturally inclined to a whole raft of things: high style, expensive food, showy holidays. The fact that Brown served Sainsbury champagne at his own wedding says it all. We are hopeless on magic and miracles.

Presbyterians believe in “fellowship” which, basically, just means getting together with others. I was completely unsurprised by Brown’s obsession with Cabinet meetings. They are just a power version of fellowship meetings. Presbyterians believe that fellowship can solve almost anything (even, perhaps, flooding).

When you look at Brown in this way, it is completely unsurprising that his first acts have been to kill supercasinos and to review cannabis. The other day, at his press conference, he was asked if he was a kill-joy. I felt like shouting: “Of course he is! He’s a Presbyterian!”

But Brown did not admit to such a thing. Instead, he said with a chuckle: “You’ve got to remember that I came to London in 1983. I’ve been in London for a bit more than 20 years.” He then announced that this reminded him of a story about when Mark Twain went to Nevada. Mr Twain, he noted, had had a very Puritan background. “He arrived in Nevada and he found drinking and gambling and womanising. And he said: ‘This was no place for a Puritan and I did not long remain one!’ ” I felt immediately that there was something wrong with that quote. Sure enough, upon checking, Mark Twain did not say Puritan; he said Presbyterian. Essentially, then, Gordon Brown was saying that he was no longer a Presbyterian. I don’t believe that for a minute – but then he’s a politician, too, and so, remember, he doesn’t mean it.

Failing to make their presents felt

My mother always says it’s an art to give the right gift to the right person. The wrong gift, though, that’s easy. You just give what you want to get yourself. This, in a nutshell, is what happened when Gordon Brown and George Bush exchanged gifts.

George gave Gordon a bomber jacket. If Gordon actually opened it, his face must have frozen in horror. This is a man who almost required brain reprogramming to appear in chinos. A bomber jacket? He would get more use out of a tutu (lampshade).

I can’t imagine any male who is not in a boy band wanting to wear such an item. And Gordon is 56. Too old to play bomber pilot, that’s for sure. The name tag that says “Rt Hon Gordon Brown” makes it even worse. It is all just too camp, even Barbie’s Ken wouldn’t be caught dead in it.

So what did Gordon give George? What he gives everyone: a book. Gordon is a bibliophile. Even on press trips, he gives books (preferably heavy ones) to journalists. George got a book about Winston Churchill. But does George know that Gordon will expect him to read it?

No place like home

The New Presbyterianism has ushered in a new era of holidaying at home. Gordon, apparently, is going all the way to that mythical place, Middle England. Hazel Blears will be heading to Cornwall, James Purnell to Scotland, and Jacqui Smith is also staying close to home. Alistair Darling, ever the daredevil, is going to Spain – though, his spokesman added, “for quite a short time”. David Miliband is planning to go to France, but not, of course, by plane.

The Opposition is following suit. David Cameron is going to Brittany (by ferry). Peter Ainsworth is “driving to Suffolk”. Does it get more exotic? Well, yes. For Lembit Opik is taking a camper van around Wales. Can you stand the fun?

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