As his helicopter soars over the capital into the clouds, David Cameron looks master of the universe. A mere seven months after taking over a Tory party that some felt was fit only for burial, this young blade is flying higher than anyone expected. He carries a red folder marked “action” but even his worst enemy would not accuse him of inaction.

Hardly a camera crew is passed without tireless, tie-less Dave mugging it, whether he is launching an assault on chocolate bars or hugging hoodies. Polls suggest his policies on public services are more popular than Labour’s. The problem is he doesn’t have any policies.

At least brand Tory is no longer toxic. And the leader seems almost human — which after the deadly duo of Iain Duncan Smith and Michael Howard is a welcome change. But as Cameron points out his house far below us, the question forms: is he just full of the hot air emanating from the eco-windmill adorning his roof?

His “‘Cameroons” chatter about creating an “aroma”, but as parliament goes into recess at the end of his first session, where is the coffee? Are voters beginning to thirst for something more satisfying? The latest poll shows Dave’s popularity dipping: is Air Cameron heading for turbulence?

To find out I spend the day on Dave Force One, Cameron’s chopper. We meet at London’s Battersea Helipad; no bicycles today. “I do offset carbon emissions,” he assures me, three times. So what Tory peer-cum-donor is paying for this? “Lord Harris of Carpets,” smiles Cameron, patting the champagne in the glove compartment. Everything about him looks smooth, particularly his cheeks: does he need to shave — or even shower?

For a man who claims to have been up since 5am with his two-year-old daughter and who has shortly to deliver a speech in Gujarati, he looks remarkably calm. “We have a Nepalese girl helping us out with our son but she said it sounded gobbledygook.” Er, probably because they don’t speak Gujarati in Nepal, Dave.

Such tactlessness is endearing: my main doubt about this former PR fixer had been that he is all spin and no substance. As he relaxes and pokes fun at his colleagues, to the rising hysteria of minders, a real personality peeps through. As he borrows a compact to check his face he shoots me a mischievous look: “I should emphasis this is not mine. However, Oliver Letwin does own his own powder puff.”

However, when Cameron rejects a photograph of himself for the conference programme, joshing that it is “ruined” by the presence in the background of a less photogenic colleague, his PR minder finally flips. A friendly kick is administered.

Charm comes with his background — Eton and Oxford — but humour is classless. He is wryly amusing describing the antics of smart sorts suddenly jumping aboard Air Cameron: “We have been marking off the non-electoral milestones on the march to power: Boris Johnson turning up on time, or that banker Russell Chambers that Tony Blair hangs around with asking me to lunch. But I have defined the ‘moment’ as Tina Brown telling George Osborne she would like to organise a dinner for me in New York.”

It was Brown (former editor of The New Yorker magazine) who memorably launched Tony Blair there when he was on the up; New York only does winners. Where will this celebritisation of Conservatism end? “Well,” he laughs, “Madonna’s mother-in-law is very important in the party; perhaps she can get Madge on the A-List . . .” The helicopter is landing in Leicester next to a vast tent, where Cameron will address a Hindu festival.

The tent is packed with several thousand sari clad listeners, although an organiser whispers that they have not come to hear Cameron but Bapu, a sort of Archbishop of Canterbury for Hindus.

Dave approaches Bapu, who is reclining on a bed on a giant stage. Cameron bows, holds his hands together and you almost expect him to say “Goodness gracious me”. Instead he addresses the crowd in what sounds — to the untrained ear — like fluent Gujarati. Before arriving he had shrugged: “For all I know my speech could be calling for Kashmiri independence.”

Today, when Cameron’s speech shifts back into English, it is all platitudes about living in harmony. You almost expect him to break into Imagine. He tells the audience they are all jolly good chaps and they love it, even Bapu, who speaks no English. The speech is being watched by 8m people live in India. Later, Asian lads jostle to be snapped with Dave: did this ever happen to IDS? Soon we are back in the stratosphere, Leeds bound. Cameron is opening his post. He hands me a miniature hoodie with “Conservative” on the back: “A company makes them as covers for iPods. It shows the kind of people we are reaching out to. I’m writing back saying I have a Nano (an even smaller kind of iPod).” His “hug a hoodie” message, he insists, is not vacuous: “It has been positive, emphasising where we have to make up ground.”