The coronation of Gordon Brown was a serious and studious affair. This was not a day of joy and laughter, but one of sermons and solemnity. It was like being in church, without the fun. Even at the end, as the new Labour leader stood on stage, awkwardly holding the hand of his wife, Sarah, the look was not of triumph but of surprise. Only the driving beat of the rock band Reef lifted the mood. “Put your hands up!” the song screamed and, dutifully, the new Labour leader and his wife did as they were told.

Tony Blair craned his head to watch as Gordon and Sarah made their way out of the hall through the crowd, relentlessly kissing everyone in their path. Neil Kinnock, much praised yesterday, got a bear hug (or three). Mr Blair revealed nothing as his eyes traced their progress on the walk he and his wife, Cherie, had done so many times. Sadly, Mrs Blair was not there (I cannot think why), for her face always gives everything away.

It was a strange, bifurcated event. The first half was devoted to the bizarre deputy leadership contest, the second to the Great Gordon Coronation Sermon. Before it all, though, there was a real buzz of excitement. As John Prescott made his way into the Bridgewater Hall, overshadowed as always by his wife’s hairdo, the crowd burst into heartfelt applause. (Later, Margaret Beckett got a half-hearted clap or two.) The winner of the deputy leadership was a genuine secret. A half-hour before the event, the six candidates were taken away, locked in a room without mobiles and told the result. They emerged, just before the event, to a standing ovation (there were so many that knees will ache today). Harriet Harman looked happy but, then, so did Alan Johnson. I cannot report on Hazel Blears, for she was too short to see. The results were wildly complicated, involving graphs and percentages (within two decimal places) and a comical amount of detail. In the first round, Ms Blears got the least votes. “Hazel Blears is eliminated!” cried the announcer and the crowd gave a huge cheer (for her, I think, not for her elimination). And so it went on until it was only Harriet and Alan left. The latter was the favourite and I had even spotted him practising his victory speech. We will never hear it for Ms Harman won by a mathematical whisker, which was, I can report, 0.087 per cent.

She ran up on stage, looking like an animated china doll, and gave a fantastically wooden speech. Pinocchio will recognise her as one of his own. There is going to be a lot more of that, I fear. She is full of middle-class do-gooding and only means for the best, I know, but it is hard work listening. I’ll bet her colleagues in the new Cabinet (of all the talents) can hardly wait.

The stage was then cleared of all excess furniture and the purple lighting scheme switched to red for Mr Brown. Mr Blair did the introduction, oozing praise. A video flashed up showing Mr Brown meeting lots of children and standing on lots of escalators. Occasionally, we would see him kissing strangers on the Tube. There were some “fun” shots of the G8 finance ministers. It was a sermon without even a trace of frivolity. Mr Brown is not a feel-good politician and yesterday he proved that he’s not even a “feel-a-bit-better” politician. Duty is his watchword. He has checked his moral compass (I welcome it like an old friend now) and it has told him what to do. “I am a conviction politician,” he said with conviction (for he has been practising). “Call it the driving power of social conscience, call it the better angels of our nature, call it a moral sense, call it a belief in civic duty.” The better angels? What about the naughty ones? Anyway, it’s all about values. “The party I lead must have more than a set of policies – we must have a soul.” He looked down at the lectern, although I could tell him that he was not going to find it there.

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