It was the Gordon and Mariella show in Bournemouth. It is an unlikely combination although, as you may know, they are both sex symbols now. Mariella Frostrup because of her deep growly voice and flirtatious manner and Gordon because of his deep growly voice and his plans for world economic reform.

That last bit may not be true but I cannot think of anything else. Apparently women voters think he is wonderful, or so they say.

They strode on stage, looking purposeful. Sex symbols have to do that to be taken seriously. Both were wearing dark suits and light make-up.

Gordon had on more hairspray than Mariella, who has the swingiest blonde bob in Britain. Both carried clipboards, for this was no lighthearted event.

The audience jumped up in an obligatory standing preovation. Gordo and Mariella had a mock battle about which of the black armchairs they were going to sit in. As the applause died down, Mariella swung her hair a bit and said: “We appear to be quarrelling already about who is sitting in whose seat!”

Mariella began formally. “Prime Minister,” she said, before adding: “I’ll lapse into Gordon shortly, I’m sure!”

But she never did. Her campaign to be serious was unrelenting, as was his. For she was no bimbo, nor he a himbo.

They had something to prove and we, the audience, were the ones who were going to pay. Over the next hour, they travelled the world – to Darfur, Burma, Zimbabwe and China, but not, oddly, Iraq – and provided global solutions to global problems.

Mr Brown was trying hard but this does not come naturally to him. When the delegates asked questions, Gordon and Mariella gripped their clipboards and made lots of notes. It was as if they were competing to be teacher’s pet. Even Mariella’s hair had ceased to swing. There was no point, for this was no fun. Mariella mentioned that some people were afraid of young people wearing hoodies. Gordon bridled. “That is such an unfair picture of young people,” he cried to immediate applause. “There is no weakness in our country today that cannot be solved by the strength of the British people working together.”

Mariella, making a tiny joke, wondered if his plan for young people was to keep them in school until 18 and then make them join the Army.

Gordon bridled again. “A lot of people will want to join the Army,” he said. “People who join the Army do a tremendous job.”

Then, and I don’t know why, he began to tell us about midnight football. This is where young people play football at night. Then he remembered something else: “I was at a school in Leicester the other day and they had breakfast football.”

Mariella wondered what he had done when he was young.

“I played sports,” he announced (he didn’t say during which meal). He had gone to university at 16 but, in the first week, hurt his eye playing rugby.

“I spent several years in and out of hospital. Some of you may not know this but this was the Sixties and Seventies. At my hospital at 9 o’clock in the evening – this was the NHS, free at the point of need! – and I was only 17 and 18, they would serve all the patients with drinks!”

The audience barked, possibly with shock.

“Yeah! You could have Guinness. You could have beer! Free beer for all the workers!”

Mariella’s hair swung wildly at that. But the event never really worked. When it was over, they shook hands formally, as sex symbols do on such a very serious occasion.

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