New year, New Gordon. At least that was the idea yesterday as the Prime Minister relaunched himself with a speech on the NHS.

I was there to chronicle the miracle transformation. The omens were not good. The first sound I heard, as we gathered beneath the pillars that grace the Great Hall of King’s College London, was the scrape of empty chairs being dragged away.

We counted down the seconds until New Gordon appeared. I carried a “before” photo with me to remind myself of the scowling, tousled, jowly wreck that he used to be. I am glad I did because he has, indeed, had a makeover. New hair. New smile. New jaw. The old one used to drop. This one, bought at a bargain price in the Boxing Day sales, stays put. Also, new hands. These are guaranteed not to shake, not least because they are gripping each other and are clamped (nailed?) to one knee.

It was all looking splendid. Then New Gordon made his first mistake. He opened his mouth. I could almost hear the cry from command central: “Houston, we have a problem.” Actually, we had more than one problem. This was, as they say at relaunches, a situation. For New Gordon was emitting too many words, too many ideas, too many stages of reform, too much of everything.

We watched in awe as the New Gordon failed to correct himself. Clearly he was not fitted with a failsafe device. (Command central’s cries of “Abort!” were being ignored.) He told us about his three stages of NHS reform (“Stage three will see us continuing the work of stage two”). He is establishing a new care quality commission, an NHS constitution, greater diversity of supply, personal budgets and active patient programmes. All of this means that there will be “real empowerment” for patients.

It was, he announced, the dawn of a new era. The words spewed forth, settling like a fine mist of spittle over the audience. I was grateful not to be in the front row.

The many doctors in the audience began to exchange excited looks. For, right before their eyes, they were witnessing a new medical condition. Forget the dawn of a new era. This was the dawn of a new diagnosis. For New Gordon seemed to be suffering from a political form of the winter vomiting bug (verbal diarrhoea and projectile promising being two very obvious symptoms).

New Gordon, unaware that he was making medical history, yabbered on but now his words became more frightening. The new threat is from “lifestyle diseases”, which include obesity, smoking and drinking. “Nearly 60 per cent of the UK population will be obese by 2050,” he announced. “If we do not reverse this, millions of adults and children will inevitably face deteriorating health.”

Cheery or what? But New Gordon, who was beginning to seem a bit like the Grim Reaper without the scythe prop, wasn’t through. “It has been estimated that 42,000 lives could be lost each year because we do not eat enough fruit and vegetables.” Can it be true? Can 42,000 people really die from lack of vegetables?

This was projectile promising at its most dire, but New Gordon was a no pain, no gain kind of guy and this was a “feel bad” speech. Even the words could feel the mood: they were still rushing out of his mouth but, when they hit the air, they could be seen huddling together for comfort.

Doctors were scribbling madly now (“Patient seems very down . . .”). New Gordon was oblivious. It is not his fault, for he has a bug. When he is better, he can relaunch again.

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