Nick Clegg, Lib Dem leader and wannabe sex god, relaunched his party yesterday with an event called Make It Happen. As ever with the Lib Dems, it was not entirely clear what “it” was. Still it was intriguing. I arrived early at the venue, a rather swanky restaurant called Bank Westminster, where it (though possibly not “it”) was happening at 10am.

It seemed deserted save for one TV journo on the pavement, phone clamped to ear. Inside, I found a flask of coffee, a camera and a gaggle of Lib Dems. Forget “it”. Was this going to happen?

Twenty purple leather chairs had been arranged in front of a Plexiglass lectern, which was, itself, in front of a plate-glass window. We (actually it was just me) looked out on a courtyard with an ornate Victorian fountain fringed with hydrangeas. It was a beautiful setting for something, though maybe not “it”.

A few others, almost all Lib Dems, trickled in. I glanced through the glossy Make It Happen brochure. The only thing happening seemed to be lots of pictures of Nick: Nick writing, Nick speaking, Nick with children, Nick with troops, Nick with a purple tie. You get the picture (no other Lib Dem did). One of the headlines asked: “Why does the Government ignore me?”

I was beginning to feel bad for the Lib Dems. With minutes to spare, the Yellow Peril (as they are known) fanned out to occupy half the purple chairs. What a relief. The Tories used to do this in the bad old Iain Duncan Smith days. Yesterday the Lib Dems easily outnumbered the press, which at its peak totalled eight, including three from the BBC.

Then, suddenly, Nick was before us. I didn't hear him; he must have been wearing slippers. “Thank you very much for coming to the launch of Make It Happen,” he said without apparent irony. “This is a really important moment for the Lib Dems.”

Pathos. Bathos. Or, possibly, both. Who would be a politician? Then, just when I thought it could not get worse, the restaurant dishwasher started up with a mighty hum. It was tidal. Actually, I'm not sure the Pacific was this intrusive. Through the thrum, I could hear only snippets of Nick saying things like “putting people first”, “wasteful government”, “lower taxes”.

Just when I began to get the hang of it (you have to concentrate as if it is a hearing test), the cutlery began to crash. “This Government seems to have given up,” said Nick. “It's as if they are having a collective do [crash crash] day.” Do what? Later, I discovered he had said “duvet” (is this wise for a sex god?) though he pronounced the whole thing as do-vais-day, emphasising the do, which made it sound foreign. Indeed this may be the most exotic word since Bill Clinton taught us “ubuntu”, which means “I am, because you are”. Ubuntu Dovaisday. Now there's a slogan.

Afterwards I cobbled together the details, such that they are. The Lib Dems are going to tax the rich more (by tinkering with things like pension tax relief) and the poor less. They are going to cut government spending by £20billion. It's all about creating a fairer world, though details are sketchy to say the least. This was their “direction of travel”.

“It's no good wishing for this. We've got to make it happen,” said Nick, looking a bit lost.

Outside I saw a man walk by with a towering chef's hat, as high as Marge's beehive in The Simpsons. Crash, thrum, mad hats. What a cartoon. It was all happening here though not, perhaps, as “it” was supposed to.

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