The sun rose at 8.26am in Liverpool but Gordon Brown could not wait for something as tedious as that to start Day Two of his Great Regional Tour. It was still dark when he made his way to the Liverpool Marina. There, a police diver, dressed in a red dry suit, was lowering himself into the inky, icy water to check the Prime Minister's boat for limpet mines. Was this the coldest job in Britain? It was -1C.

The boat, with the unlikely name of Groove Armada, was a nippy little thing known as a sports cruiser. As the sun rose, the PM was feeling his way down the gangplank, holding the rail, hesitant in his city slicker shoes. His fellow sailors Andy Burnham, the Culture Secretary, and Beverly Hughes, the Children's Minister, held hands like children as they manoeuvred the slope. Then there was Phil Redmond, local hero and the man who created Brookside, who was acting as the PM's tour guide.

Thus the day dawned with three ministers in a boat, plus Phil (who, with shaggy grey hair and laconic ways, really is groovy), a PR and a bodyguard. The craft was guarded by two police boats (one with diver) and accompanied by a press boat with a PR and photographers (but not me, as I was banned).

The press boat PR was in constant contact with the PM's boat PR. “He needs to look this way,” came the command. Within seconds the PM was looking that way. Mr Brown seemed almost unnaturally buoyant. It really is true that the worse it gets, the better he looks. Yesterday, tootling by the Liverpool docks, the economy in tatters, with interest rates as low as the temperature, Mr Brown looked as happy as a sandboy.

As the PM cruised, on land at Albert Dock, his press team were fussing over his arrival. I'm not sure why. There were no crowds. Indeed, there were no “real people” at all unless you count the eight “youth champions” brought there to meet him. For reasons unknown, the man from the No 10 press office had brought along three small barriers with blue velvet ropes, which he erected in a random corner of pavement. “I think that's your pen,” commented a woman to me. This turned out to be true.

The PM, back on land, his breath condensing into cloud puffs in the crystalline air, bombarded the youth champions with bonhomie. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” he boomed. A small boy squeaked something (it was hard to hear in the pen). “A musician!” cried the PM, emitting one of his deep belly chuckles.

Next to him, Andy Burnham looked frozen but the PM was toasty. I don't think he feels the cold. The day before he was coatless and loving it, apparently.

Gordon trotted off, treading through salt and mud, to tour a new museum (I'd like to tell you about it but I was banned). On the way back he stopped by to observe a large sculpture called an orrery, which is a giant model of the universe. This seemed appropriate for the Man Who Saved the World.

As his entourage approached, the woman next to me let out a squeak of excitement. “Look!” she cried, her mobile phone camera out, “There's Phil Redmond!” And indeed there he was, right next to that guy the Prime Minister.

Gordon headed off to his “public engagement” event with 200 carefully selected real people. I was banned from that, too, though I did watch some of it in the ITN van on a tiny screen flanked by another tiny screen showing footage from a zoo. So, as the PM spoke (it was all about global challenges), I was watching a sloth go up a tree. It was surreal but then, that is what passes for normal on the Great Regional Tour.

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