Even the weather was on message. The winds of change did not so much blow round the tiny village of Trimdon in Co Durham as gust, groan and wail. It was a “hold on to your hat” kind of day. The sun shone but it did not warm: this was difficult weather on a difficult day for the Tony Blair and his friends in the North.

He chose his location well. The crowd was not so much friendly as almost family. Trimdon lives up to its name as a trim and tidy place. Its Labour Club, a squat brick building, looks unremarkable. This, for Tony Blair, may be its greatest appeal. His political journey began in this place that reeks of fags and late-night singsongs and he wanted it to end here. The club may be nicotine-stained, but you cannot miss the warmth.

It was a busy day for farewells. Mr Blair’s resignation speech had had to be booked around the wake for Maisy Tones, another club stalwart. There were quite a few jokes about this. “Maisy’s family is rather amazed by the media turnout,” noted John Burton, Mr Blair’s wild-haired agent. It was a strange coincidence but, then, it was a strange day.

People began to filter into the club’s backroom an hour or so early. Everyone was given a bottle of “97” water (“Let Water Flow Into Your Life: Straight from the Tap” was the slogan). Plus there were bowls of sweets and, inexplicably, bananas.

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Almost everyone was from the area and had known Mr Blair for decades, not years. Someone had been busy with the jumbo felt-tip pens. “Cherie, Thanks for Lending Us Your Husband” said one placard. “Things Have Only Got Better,” cried another. As noon approached, the build-up began to feel slightly crazed, what with hysterically upbeat music ( Reach for the Hero Inside Yourself by M People, etc) and the frantic clapping. People had lapel badges with Tony Blair’s picture from 1997: a stranger might have thought they had stumbled into a cult meeting.

The Prime Minister was flying in from London. I knew he was in Trimdon when I saw six people in dark suits, looking not unlike they belonged in Reservoir Dogs, slink through the bar and stand at the back against a wall. This was the Downing Street gang and they looked completely out of place.

Mr Blair, when he arrived, appeared almost surprised to be here, resigning from the most powerful job in the land while standing on a low stage more used to karaoke. He probably felt the hand of history (he usually does) but now it was almost a political deathgrip and he was determined to tell his story, his way.

It is the most personal speech I have ever heard him give. The tone was reflective and, at times, rueful. The bit where he actually resigned was without poetry but then he mused that ten years in power was long enough. “Sometimes the only way to conquer the pull of power is to set it down.”

I think it was only then that I believed he was going. Those words held both yearning and resignation. The battle was over. Gordon Brown had won. Not that the Chancellor was mentioned yesterday. This was a “me” day for Tony Blair. He did it his way and wanted to tell us about it. Other than local thanks, the only namechecks were for Cherie, his children and his dad.

Mr Blair painted a picture of himself as a political visionary, a leader who knew instinctively that he had to put the country first. He was a conviction politician who did what he thought was right in Iraq and Afghanistan, but he did not rant. But he does not want his legacy to be Iraq. He wants to be seen as the Prime Minister who reached for the stars.

“Occasionally people say the expectations were too high,” he said wistfully.

“We should have lowered them. But to be frank I would not have wanted it any other way. I was and remain as a person and as a Prime Minister, an optimist. Politics may be the art of the possible but at least in life give the impossible a go.” After only 15 minutes, he was on the home strait. He had a slight prang when he veered into seriously florid territory (“Britain is blessed” is just so unBritish) but then he found his groove. The room was heating up now: you could almost see the emotion.

“It has been an honour to serve. I give my thanks to you the British people for the times that I succeeded and my apologies for the times that I have fallen short.” He stepped back, lost for words, his arms out in a hug.

“But good luck . . . ” I don’t know if he had planned to say more but, clearly, he could not. The Prime Minister was close to tears.

It won’t be the last time. This was the first stop, though perhaps the most difficult, on the Legacy Tour. Things can only get tearier, as they say.

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