'Marmite' man Alex Salmond takes to the campaign trail

Spring comes late to the Aberdeenshire countryside. Only the more adventurous lambs and daffodils had so far braved the harsh winds. But across the chill landscape one fierce beast roamed - spreading alarm, fearing no predators, brooking no argument.

Alex Salmond is no longer the leader of the Scottish Nationalists, a party not even fielding candidates in almost nine-tenths of the UK's constituencies. Yet he is turning into the pivotal figure of the whole election.

So it was hardly a surprise that he caused a stir when he walked into the hustings for the candidates in the Gordon constituency, organised by the local Federation of Small Businesses, in the function hall at the Station Hotel, Ellon. Capacity: 250. Attendance: 50, not necessarily an accurate cross-section.

The speakers had to pick a card to decide who would go first. The star turn got a five, his neighbour, the Tory Colin Clark, picked a two. "That's my diet!" Mr Salmond cried. So the newspapers say, though he does urge us not to believe them. He is not like George Osborne, who has been more conscientious about personal austerity than the nation's, and is shrinking towards invisibility. This is still one of the big fellas.

And his eyebrows! I had never before noticed his eyebrows: the most striking in British politics since the heyday of Denis Healey. But they are different: short but high. Maybe it is an obscure indicator of alpha-maleness. His superiority in this gathering is not in question.

And perhaps only three other current British politicians can touch him, in terms of commanding both a room and his material: Boris Johnson, Nigel Farage and the buzzing wasp of the left, George Galloway. None of them have so far ever been near a seat in the Downing Street cabinet room, which may explain a great deal about the restlessness of the electorate. Mr Salmond has control over his gestures, his cadences and his facial expressions. He smiles a lot, but not always with his eyes. There is a certain lack of generosity when contradicted. Boris-style self-deprecation is not a strong point.

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For 32 years until last Monday, Gordon was represented by the courtly and popular Liberal Democrat Sir Malcolm Bruce (the Lib Dems are very fond of their knighthoods). In normal times, Mr Salmond would struggle to overturn the near-7,000 majority inherited by Sir Malcolm's successor, Christine Jardine, especially in a seat that voted about 62 per cent No to independence last year. The times are not normal.

<>However, he is approaching his task idiosyncratically. A small knot of locals and press had gathered that afternoon in another small town, Oldmeldrum, for a planned walkabout. He never arrived, nor did any message, nor any apology. Some small boys on bikes were upset; so was a fervent local SNPer, Lorraine Kelly. "It's very disappointing," she said. "I shall write and tell them so. And I won't mince my words." In fact, Mr Salmond was already in Ellon, signing The Dream Shall Never Die, his new book on the referendum, for a steady stream of well-wishers. And there is nothing like a successful book-signing session to feed the ego and make time fly.

Ms Jardine says "he's Marmite" and taking the result for granted, and that a lot of old Tory and Labour voters are coalescing behind her. Mr Salmond cites the polls to the contrary: "I will be in Oldmeldrum many times from now on." This despite it not having a bookshop.

Since the Financial Times may not return to Oldmeldrum immediately, he offered me a signed copy to make up for his earlier no-show if I could just hang on a moment. But the last train was imminent and I had read the review by Ms Jardine's fellow-Lib Lord Ashdown, ("the longest exercise in literary masturbation since politics began"). I made an excuse and left.

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