Earth, wind and fire fail to damp Clegg's enthusiasm for cause

With his final humiliation believed by some to be imminent, the leader of a political party facing annihilation asked to be taken away from the hurly-burly, to the very edge of his native island. There he stood, a few feet from the edge of the cliff, as a grey dawn broke, the wind buffeted him and the waves lashed the rocks beneath.

He did not take the route that might be demanded of failed leaders in sterner cultures. Instead, he made a chirpy little 6am speech to a handful of local admirers and zonked members of the media contingent.

Then he led the hacks on to his battle bus for a two-day trip from Land's End destined to culminate on Wednesday evening at the other end of the United Kingdom, John O'Groats: 874 miles by crow, 1,000 miles by Lib Dem battle bus with diversions to constituencies in need of succour, including his own.

The nation's extremities both lie in Liberal Democrat constituencies, which is odd for a centrist party and unlikely to be true by the weekend. The same fate may await about half the party's 57 constituencies - painstakingly built up from almost zero through more than half a century of dogged endeavour.

Is the leader downcast? Is he shamefaced? Not at all. Five years ago, Nick Clegg was the recipient of Cleggmania. Now as Cleggphobia reaches its apotheosis he seems unaged and unperturbed by his travails as deputy prime minister. In his light windcheater and deck shoes he looked like a holidaying dad telling the children that of course it wouldn't be too windy on the beach and don't be so wimpish.

It has been like this all along aboard the Lib Dem battle bus. "He's remarkably chipper," said one of the season-ticket holders. "I don't really understand it." Perhaps it is because despair is less stressful than hope. Perhaps Mr Clegg really believes what he is saying: that the results will not be that bad and that they face only disaster, not catastrophe.

Perhaps it is because he has this remarkable temperament that has enabled him to deal with both adulation and vilification without turning a hair. He is the Butch Cassidy of British politics, able to laugh even as a thousand marksmen stand by waiting for him to break cover. "If you want me to join the cottage industry of hysterical pessimism, I'm not going to," he said.

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This is the reverse of his 2010 campaign. Something else is different: that election he met more unvetted strangers (as opposed to party activists and people at work) in the average hour than he has done all month. Apparently, he did have a brief walkabout at a garden centre in Sussex the other week. You can trust people at a Sussex garden centre.

We went on to Newquay where Mr Clegg was supposed to make breakfast for us all at Jamie Oliver's restaurant overlooking Watergate Bay, an ill-omened place for a politician. Instead, he watched people cook breakfast. "You broke your promise, that's the real Watergate scandal," I complained. He mollified me with a stick of yellow and black Newquay rock. It is a very jolly bus.

We headed to Cardiff Central - a marginal that other leaders might write off as doomed. At an Indian restaurant he said what he wanted to say: that the nation would be doomed to instability, shambles and a second election without the Liberal Democrats in coalition.

And here he really did cook: lamb bhuna. His first attempt was a bit too salty, maybe a bit over-garlicky as well. The second was actually very decent. Someone was worried there were too many flames streaking upwards from the Clegg ring. "Oh, that's just for show," said the owner, who was pleased with his recruit. Yes, the Lib Dems look as though they're going up in flames, but don't worry, it's all just for show.

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