Byline: Quentin Letts
SUCH was the crush for tickets that they had to give him Birmingham's big Symphony Hall - the wood-lined space where Sir Simon Rattle once whipped concert audiences into dreamy fervour.
There is something of the Rattle to David Cameron, even if he wears his hair a good deal tidier. He is youngish, artful and knows how to twang the violin strings when needed.
There was no gorge-rising, Brownian use of his wife as warm-up artiste, thank heavens.
But he had a good gag about how he understands business people because he sleeps with one every night.
'And I wake up with the same one, too: My wife Samantha.'
The snappers madly swivelled their long-distance lenses, trying to find long-necked Sam in the crowd.
Two of them almost knocked themselves out.
Sometimes Mr Cameron bobbed at the knees, as if leading the horns in a staccato dance.
His head moved left, and then left again, caught up, involved.
His body hinged at the waist, leaning as he strained for more effort from the timpani.
With tippy-touch fingers he stirred the air above the oak lectern, wristing left and right when insistent. Yes, we have quite a little maestro in the making. There was only one thing this speech had to do: Make Gordon Brown look useless.
Sorry, you troglodytes and knuckle draggers of the Old Way, but I'm afraid he tonked your Gordo out of the ground.
He noted that Brown line about voting for experience and pointed out that it was an absurdity because, if followed through, would mean we never got rid of any regime.
He compared Brown to the immensely experienced (but hopeless) James Callaghan. No further questions, m'lud.
Mr Brown's Manchester speech last week was a world away from the fluent, plugged-in performance we saw yesterday.
'I get the modern world,' said Mr Cameron. And it thumped you in the gut. He's right. Brown doesn't.
The most interesting attack was on David Miliband's paean to the State. We came close …