Portillo goes into battle with a counter-plonker strategy

It is almost exactly a year since Michael Portillo did not stand against John Major for the Conservative Party leadership.

Instead, "friends" had 40 phone lines installed in a house near Parliament - just in case - and made Mr Portillo look like a plonker. As a result, John Redwood slithered into pole position as darling of the Right.

Then, last October, Mr P made a preposterous speech to Tory Party conference, attacking non-existent proposals to abolish separate armed forces and merge everything into a Euro-army. Later, it transpired that this speech had been written by the same "friends" who were responsible for the BT debacle. Mr Portillo looked like a plonker again. And John Redwood now found himself a head and five coils in front.

Since then nothing has been heard of the Defence Secretary.

Quite possibly wondering whether his "friends" may not actually be relatives of Mr Redwood, Mr Portillo has determined to do nothing remotely plonkerish, which - in his case - means doing nothing at all.

He knows that he has less than a year to cultivate leaderly gravitas, at which point his pure sex appeal for the Attilas of the backbenches will see him pulverise the cold-blooded Redwood. So yesterday, I went to see his counter-plonker act at work during Defence questions. Here is my report.

The turn-out for Portillo was good. A substantial proportion of lady backbenchers appeared, decked out in their most fetching outfits, including the divine septuagenarian Dame Peggy Fenner (Medway) in a flowing royal blue number. She did not take her eyes off him for three-quarters of an hour.

But the new, sober Portillo does not play to the gallery. Where other ministers treat virtually any question from Opposition members with a ballistic contempt (e.g. Nicholas Soames's response to some tedious bit of Labour point- scoring: "What utter claptrap, the most ignorant, ridiculous" etc. etc.), Michael's most offensive response was to comment mildly that he did not think that a particular proposition was "a very good idea".

When not answering questions, he scrunched himself up on the front bench, not talking, or smiling, or gesticulating, or making V-signs, or lounging about with his legs wide open, or doing any of the things that most ministers enjoy.

Only two things remained of the old, exciting Plonker Portillo. The first is the extraordinary attention he is still paying to his appearance. His double-breasted dark grey suit was superb - to die for, in fact. And he retains those handsome, if slightly squashed, features - features which remind one of a luscious, almost perfect piece of fruit at a greengrocer's, which unfortunately is just beginning to become overripe.

Above the fruit is the elaborate confection of the hair. It must take him hours every morning to reconstruct.

Parted in the centre, the left bang is swept upwards, and then allowed to flop back coquettishly. It is his liberal wing. The right, by contrast, maintains an uncompromising, arching curve, a determined Baroque sweep, defying gravity. There is something in this haircut for all sections of the party.

The second holdover was demonstrated in his answer to one of those Tory questions about Tony Blair, CND and the nuclear trigger.

According to the Defence Secretary, the Labour leader had said that he was "in favour of pressing the button".

Opposition members looked shocked, as well they might: surely Tony would wait for a war first? This was a novel twist on "New Labour, New Danger".

But what Mr Portillo had meant, of course, was that Mr Blair was prepared to push the button. Five per cent of him is still a plonker.