The deputy prime minister saw off House of Commons bullies, but out on the street was another matter
Overhead the helicopters were circling. The police were swarming, and the public clustering to catch a glimpse of Barack Obama. Nearby in the Commons, another politician was fighting for his political life. These events, questions to the deputy prime minister, have been embarrassing displays of playground bullying. You half- expected Nick Clegg to crash onto the asphalt, blazer ripped, blood streaming from his nose, shouting: "You're mean and horrid, and I'm going to tell on you."
But today he did well. Some of the bullies even got a quick thump in the solar plexus themselves.
The problem for poor Nick Clegg is that Labour hates him because they think he has sold his principles to the Tories. The Tories don't like him because they think he is watering down their policies. And many Lib Dems suspect he is leading them to disaster. He must feel very lonely.
Labour were desperate to find something to scoff at. Often they yelled and barracked and catcalled even when what he said was sensible and straightforward. They wanted a repeat of the last time, when they almost reduced the poor fellow to a quivering blancmange. Even David Winnick, who will be 78 next month, joined in the chorus of mockery. It was like being mugged by a man on a Zimmer frame. "Is the deputy prime minister as shocked as I am at reports of a recent meeting of Tory MPs, at which one called his party 'yellow' – and another word, beginning with 'ba' and ending with 's', and was he as shocked as I am?" Mr Winnick repeated. Poor Mr Clegg didn't need a snappy reply; the Speaker crisply pointed out that he wasn't responsible for anything said at Tory meetings.
Then Chris Bryant, allegedly a phone-hacking victim, wanted to talk about reform of the Lords, which nobody believes will be achieved by a 2015 election. Bizarrely, in the meantime, the coalition was appointing yet more peers, above the 792 we already have. Being a lord now is no more exclusive than having a page on Facebook. Nick Clegg replied: "Every time I listen to the hon gentleman, I find it baffling that anyone would want to hack his phone and listen to his messages!" Funny? Not very. Pre-scripted? Almost certainly. Yet it did the trick; just by demonstrating he was prepared to fight back he rescued his position. Meanwhile he was helped by the fact that Mr Bryant didn't seem to find it at all amusing.
Memo from an old hand: when a joke is made at your expense, it is vital to roll around chortling, as if it was the funniest thing you have ever heard. This shows that you are: (a) unaffected; and (b) a jolly good sport. Anything else indicates that you can't take it, and marks you down for further victimhood.
So Clegg did okay. Then, coming down the colonnade that runs to the tube station, I saw him at the short zebra crossing. A white van stopped. The driver looked up and saw him, and drove right on. So perhaps things really are as bad as ever.