Labour's failure to work with the media brought Brown's flaws into sharp focus

Niall Paterson is a Sky News political correspondent. He has worked at Sky News since 2004, first on the contracts desk before becoming a producer at Sky News’ Westminster studio.

It's not commonly known, but I landed the Gillian Duffy story because of a hangover.

Actually, more accurately, I got to report the gaffe first because of the anticipation of a hangover. The night before (in the bar with the team), aware of a swelling pain in my temples (thanks to the team in the bar), I begged my colleague Michelle Clifford to do the early two-ways. That'd mean I'd get on the Labour Vengabus after breakfast, and have an extra hour in my bed. Bliss. Survival on an election tour depends on these snatched moments.

Occasional interlopers aside, the press were great fun to spend five weeks with. So too the team charged with looking after the hacks' feeding and watering – Anna and Kenny, we salute you, and your ability to find a Marks and Spencer foodhall anywhere in the country.

Those that surrounded the Prime Minister were similarly pleasant and, usually, happy to talk. That was when we were actually in their company. Which wasn't often.

The Vengabus travelled separately from the PM and his team, safely ensconced in their jags, which led to some farcical moments for the press. Once we were forced to circle a roundabout next to the M6, bringing several close to nausea, waiting for the PM to catch up. There was the time we sped past a row of cars in a lay-by, some of their occupants puffing merrily on cigarettes, only to realise a moment later that it was Team Brown in repose.

On Duffy Day itself we arrived in Rochdale to be greeted, yet again, by a line of police bikes standing idle. Grabbing our gear, we rushed up the street to see the PM talking with criminals performing community service in Guantanamo-style jumpsuits.

As if the the image of Gordon Brown clearing bracken from a patch of wasteland with what looked like members of Al-Qaeda was not surreal enough (only beaten in the Dali-stakes this election by Lord Mandelson waltzing round the Blackpool Tower Ballroom), a passing pensioner, off to the shops to buy a loaf of bread, came across the PM - and made herself heard.

The press pack had for some time been arguing that, yes, of course Brown had been meeting "real people" as they came condescendingly to be known. But he'd rarely discussed politics. Once, a group of Morrisons workers told me they wanted to ask him about National Insurance; instead, he talked of school runs and uneaten Easter eggs.

So for Brown to engage with Mrs Gillian Duffy, at length, on issues as diverse as pensions, the economy and immigration was quite something. And, with the possible exception of the man from the Sun, the press agreed this to be a "good news" story – Brown Argues Case With Voter, And Wins.

Mrs Duffy seemed pleased with her encounter with the PM. But that was soon to change.

My colleague Michelle, along with the majority of the pack, was returning to the hotel, and Brown was heading for debate prep. I had stayed to do a quick live, praising his handling of the situation. Caught on tape as Sky filmed the Brown's departure, Sky News, ITN and the BBC quickly became aware of the "bigot" remarks.

The decision to run the material was quickly taken – ITN would have run it but were minutes from their lunchtime bulletin, the BBC say they were discussing the matter in committee but were most likely waiting for Sky to act – and I again stepped in front of the camera.

Ten minutes later, I switched on my mobile phone and waited for the text messages and answerphone messages, the angry rebuttal from the PM's spinners one would expect in these situations – when reporting controversial stories, arguments with politicians' advisers are common.

But, as on other days, none arrived.

Was Duffygate (not my sobriquet of choice, I'd add) the story of the election? Probably not, but it acted as a decent example of Labour's failings in the election.

The distance cultivated between the PM's party and those on the bus was counter-productive. It fostered a sense of team spirit amongst the hacks. And with no spinner actively working the press (just a single, emailed overnight briefing note and occasional huddles and briefings instead), the media were simply not managed.

But more than that, it served as evidence of perhaps Brown's greatest flaw.

Much has been made of Brown's supposed monomania, his rages, his obsessions. I saw little of those during the election campaign. The fury in the Prime Ministerial limo displayed his paranoia, his perpetual suspicion that the media and even his advisers were conspiring against him.

The radio mic a Sky sound recordist had attached to Brown's lapel quickly became the focus. Why wasn't it removed? Why did we keep recording when he was sitting in his car, door closed, and clearly unaware he still was live?

Because Labour had asked for a radio to be used, rather than boom mics, which they argued "make the shot less clean".

Because Brown took the radio with him, entering the car as soon as he had finished talking with Mrs Duffy; there was no question of us leaving it on, on purpose.
 
And because the audio could thus have gone live to air on the rolling news channels, had presenters not started talking about how well he had handled the situation.

By the night of the election though, Mrs Duffy had almost been forgotten (indeed, a poll the following day showed Labour support unchanged, a strong indication that the party was already down to its core vote). As the results poured in, it became clear that a hung parliament was likely.

Back in London at around seven am Friday, I noticed speculation that the PM would depart office within twenty four hours. Given his briefing on the plane south, referring to his "duty" to see the process through, I thought that unlikely. And so it proved, with coalition talks beginning almost immediately and a statement from the Prime Minister confirming that he would be remaining in Number Ten whilst (and perhaps after) a new government was formed.

Patrolling the Palace of Westminster in the early days of the negotiations, fuelled by an acid reflux-inducing mix of adrenaline, coffee and nicotine, the gossip was readily available and often inaccurate. But there was an easily detectable confidence and commitment to the Lib Dem and Conservative teams, Labour reduced to occasional mutterings that they stood ready to speak to the Libs.

By contrast, when Labour took their turn at the table, it was immediately apparent that things had not gone well. The word spread that requests for spending commitments had been turned down flat. One Lib Dem confessed he believed Labour had entered discussions hell-bent on them breaking down – "the Tories are psychologically entering Downing Street, Labour psychologically checking out". Labour sources told me they saw the meeting as a clear attempt to eke more concessions from the Tories.

A promise of a referendum on the Alternative Vote system duly followed.

At that point, it seemed as if the game was up. So Brown indulged in one final throw of the dice – announcing he would step down as Prime Minister before the autumn conference.

One Labour-supporting columnist told me the move could only be described as "naked political ambition". I struggled to find Labour MPs who thought the tactic wise, or even dignified. An image emerged of a man so desperate to cling on to power that he again retreated into the safety of his inner circle, despite clear signals that the endgame was now in play.

For those were the salient features of the Duffy story and those final hours of the political impasse. In both, Brown was seemingly unaware or perhaps unwilling to recognise the bigger picture: he fretted about being cornered by a pensioner, rather than recognising the political capital he'd just earned; he considered his own political future, ahead of that of his party. During the campaign he kept the press away from his hermetically-sealed inner circle as much as possible; in planning his last attempt to hold on to Downing Street he consulted just his nearest and dearest. 

Adam Boulton's spat with Alistair Campbell will undoubtedly be remembered for other reasons. But the former spinner failed to explain why Brown had decided on the resignation announcement in cabal not committee - without consulting the PLP (or even the Cabinet) but following discussions with Mr Campbell, Lord Mandelson, and a couple of others. Adam may have lost his rag, but Alistair lost the argument. A Con-Lib coalition government was formed.

Covering an election campaign and its aftermath is a curious discipline. The press are ostensibly there to dispassionately cover life on the campaign trail, yet a degree of affection for those you are reporting on (and those who surround them) is almost inevitable, given the hours, days, weeks spent in such close proximity. And whilst I can easily recall the detail of an angry, almost furious Brown briefing journalists upstairs in a North London pub, I prefer to remember the day he (completely unselfconsciously) comforted the sobbing grand-daughter of a Sky cameraman, upset because her mother was stranded in Germany due to the ash cloud; or the good humour he showed as he ribbed the man from the Sun during one of the last campaign huddles prior to polling day.

I suppose it's a matter of politicians being as three-dimensional as the rest of us, their character as defined by their attributes as their flaws. Yet viewed up close, through the two-dimensional TV screen, those flaws are quickly pulled into sharp focus.

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