On tour with the Blairs

Tony and Cherie Blair are now visiting Argentina

		By Mark Mardell BBC News political correspondent

There is something deeply satisfying about peering out of the window of an aeroplane watching military men fussily rolling out a red carpet.

A general barks and the military men nervously tug it an inch this way, a centimetre the other way. It is satisfying even when it is not for you.

For to be on the prime minister's plane during a big foreign visit is to glimpse the drama and pomp from backstage. To watch as the wires twitch and the props wobble precariously.

And even occasionally to have the walk-on part of a junior spear-carrier as the press bus tags along behind the motorcade - flashing, hooting, speeding past children staring out of shanty towns.

As my friends and colleagues learnt I was being allowed out of Westminster's square mile to visit Jamaica, Brazil and Mexico - of course envy knew no bounds at this exotic freebie and the opportunity to be close to the prime minister.

Tropical

Even before I set off, I knew life is not like that.

Nearly 50 hours of flying time in five days means more time wriggling sleepily, although admittedly on an comfy club-class seat, than time chatting amiably with the Prime Minister under a tropical sun.

On the ground too often even witnessing the marching bands and sun-soaked walkabouts at close quarters have to be abandoned in favour of crouching over a satellite phone in an anonymous hotel room.

Alongside the jet-lagged hazed backdrop of grey plain, beige hotel room certain images are flash-burnt into memory.

Distinctly not part of a motorcade, being stopped for speeding by a Jamaican cop - his t-shirt carrying more authority than braid or stripes.

Its logo is a punching fist, its legend "Is that your final answer?"

I do not ask him if this is the first fruits of the plan Mr Blair has just announced to get the officers from the Met to train the Jamaican police in human rights.

Jungle

Later the same night, returning to the plane, it is alarming to find the 13 top businessmen accompanying Mr Blair - six knighthoods between them - all changed into what appeared to be identical romper suits - like large greying toddlers.

It turns out that seasoned flyers all, they had not joined a cult, merely donned British Airways first-class pyjamas.

And then there is the long twilight motorcade drive into Sao Paulo - a city of 17 million souls, a city unfolding like the opening credits of a dystopian science fiction movie under a warm brown smog.

Skyscrapers sprout in the distance like trees in an endless forest.

Real jungle forces its way back where concrete has retreated and wooden shacks hung with washing come into focus under flyovers. Where is Mr Blair in all this?

Next time I file on that satellite phone, will tell the truth about the bulkhead briefings and the biggest photo-opportunity in the world.