By Mark Davies BBC News Online political reporter at the Hutton inquiry

"Thursday 28th August 2003 (10.30 am). Mr Tony Blair (called)."

Outside, the queue for one of the prized public seats in the court room became increasingly restless as the curious, the angry and the students of history waited for their chance to see the prime minister give evidence to the Hutton inquiry.

Tony Blair: Assured performance

With police officers and screeching protesters lining the streets, a helicopter buzzed overhead as harassed officials tried to keep order and a man in a woolly hat boomed out his disapproval at the ticketing arrangements.

All a far cry from the luxurious calm of Sir Cliff Richard's Barbados home, from where the prime minister has just returned.

Inside court room 73 at the Royal Courts of Justice things were quieter. Security men whispered into the microphones up their sleeves: lawyers gossiped around the computer screens.

Student Alex Holmes, first to the public seats, was telling journalists about his night on the streets, having queued since 6.30pm on Wednesday for his chance to see Mr Blair in action, when the tanned prime minister strode into the room.

In a dark suit, white shirt and purple tie with white spots, and carrying a brown leather file, he took his seat with a sheepish glance at the press. And were his hands shaking ever so slightly as he put his glasses on?

James Dingemans, counsel to the inquiry, eschewed the usual formalities of asking for witnesses' full name, occupation or rank, by asking: "I take it we need no introduction?"

There were also times when he seemed ever so slightly indignant

And then we were straight into the thick of it as politics and the law collided in the most dramatic way.

Mr Blair's voice seemed a little quieter than usual, though the hand movements and the language - plenty of "looks" and "you knows", plus the occasional studious "yes" - were familiar from his press conferences and House of Commons appearances.

Indeed, the gestures seemed more frantic than usual. A body language expert would have a field day.

There was the pointing at the table, the circular palm waving. Hands folded, hands waved, hands flapped. Fists clenched. A sigh and a gulp. Glasses on, glasses off. Picking at his fingernails. Fiddling with glasses.

And at one point sitting back in his chair, arm rested on the table next to him, like a holidaymaker soaking up the sun in...well, say, Barbados.

There were also times when he seemed ever so slightly indignant - one "yes, of course" sounded like the words of man frankly a bit peeved to be here rather than on Sir Cliff's sun lounger.

Amusement

Lord Hutton asked a question and got a speech in reply, with the inquiry chairman seeking to bring the answer to a close with a "quite" here and a "yes" there.

Never before have the internal workings of Downing Street been held up to such very public scrutiny. It had a surreal feel about it.

"I suppose it could have been Jonathan, but I think it was David," said the prime minister at one point, as though talking about who said what in the pub rather than his chief of staff and Cabinet Office intelligence head.

And there was almost a sense of wry amusement as Mr Blair studied emails from his staff, like a boss thinking to himself: "So that's what they get up to".

Court room 73 was gripped. Well, mainly. Two members of the public did occasionally drop off, one resting his head on the bookshelves behind him.

Thrown

Perhaps they'd been expecting real fireworks. Instead it was a self assured and confident performance during which the prime minister was rarely in difficulty.

Only a draft document from his official spokesman, Godric Smith, seemed to throw him, provoking plenty of "hmms," and a couple of "looks".

That and the moment Lord Hutton almost wrecked his microphone by dropping a large box file on it, causing a little jumpiness among the beady-eyed security men.

The BBC's report about the Iraq dossier was "extraordinary", Mr Blair said, and here the prime minister got a little agitated, telling the inquiry he would have quit if the broadcast had been true.

It was "definitively and emphatically" not true, however, and there was a snort of disapproval and a shake of the head as he reflected on how the story had run and run.

Proud

It was, after all, a "completely false storm". No, it was worse than that, it was a "raging storm".

So was he happy with his media chief Alastair Campbell letting the BBC know what he thought of them?

"I was aware he was in correspondence with the BBC," said Mr Blair, like a proud parent egging on his offspring in a football field spat.

Ultimately, he said he took responsibility for everything. His integrity had been under attack and, faced with a difficult situation, he and his officials had done what they felt was right.

And with that he was off, adding nothing when offered the chance by Mr Dingemans, putting his glasses in his pocket and heading back to face the screaming protesters.

Just then it started to rain. Not a bit like in Barbados.