The disclosure that Gordon Brown has been ‘cold-calling’ voters at their homes has sparked a furious inquest among his demoralised team of advisers at Downing Street.

Details of the calls – made to ordinary people who had written to him – were revealed last week in PR Week, a trade journal for the public relations industry, which has become a regular source of insider information on No10.

It claimed that the Prime Minster had rung one startled recipient at 6am, damagingly raising the perception of Mr Brown as a work-obsessed insomniac and prompting his aides to scan frantically through his phone records to check the story.

Leak: The disclosure that Gordon Brown has been 'cold-calling' voters has sparked a witchhunt

There was, say sources, "a lot of shouting" among the advisers assembled to face Stephen Carter, the Prime Minister’s head of staff.

"Whoever leaked this to PR Week did so as a hostile act," said one senior Brown aide.

"The records show that Gordon hasn’t made any calls at that time.

"It looks bad for everyone – bad for Gordon and certainly bad for Carter.

"Gordon has been making calls to voters for 11 years."

At the centre of the inquest were said to be David Muir, the director of political strategy who was recruited from the advertising agency WPP in March, and Nick Stace, the special adviser on strategic political communications who joined at the same time from the consumer body Which?

Mr Brown’s new team of ‘PR professionals’ are regarded with suspicion by the long-standing aides he brought from the Treasury and are seen as a likely conduit for the leaks to PR Week.

Their failure to arrest the Prime Minister’s slide in the polls – despite pushing the wage bill for Downing Street special advisers to more than £1.7million a year – has been noted by those who have fallen foul of the regime.

Spencer Livermore was Mr Brown’s chief political and strategy adviser at the Treasury and followed him to No10, but left shortly after Mr Carter arrived.

From his new berth at Saatchi & Saatchi advertising agency, Mr Livermore watched as
Mr Brown became mired in the row over the abolition of the 10p income tax band – and then allowed it to become known that he had warned Mr Brown it would cause an uproar.

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Hullooo, it’s the PM ... how the dreaded phone call might sound

6am: (THE BEDSIDE PHONE RINGS)

MAN: Yawn! Who is it?

GORDON BROWN: Hullooo, Mr Phillips. This is the Prime Minister.

MAN: Is this an Alistair Mc-bloody-Gowan wind-up? Go away!

GORDON: No, I am the real Prime Minister – and it took me long enough to get the job. Now, I’m calling in reply to your letter.

MAN: What? Gah! Sorry for the green ink. And the swearing.

GORDON: This telephonic response is, uh, a prudent move to give me a more positive humanity rating as my popularity coefficient undergoes a downward adjustment in this difficult global period.

MAN: What planet are you from?

GORDON: I hope (forced, jarring laugh) that I am not interrupting any leisure activities that you, as a hardworking British taxpayer, are engaged in, such as the successful completion of self-assessment form P943/78C or the enjoyment of Bee Gees popular music recordings.

MAN: It’s bleeding 6am. Or don’t they have sleep on your world?

GORDON: Now, in this stage of the economic cycle ...

MAN: Look mate, the only person allowed to make calls at this time of day is Frances from Sir Alan’s office. And you are not She.

GORDON: I want a fairer, more aspirational Britain ...

MAN: Hold on. My letter was only demanding they bring back Sherbet Dip Dabs.

GORDON: Ah. This Government is committed to restoring the Dip Dab as a viable trading unit of confectionery when – and only when – the fiscal climate is right for its sustainable reintroduction ...

MAN: Yawn! All I want now is sustained levels of kip.

(Slams phone down. Frowns. Picks it up again. The PM is still talking.)

GORDON: ... deliver a strategic  recalibration of tax credits ...

MAN: Give us a break! Bring back Tony!

GORDON: Auch. Now that’s one four-letter word I don’t want to hear at this time of the morning.

MAN: Goodbye! (Click.)

GORDON (dejected): Oh, I only wanted a friend to talk to. Anyone? Anyone? Hullooo? Oh ...