In Cameron-land, Ken has already sown his trademark turmoil

An argument about whether it was inconsistent to default on a pledge to match Labour spending levels has been put on the back burner, not least because there is nothing much for either to spend.

Mr Brown's popularity boost when he recapitalised the banks has given way to the feeling that nothing really works, and we might as well give the Government a sulky kick for being in office when boom turned to spectacular bust.

Those excessively commercial Lords - whose rates don't seem to suffer in a downturn - have added a layer of sleazy grime to Labour's reputation. I spoke to one usually indefatigable aide of the Prime Minister recently whose best argument was that Mr Brown was "still in with a chance", which is hardly a vote of ringing confidence.

All, therefore, should be rosy in the blooming Cameronian garden. I don't get the feeling it quite is, though.

The cat among the pigeons is Kenneth Clarke, now reincarnated as shadow business secretary. Listening to Mr Clarke pronouncing on the effect of strikes and walkouts on British business this week, it struck me how seamlessly the crumpled old thing has now turned his role as the acceptable face of Conservatism into a lasting occupation.

It matters not whether Mr Clarke is in, out, or somewhere in between. He is always the same thing: bluff, a bit sweeping, quite lazy but very easy to listen to. That is no small thing when you consider how much many people loathe the very sound of politicians.

But his return has thrown the question of who rules the Conservative economic roost into question. It isn't accidental at all that the shadow chancellor, George Osborne, appears to be much less visible since Mr Clarke's return. The town may be big enough for the both of them but the media schedules aren't.

Last summer, I wrote about the solid Cameron-Osborne duopoly. This had the political equivalent of the Curse of Hello! on it.

Mr Osborne promptly got himself into hot water with an oligarch, a fundraiser and a banker in Corfu.

The fallout and subsequent short rally in Gordon Brown's fortunes and the scale of the financial crisis set Mr Cameron thinking earnestly about the range, or lack of it, of his front bench and circle of advice.

He set about widening the axis of power at the top of his party. So shadow foreign secretary William Hague has since been garlanded publicly by the leader as "my deputy in all but name" (which is nice for Mr Hague, and not so nice for Mr Osborne, who used to be just that).

Now Mr Clarke enters the mix. Everything he says on arguments from fiscal stimulus to Europe and the tax relief and marriage debate is seen as significant. Indeed, on the most important question of borrowing to get out of the recession, it isn't at all clear that Mr Clarke really supports his party's declared opposition: he welcomed Mr Brown's early moves and only turned against it after the VAT cut.

There may yet be more palpable strains about these little differences if he joins a Cameron Cabinet. At 68, though, he has left hazily open whether he intends to serve in a future Tory government and for how long.

What matters rather more is how his presence impacts on his colleagues now.

In one of his off-the-cuff moments - Ken barely has on-the-cuff ones - he announced before his return that he would "love to be Chancellor right now". Of course, he added, this did not mean that he actually wanted Mr Osborne's job - but it would be jolly interesting.

How very Ken is that? He managed to launch his own rumour and then make a second headline by denying it.

You could say there are direct parallels in this situation with Labour. Alistair Darling, after all, has to put up with that shrinking violet, Peter Mandelson, who is, as one Cabinet member remarked to me, now "Gordon's real deputy", though merely entitled Business Secretary.

But the restrained Mr Darling is a very different character, by age, temperament and experience than Mr Osborne, who would not be human if he did not feel a twinge of envy as Mr Clarke settles into his role as the voice of common sense on the financial crisis.

I don't think Mr Clarke is plotting for Mr Osborne's job - nor that Mr Cameron would readily give it to him. The New Toryism is also in essence a generational project. It might co-opt figures from the past but it doesn't want to go back there.

So the shadow chancellor needs to be brought back to the limelight a little more if he is not to be lost in a haze of Mr Clarke's cigar smoke.

The Tories have successfully forged a united team: that irks Labour, which relies too much on the old saga of "Tory splits". Nevertheless, there have been some shifting alliances. My understanding is that Andy Coulson, Mr Cameron's chief spin doctor, has grafted himself firmly into a prime place at the top table: Mr Cameron is nothing short of fulsome in his praise for his aide's tabloid-honed savvy. I think we see a touch of the enduring Campbell-Blair love affair coming on: except that Mr Coulson is a more balanced character than excitable Alastair.

Mr Coulson was obviously furious about Mr Osborne's lapse of judgment in Corfu. "Basically, he put him into purdah for a bit," says one source.

Of course everyone gets along famously on the face of it; but Mr Osborne presently feels slightly at a distance from the action. So much so, that one close friend of the inner circle remarked: "Well, he can be a wobbly link on some things."

Such are the causal cruelties of power-play in a small circle. Mr Osborne bore the fallout from his pratfall well and has earned his rehabilitation. Long term, Mr Cameron can't do without his drive and intellect.

Only the foolish would write him off, or defer entirely to the indefatigable one-man band that is Mr Clarke. His talent was described to me by one of his ministers in the Nineties as "the ability to walk into a room, smash the hostess's favourite cup, talk loudly over the host - and still have everyone liking him at the end of it."

That charm makes him a big asset to the Tories. But beware, Dave - there's always a fair amount of turmoil in his wake.