Follow PUP leader Clive Palmer on the campaign trail CAMPAIGN TRAIL: Clive Palmer on his private jet arriving in Melbourne to the Palmer United Party launch at the Langham Hotel in Melbourne. BILLIONAIRE Clive Palmer says he usually begins his day about 2am. Perhaps that is why his walk is so brisk as he leaps from his Rolls-Royce at 4.30am on a Sunday, while everyone else slouches in the chilly Coolangatta hangar. His entourage, pacing between the other vehicles, snap to attention as he steers his Rolls-Royce Phantom through the hangar doors and brings it to a stop. His wife, Anna, he explains, was supposed to drop him off but a bout of morning sickness meant he had to take the wheel. The engines of Mr Palmer's private jet a Bombardier Global Express emblazoned with the Palmer United Party's colours and logo and worth $70 million new are already whirring. MORE: Palmers to welcome Christmas baby It costs more than $5000 an hour to run. Today it will cost the richest man in Queensland about $10,000 as he flies down to Melbourne to announce more than 20 Victorian candidates for his fledgling and oft-troubled party. He springs up the steps and makes his way to the rear of the plane, while the others find seats up front. Queensland senate candidate and Origin great Glenn Lazarus is soon fast asleep. EDITORIAL: Don't dismiss Palmer's push The Irish band he drags around the country along with their guitars and banjos are also asleep. Settling into his leather armchair at the back of the plane, he turns to his public relations representative, Andrew Crook, and begins rattling off ideas for press releases. Mr Crook punches a few notes into his iPhone and later dozes off. But his boss is wide awake and will talk without pause for the next hour and 45 minutes. ``If I become prime minister. . . " he says, ``. . . I've got to downgrade my plane. I've got to downgrade my home and downgrade my car. But he also dismisses the jet as ``just a transport thing" used to ``get from one place to another." He says: ``You don't want to get attached to possessions because you lose them. At the time, his exchange with the media over questions about the financial health of his businesses had only just begun. Later in the week, it will draw in Premier Campbell Newman, who will publicly fire shots at the self-described multi-billionaire. Meanwhile, staff at the Palmer Coolum Resort were yesterday working to cover up bizarre, expletive-laden anti-Palmer graffiti. ``I don't respond to it," he says of speculation about his wealth. But he does refer to one front-page newspaper story that casts doubts on his financial claims and questions the financial security of his businesses, Mr Palmer says he is ``grateful" for the publicity - as well as the ``great photo with the plane and me happy on it." He claims it's the equivalent of tens of thousands of dollars' worth of advertising. From there, he tumbles from topic to topic. He recounts his response to political rival Bob Katter when the maverick MP boasted about often being stopped by people wanting photos. `` (I said) my daughter wants a photo with Mickey Mouse, but that doesn't mean she'll vote for him," he says, adding: ``He got hurt a bit." Mr Palmer becomes most animated when the conversation turns to his five-year-old daughter, Mary, a girl ``motivated by stars and stamps" who loves listening to her father's stories. The relaxed snippets of family life he describes contrast sharply with his energetic work life, as he typically rises between 2am and 3am when he begins firing off texts, emails and press release ideas. Scott Higgins the former Gold Coast United goalkeeper who hopes to represent his state in the Senate clears the plane's breakfast boxes, spilling the contents of one on the carpet. He apologetically scrambles to pick it up. For the majority of the trip, Higgins makes no speeches, and seems to spend the bulk of his time hauling around bundles of corflutes, setting up displays and generally performing menial tasks. At the Melbourne hangar, Mr Palmer steps into the passenger seat of a waiting Audi and is whisked away to a ``secret" breakfast. The remaining entourage pile into two waiting minivans. On the way to the Langham Hotel, where the PUP will that day hold three lengthy, identically structured announcements, nobody discusses politics. Throughout the day, Mr Palmer is generally the only one who initiates any sort of political or strategy talk, with Lazarus happier to talk about upcoming NRL club reunions. The band, playing their 15th PUP gig, sets up and tunes at the back of the room. Band spokesman Ken O'Flaherty says the group is paid on a ``gig-by-gig" basis and often engages in impromptu karaoke sessions with their billionaire boss during flights. ``There are no exotic funds we're not getting millions a day," he says. Also among the entourage is Mr Palmer's brother-in-law George Sokolov, the party's ``director of photography. Several PUP candidates are either employees of Mr Palmer or directly related to him. Mr Sokolov, a 41-year-old Bulgarian, says he feels as though he is travelling with a ``rock star. ``It's an awesome job, you just fly around," he says. Just after 9am, a complete run-through begins. The first batch of candidates including AFL legend and recently announced senate candidate Doug Hawkins is ushered into a meeting room where a lounging Mr Palmer briefs them on every conceivable detail. He runs through recent polls, website hits, talking points, corflute requirements, business cards, polling booths, press releases, reminders to smile and his usual lines of dialogue. Only one or two of the group bother jotting down notes on the pads provided. One candidate insists on calling him ``sir" and even salutes him in a rigid and formal manner throughout the day. For the next half hour, Mr Palmer will coach them. Every candidate has their own theme song that plays them on to the stage. Mr Palmer tells them when to shake his hand, which way to turn on stage and how long to wait before beginning their speech. He selects ``C'mon Aussie C'mon" as his own entrance music. Each candidate is physically spun by the shoulders at the lectern by their party leader and nudged towards either the left or right side of the stage. Occasionally, he snaps at someone to ``keep quiet" as the chatter rises. He forces the group to practise the ``photo opportunity" salute, which involves a single fist raised up before them. ``You guys haven't put up your hands fast enough," he warns. ``Once the hands go up, they don't go down until I say so. Hawkins is told to shout ``let's stick it up 'em!" during the salute. He has written in block letters ``talk slow" at the top of the A4 sheet containing his speech. Once the press conference starts, the candidates' political inexperience quickly begins to show through generally stilted and unpolished speeches. Joe Zappia, running against Prime Minister Julia Gillard, even gets his own electorate wrong, before quickly correcting the error. ``Sorry, I messed up," he tells the crowd. Seconds later, he gets the party name wrong, referring to it as ``the Palmer Liberal. ``I will get better at this, but the nerves are unbelievable," he says. ``Sorry for what I've done to you today." But Mr Palmer simply ignores the blunders. ``They're genuine people . . . excited about being involved in something. By the end of the second session, Mr Palmer has been talking and stage managing for more than 10 hours. A third presentation is still to follow, along with a candidates' dinner. But he is adamant he is the best person to direct the campaign, overseeing every aspect from handshakes to left-hand turns to slogans and logos. ``It's silly contracting it to someone if you can do it," he says.