LATER
The Marginals Club dinner with Michael Dobbs470 was poorly attended and not encouraging. The PM can’t wait to get shot of poor Jeremy and I imagine Michael (another truly nice guy) will join him on the way to the knackers’ yard. But never mind Smith Square: Stephen and I began the evening at No. 10. We went to see Norman Blackwell, Head of the No. 10 Policy Unit, the ‘thinker’ at the right-hand of the leader of our great nation, the man who is fizzing with those ideas and bite-sized chunks of policy that are going to sweep us back to power and give Martin Gilbert something to write home about. It was truly appalling.
We climbed the stairs to a garret-like office, small and Spartan, where Norman, courteous, self-effacing, smiling quietly behind the owlish giglamps, shared with us the fruit of his pensive nights and laborious days. He has spent months on this and had it all set out neatly on display sheets. As he turned each page our hearts sank lower. You couldn’t argue with any of it, but it was all so horrifyingly obvious and banal. He’s identified our weaknesses (correctly) and he listed what we need to offer under five ‘policy themes’, each subdivided into various strands: 1) delivering economic security; 2) creating a society of opportunity, choice and reward; 3) support for law, order and justice; 4) a commitment to first class public services; 5) reflecting national pride in the UK and our role in the world. It was very worthy – you wouldn’t want to disagree – but the average well-informed activist could have cobbled it together in an afternoon. And the Big Ideas ranged from ‘creating a good news package on information technology’ to – wait for it! – ‘relaunching the Citizen’s Charter’. I said almost nothing. Stephen probed a bit, tried out one or two of the thoughts we’d gained from Newt Gingrich’s man, but Norman Blackwell is what he is: a decent dull dog. And we are doomed. Forget the Charter for Government. Here comes o-bli-vion!
MONDAY 27 MARCH 1995
I found Jeremy alone in the Tea Room. He was gazing at the front page of The Times: ‘Major ready to get rid of Hanley’. He looked up, all puffy-eyed. ‘I blame you,’ he said, ‘personally.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘You just can’t win.’ He remains fiercely loyal to the PM – while around the knives are out. Everyone is agreed that Jeremy must go, preferably sooner than later. The likely scenario is that he’ll be sacrificed on 5 May in the aftermath of our local election bloodbath. The real question is: can the PM survive? Open speculation is rife again. Today’s most popular prediction: a leadership challenge in the autumn, with Lamont as the stalking-horse, pre-empted by Major stepping down to be replaced by a so-called ‘dream team’: Heseltine as PM, Portillo as deputy.
The Wednesday Club gathered for our occasional Monday night of gossip, wine and sandwiches. We met in the Home Secretary’s room behind the Speaker’s chair. (Only the holders of the great offices of state – plus the Leader of the House – have decent-sized rooms here. The rest of the Cabinet have fairly poky rooms, sub-Pugin, a desk and a couple of chairs, off a long narrow corridor upstairs.) In theory the setting was exactly right for half a dozen of the more upwardly-mobile members of the government’s team to meet and put the world to rights. In practice, it didn’t work at all. The room was inhibiting. We felt guilty about our gossip. We talked conspiratorially, in hushed tones, as if the room might be bugged. (Perhaps it is?) And when I suggested we might each give a sketch of our boss, strengths/weaknesses/prospects, Lidington471 [Michael Howard’s PPS] looked really alarmed. ‘I don’t that would be quite proper,’ he squeaked primly. I was irritated at the time, but I think he was probably right.
I am in the Library, leafing through a long screed that has arrived from Sandringham. HRH hopes I will ‘persuade the SoS to read, at least, bits of it’. Look what he has to say about team games: ‘It is the coordination of individual skills and team tactics and the sublimation of individual ambitions for the good of the team that brings success.’ Exactly.
We’ve just been voting on the Disability Discrimination Bill. Hague is very, very good, but Alan Howarth voted with Labour. He gets wobblier by the hour.
THURSDAY 30 MARCH 1995
I am sitting alone on the PPSs bench as the three-hour tourism debate trudges towards its close. Around me, assorted good-hearted oddities (Toby Jessel has been speaking with his mouth full and his Garrick Club tie poking out through his flies); facing me, empty Labour benches and a pretty desultory opposition double act: Chris Smith, thin and worthy, Tom Pendry, fat and worthy.472 It’s interesting how little they’ve got to offer.
It’s been another long DNH day. To get to breakfast with Stephen and Danny by 8.00 I leave home at 7.00 and tonight I’ll be back by 11.00 p.m. which will be my earliest night this week. Sometimes I creep out of bed and M’s still fast asleep and when I get back it’s gone midnight and she’s already asleep again. I don’t like it. But we’re making progress. Stephen is infinitely more engaged. I’m making real headway on the funding of dance and drama students, largely by scurrying from Stephen to Gillian [Shephard, Education Secretary] and talking up the issue, saying that ‘No. 10 are anxious for us to find a solution’ when I’ve no idea whether or not No. 10 is interested at all. (In fact, they would be.) Sproatie is irritating Stephen by running off to No. 10 whenever he senses the DNH and the DfE are diluting the school sport policy – but he’s doing the right thing. The only way to make progress here is to take ownership of what you believe in and, come hell or high water, drive your policy through.
I had another meeting with Hayden on honours. Between us Danny and I had cobbled together a little list (literally on the back of an envelope) and as well as the legit end of the business (Richard Curtis, John Cleland, Martin Jarvis, Eileen Atkins, Alec McCowen etc.) we threw in some populist suggestions of the ‘Arise Dame Cilla’ variety: Norman Widsom, Bruce Forsyth, Julie Goodyear, Peggy Mount, Michael Elphick, Delia Smith. Danny (off the top of his head) conjured up a raft of names for the sports list and, knowing I wouldn’t have heard of half of them, supplied thumbnail portraits: Ian Rush (‘Liverpool soccer legend. This is his testimonial season’), Fred Street (‘for many years the England football team’s physiotherapist’), Martin Edwards (‘chairman of Manchester United. A go-ahead sporting entrepreneur of the sort we are trying to encourage’), Len Martin (‘The best-known voice in Britain. He reads the football results on BBC1. He is getting on a bit and presumably will soon retire’).
MONDAY 3 APRIL 1995
We went to the Olivier Awards last night in loco the Secretary of State. It was quite fun (we saw a number of chums, we sat with Sally Greene473 and Diana Quick – in my mind’s eye still in that leather mini-skirt474 – and Bill Nighy475 – whose half-hesitant self-consciously sexy style M and I love and Simon [Cadell] loathes) – but it doesn’t work. If Stephen can’t go/won’t go (and these events are often on a Sunday night, his one certain night at home in Worcester), then it’s better to send no one. My turning up just advertises the fact he’s failed to show – again. In the speeches there was the customary mocking of Stephen and sneering at the government.
Good old Sproatie. John K. has just shown me a minute from Sproat’s office to the SoS, cc Lord Astor and the Permanent Secretary:
APPOINTMENTS TO THE THEATRE TRUST
Mr Sproat has read Mrs Walker’s submission of 28 March and your minute of 29 March asking for views by 31 March.
The Minister does not agree with the recommendations put forward including, specifically, the proposed reappointment of John Drummond and Yvonne Brewster. The Minister also objects to the shortage of time given to him to consider the recommendations and queries whether Mr Brandreth’s views have been sought. Mr Sproat points out that it was agreed at ‘prayers’ that he would discuss appointments with Mr Brandreth before submitting views to the Secretary of State. There has not been sufficient time to do this in this case.
The Minister also objects to the cosy, incestuous and ‘mutually flatterous’ source of ‘outside’ advice.
SUNDAY 9 APRIL 1995
Palm Sunday. No
hosannas. The News of the World strikes again. Last month, my friend Bob Hughes.476 Today, my friend Richard Spring.477 ‘Tory MP, the Tycoon and the Sunday School Teacher. We expose three-in-a-bed sex session. Exclusive.’ Richard, tall, likeable, languid, elegant in a Bertie Woosterish-Newmarket Races sort of a way, appears to have invited an acquaintance (a pensions company executive) and his girlfriend (Odette Nightingale, occasional Sunday school teacher – you couldn’t make it up) to dinner last Sunday. The hospitality was generous, the conversation lively (it seems Richard thinks Portillo’s quite fanciable, doesn’t rate the PM but is ready to give Norma one anytime), and, evidently, chez Spring the post-prandial treats go well beyond crème de menthe frappé and a Bendicks Bittermint. Poor bugger. I talked to him during the week. He was positively chirpy – off on Friday on a freebie fact-finding jaunt to the Canary Islands. No doubt the vermin from the News of the World will have taken particular delight in dragging him from his Lanzarote poolside to confront him with their ‘allegations’. Anyway, though he’s divorced, though presumably what consenting adults do in private is still nominally their own affair, he’s a goner. He’s done the right thing: he’s resigned as Paddy Mayhew’s PPS and he’s flying back to face the music. The pity of it is that because the PM has been concentrating so much on Ireland in recent weeks he’s seen a lot of Richard and I get the impression (indeed, I know) he liked what he saw: promotion was on the way. Being a hidden genius in an obscure backwater (i.e. yours truly at the DNH) is neither here nor there: in this place being seen to be good by the right people in the right places is what counts. And now he’s blown it – and for what?
TUESDAY 18 APRIL 1995
Progress on assorted fronts:
Appointments. Stephen is not interested so Sproatie, Tim Kirkhope and I are now having a weekly meeting to vet the department’s candidates and feed in our own ideas. We know Hayden will always have the last word (we’re just the poor elected), but as Sproatie says, ‘Let’s see if we can’t get the occasional right-thinking bloke with a bit of experience in there alongside the disabled black lesbians – excellent though they no doubt are.’ Today’s inspiration: my friend Richard Whiteley478 for the board of the Royal Armouries in Leeds. (Says TK, who is a Leeds MP, ‘We must make sure he knows who he’s got to thank for this.’)
Libraries. I believe there’s mileage, purpose and value in rediscovering/reinventing the library service. (An author and communitarian speaks!) Danny agrees and we’re developing ideas for a pilot project, involving private finance. Stephen’s eyes glaze over (‘Let’s get the film policy out of the way first’) but I’m going to persist.
Film.
SD: ‘Gyles, have you got anything to do over the next three weeks?’
GB: ‘Er…’
SD: ‘Clear your desk – completely. Write the film policy.’
GB: ‘Er … fine.’
The truth is we’ve got little time, little scope, little room for manoeuvre. What the industry wants are Irish-type tax breaks which the Chancellor can deliver, but we can’t. But we can at least put our best foot forward – and raid the lottery. I am seeing David Puttnam479 at 7.00 p.m. Sproatie would not approve.
Trafalgar Square plinth. Months ago, doing a photocall for the lottery launch in Trafalgar Square, I noticed the empty plinth in the top left-hand corner of the square, by the Sainsbury Wing of the National Gallery. As a joke, making small talk at prayers, I suggested we put a statue on it. And everyone said, why not? My idea was to make it ‘the people’s statue’ – recruit suggestions through a TV show. Naturally, it’s not that easy. It seems all sorts, from Lord Pisspot of Fawsley upwards and downwards, have to have a say, but we’re making progress. Tomorrow we’re meeting Prue Leith480 and we’re going to get the RSA to handle the nominations. The Queen Mother is out because she’s alive. Ditto Mrs T. in the tank. Stephen favours the Duke of Wellington on horseback. Sproat says Shakespeare. I have floated the notion of Britain’s leading children’s characters: Alice, the Mad Hatter, Peter Pan, Rupert, Paddington, Winnie-the-Pooh.
LATER
The drink with David Puttnam was very funny. He’s diminutive, friendly, eager and has the perfect solution to each and every problem on the planet. He has all the answers and has written papers outlining most of them. I rather hoped he’d be turning my children’s books into movies. Dream on. He clearly can’t wait to get out of movies into politics. Anyway, he’s on board. I’m wheeling him in to Stephen on Monday. Because of his Luvvies-for-Labour connections, we shall keep his involvement hush-hush, but at least our policy will be written with a practitioner to hand.
FRIDAY 21 APRIL 1995
I’m Chester bound. A day of local election canvassing beckons. The chairman of the party is on his way to Derbyshire on the same mission – but unfortunately the local Conservatives don’t want him! He was due to walk the streets in Erewash, but he’s not welcome. The council candidates there say my friend is ‘so gaffe-prone’ he’s bound to bring up ‘smutty’ national issues when what they want to do is emphasise their local achievements. Poor Jeremy.
And poor Graham Riddick. Last night we ‘censured’ him, ‘suspended’ him from the House for ten working days, docked his pay and watched him make another grovelling apology and slink away. I had a cup of tea with him before the debate. He’s still kicking himself at his own stupidity. He has handled the aftermath impeccably, but thanks to being set up by the Sunday Times and a moment of folly his career has been ruined and he knows it. Nice man.
TUESDAY 25 APRIL 1995
Good breakfast: Stephen, Danny, Andrew Lansley,481 Michael McManus.482 Afterwards, we agreed that we’ll have Stephen as the new chairman of the party and Danny as director of the Research Department. Now, to make it happen…
The whipless wonders have been invited to return to the fold – but the mischief will go on. At PMQs Blair played a blinder. He taunted the PM on the returning Eurorebels. The PM countered with Blair’s Clause IV rebels. What was he going to do about them? Blair came back: ‘There is one very big difference – I lead my party, he follows his.’ The Labour benches went berserk. We sat sullenly, knowing it was true.
The PM was unhappy. John Ward was unhappy. ‘The boss needs the support behind him – he needs to hear it.’ And where were the planted questions, where were A and Q? What were we playing at? Jim Spicer483 asked about homosexuals in the armed forces. This is not what the PM needs. He did his best to show he understands the concern of the defence chiefs while keeping sweet with Ian McKellen.484 Alan Howarth invited the PM to abandon the quest for a national identity card scheme. The PM couldn’t oblige him. (This is another fine mess we’re getting into quite unnecessarily. We advertised our enthusiasm for identity cards (‘a bite-sized chunk of policy’) before thinking it through. Privately Michael Howard acknowledges it isn’t practical and it won’t happen. Publicly we’re still flirting with it, there’s to be a Green Paper, but we’re rousing the rabble knowing that in due course we’re going to have to disappoint them. Madness.)
Unhappy bunnies everywhere. I’ve just opened a note from Michael Morris,485 Deputy Speaker: ‘I am just a little surprised and disappointed that I never seem to get invited to functions in my own right … It may be too late now but I would have hoped that my wife and I might have been included in the VIPs for the VE concerts either on the Monday or the Saturday. While the honour of being Deputy Speaker is very nice, it would be equally nice to enjoy some of the fruits of government.’ Stephen is not impressed.
LATER
I am in wine – and why not? I have just come from the Churchill Room where I have been embraced by Franco Zeffirelli!486 He does what I do: pretends to know everybody he meets so he doesn’t give offence by failing to recognise someone he met in Padua thirty years ago who recalls the encounter vividly while Franco naturally can’t remember it at all. We talked about (I raved about) his John Stride/Judi Dench Romeo and the Maggie Smith/Robert Stephens Much Ado which made him think we must have worked togethe
r at the Old Vic in the ’60s! He pressed me to come and stay in Amalfi. I presented him to Stephen.
I dragged Stephen down there to meet him. I said, ‘Stephen, you must meet him. This is a great man – theatre, opera, movies.’
Stephen looked bemused.
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