A View From The Foothills

by Chris Mullin

  Clare called a summit of officials and special advisers to resolve the dispute over office space at Palace Street. There was never any doubt that Sir Two Buzzes was going to emerge triumphant. The officials in charge of organising the move had obviously been primed in advance. They backed him all the way. Clare also seemed to have been softened up. The political advisers were disposed of first. They are aggrieved that their office is not adjacent to Clare’s. ‘It’s on another floor,’ David Mephan kept saying. Actually, it’s only down five steps and round a corner. ‘How many steps?’ Sir Two Buzzes asked, as if he didn’t know. ‘Five,’ the official dutifully replied. And that was that.

  The only other issue was whether he or I should occupy the other grand office. On this point Sir Two Buzzes kept very quiet, except for some guff about the impossibility of fitting his conference table into the smaller of the two offices and his need to hold large meetings. Someone asked why these meetings could not be held in any of the 42 meeting rooms dotted about the building, but for some reason this was out of the question. The matter was not pressed. My opinion was sought. I should have fought, but I hadn’t the energy. All I said was, ‘It’s all about status and I don’t care about status.’ Unwisely I added, ‘That’s why I don’t have a car.’ The remark was aimed at Two Buzzes, but even as the words passed my lips I realised that they could equally apply to Clare. There was a stony silence. Two Buzzes said nothing.

  ‘In that case,’ said Clare, ‘John can have the big room. Is everyone happy?’ David moaned again about his office being on another floor. Two Buzzes allowed himself a little smile of triumph, directed at me as if we were on the same side.

  Tuesday, 3 April

  A message from Number 10: no minister is to take a foreign holiday over Easter. Imagine what the tabloids would say.

  A meeting with Clare, the political advisers and Valerie Amos, the Department whip. Valerie is going to take on my Caribbean trip, as a result of the change of election date. Clare has plans to extend her empire. She intends to try and persuade The Man to give us a third minister, to look after our interests in the Lords. Also, she wants the Africa minister at the Foreign Office to report through her, since we do so much business in Africa. That must be a complete non-starter.

  I’d like to be a fly on the wall when Robin hears about that. As for a third minister, what would he or she do? Barely enough crumbs fall from Clare’s table for one other, never mind a third.

  An interesting little anecdote, from one of the political advisers, about the excellent leaflet that Millbank have produced on international development. On the outside a lovely picture of African schoolgirls. Inside, a series of messages illustrated by little photos – mugshots of Clare and Gordon and a good one of The Man with Nelson Mandela. When the proof was sent to Gordon’s office they rang back to say that there were too many pictures of politicians. ‘You want us to drop Gordon?’

  ‘No, no, no …’

  So what did Gordon – or at the very least his acolytes – want? Believe it or not, they wanted the picture of Tony Blair removed. Doesn’t that say it all?

  In the afternoon, a visit from Sir Two Buzzes. I had to ask him to come to the House since there was a three-line whip on and I couldn’t leave. ‘Sorry to drag you down here,’ I said.

  ‘No problem. After all,’ he added cheerfully, ‘I have a car.’

  It was just about warm enough, so we sat on the terrace. He asked what I thought about Clare’s plan for a third minister and I replied that there barely seemed enough work for two, let alone three. We’d all end up falling out with each other. He agreed and said he would speak to Clare. He asked how I was getting on and I said that I was having difficulty adjusting to the utter lack of influence. I made clear I wasn’t complaining, that I admired Clare and that the present division of labour probably made sense, but that mine was a job for an ambitious thirty-something rather than a grown-up.

  Wednesday, 4 April

  The newspapers report tentative signs that the foot and mouth outbreak has peaked, but Michael Meacher, to whom I chatted briefly in the division lobby, is not so sure: ‘It’s into Shropshire and Kent. We’ve slaughtered a million animals, 97 per cent of them healthy. It’s animal genocide. Just like the Somme. The Prime Minister won’t opt for vaccination because the farmers object and he won’t go against them.’

  Thursday, 5 April

  On the way up Victoria I came across Betty Boothroyd emerging from Sainsbury’s, plastic shopping bag in hand, exuding good health and good will.

  My former Private Secretary at Environment, Chris Brain, came in to discuss the annual report that he has to prepare on the other office staff. Afterwards, we chatted about the relative merits of ministers. ‘You were good. You turned up on time, did your work and did as you were told.’ Did as I was told? Excuse me. That, presumably, is the civil service definition of a good minister. I doubt whether it is the party’s, or the public’s. Who is regarded as a bad minister? Quick as a flash, he named Michael Meacher. Although I can see that Michael is infuriating to work for – he is miles behind with his letters and refuses to delegate – most people regard him as one of our more successful ministers. On top of his brief. Brilliant at explaining complicated issues. Unfailingly courteous. Chris added that JP was also difficult to work for because he was so grumpy. That I can sympathise with.

  Friday, 6 April

  There are reports that George Bush, having reneged on Kyoto, is about to do the same with the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty so he can go ahead with his lunatic missile shield. I wonder what those boneheaded Florida Greens, who threw away their votes on Ralph Nader on the grounds that there was no difference between Bush and Gore, have to say about that?

  Sunday, 8 April

  Sunderland

  Sunshine. With the children to fly their kite and play football. Later, we spent a couple of hours on the beach at South Shields, which was fairly crowded. After we’d been there a while, two rough-looking women with seven young children, one a baby, in tow turned up and sat on the concrete slipway. One of them changed the baby’s nappy which she handed to a small boy who simply tossed it into the sea. She then handed him the tissues with which she had been wiping the baby’s bottom and he tossed these into the air scattering them over the slipway. Neither of the women batted an eyelid. What hope for the children?

  Tuesday, 10 April

  Our Bill went through without a hitch. Gary Streeter, who led for the other side, was on his best behaviour, even managing a generous tribute to Clare. Indeed there were tributes to Clare from all over. There is no doubt she is an enormous success. It is a useful little Bill. As Clare whispered to me afterwards, ‘It makes illegal many of the things the Foreign Office keeps pressing us to do.’ It has also smoked out the Tories. Who, listening to the lofty sentiments emitted by Gary Streeter, would guess that his was the party of the Pergau Dam? He even committed a future Tory government to meeting the UN target for aid (0.7 per cent of GNP) and lambasting us for our slow progress. Who would guess the aid budget more or less halved during their tenure. I almost expected a thunderbolt to fall from heaven, but none did.

  Angela Smith told me that the parliamentary committee had had two meetings at Number 10 with David Miliband and pressed for a commitment on hunting to be included in the manifesto, but no one believes it will be.

  Wednesday, 11 April

  Spent the day with Charles Frater at his editing suite, Silverglade, working on my interview with Uncle Brian. We boiled it down from over two hours to 30 minutes. Some nice lines: ‘The Second World War was interesting in patches’ (he watched the Battle of Britain from the beach at Shoeburyness). And the parish priest who, after hearing Brian’s first sermon as his curate, asked, ‘Have you got any more like that?’

  Brian, thinking this was praise: ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then burn them.’

  Thursday, 12 April

  Sunderland

  Mr Herring came to the house to take the photographs for my e
lection literature. ‘Have you seen what Quentin Letts has said about you in the Mail?’

  I hadn’t.

  ‘It’s terrible. I don’t know whether I dare tell you.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He says that you look like a deckchair that’s been left out all winter.’ Actually that’s funny. Not bad for a toe rag like Letts. Mr Herring was surprised that I took it so lightly so I showed him my greatest insults – ‘Loony MP backs bomb gang’, ‘Mr Odious’, etc – framed on the wall of my study.

  Letts has devoted most of his column to me. It reads (in part): ‘Mr Mullin has the look of a deckchair left out over winter. His trousers flap emptily around his shins, his sparse hair is unkempt, his spectacles could do with a polish, and his manner of speaking is gentlemanly …’ He also says that one of my former colleagues at Environment, ‘in the loyal way of politicians’, recently took him aside at a drinks party and murmured that I was no good at detail. Who, I wonder, is the traitor?

  Monday, 16 April

  Easter Monday

  To York to walk the walls and see the daffodils. Most of the footpath signs we passed en route had ‘Keep out – Foot and Mouth’ pinned to them. Everywhere in the countryside the plague hangs like a great dark cloud. The television is still showing huge smouldering pyres, herds of sheep and cattle in the line for death and interviews with depressed farmers.

  Thursday, 19 April

  A red box arrived full of paper to be leafed through in a leisurely fashion. For information rather than action. The only excitement is a handwritten note which Clare has appended, in response to my request to officials for a line on our activities in China. She writes: ‘I am not keen on these queries being raised in writing with dept [sic] when I am personally involved in them. Could you consider raising with me in our regular meetings first? It is very odd for officials to defend my policy to you with me left out of the loop.’ All I wanted was a line to take in case someone raised it with me, but she appears to have interpreted this as criticism of her policy. I penned a conciliatory little note, but it is bizarre. Taken literally, it means I can’t ask about anything without going through Clare. She has no need of a deputy.

  Tuesday, 24 April

  Today’s papers report that the Dome may be empty for three years, at a cost of a million pounds a month. A monument to New Labour folly. We are so lucky to have got away with it.

  Wednesday, 25 April

  Up early to cut the grass and clear the rubbish (among which I found two syringes) from the front garden at Brixton Road. And then to the meeting of the parliamentary party to hear Gordon Brown give a long-winded but upbeat assessment of the economy despite talk of recession in the US and thousands of redundancies at Motorola. At Questions I hardly got a look-in – most of the time was taken up by Clare responding on the EC and Aids. The most useful thing I did all day was cut the grass.

  Thursday, 26 April

  An hour with Clare and the special advisers. Like JP, Clare talks all the time, but unlike JP she has something to say, her passion is well-targeted and good-humoured. She was full of her recent trip to Sierra Leone and the uselessness of the UN military mission. She has had a sneak preview of the draft manifesto, which, she says, is far too long and contains no commitment to increase our share of the budget. She also reported that, at this morning’s Cabinet, she had appealed for an end to all the anonymous briefing about who is going to get what after the election. ‘It sets a bad tone,’ she says. The Man gave one of his world-weary shrugs as if to say, ‘I agree, but what can I do?’

  ‘Not good enough,’ said Clare.

  Much of the briefing seems to be coming from Blunkett, who keeps being tipped as the next Home Secretary. He is clearly building himself to challenge Gordon when the time comes. Clare says that Blunkett is too illiberal to be Home Secretary. She also said that Gordon Brown had remarked to her, after the Cabinet, that Peter Mandelson may be behind the pro-Blunkett briefings. There is no evidence for this, but it does give a clue as to how Gordon’s mind is working.

  ‘Gordon’s a megalomaniac,’ said Clare.

  ‘Wholly unsuited to be leader,’ I chipped in.

  To my surprise (I had always assumed that Clare was in his camp) she readily agreed. ‘We’d be in deep trouble if Gordon’s court took over Downing Street.’ She added, ‘What to do about Gordon will be the big drama of our second term.’

  Friday, 27 April

  A call from Clare’s special adviser, David Mephan. Would I mind if Clare made both the opening and closing speeches in next week’s development debate? Actually, I would. What’s the point of having a deputy if she is not prepared to delegate the slightest responsibility?

  In what other Department would the Secretary of State insist on opening and closing? Not that it’s any big deal. The Commons chamber will be more or less empty anyway. Having registered my dissatisfaction, I decided not to make a fuss. If I were to insist, she would only be sitting behind me, brooding. However, Christine rang back half an hour later to say that I would be winding up after all. Thinking she was protecting my interests, Christine had insisted and Clare had given in. I shall now have to rise to the occasion.

  Wednesday, 2 May

  Keith Vaz is back at work today after an absence of two weeks. Was he really ill or was it political? Whatever, it seems to have done the trick. The hacks are off his back and have gone in search of new prey (Geoffrey Robinson is back in their sights).

  To the Foreign Office for a sandwich lunch with the governors of the British Overseas Territories, who are in town for their annual conference. Big fish in very small pools. Amiable, greying men in their fifties, coasting towards retirement. Once in post they tend to go native and make all sorts of unreasonable demands. The governor of St Helena (journey time three weeks by ship) bent my ear about his demand for an airport. He is also keen for a ministerial visit – no minister having set foot there in the 200 years we have been in charge. I am up for that, if I am still around after the election.

  Thursday, 3 May

  The development debate went off without incident. Gary Streeter and the few Tories in attendance were all sweetness and light. Everyone was full of praise for Clare. There is a surprising degree of consensus behind our new aid policy.

  Friday, 4 May

  Sunderland

  Dressing-up day at school. Sarah went as Esmeralda and Emma as Red Riding Hood. They looked so beautiful.

  Kevin Marquis called in with proofs of our election literature. Afterwards we went over to the local party’s management committee where I tried to interest them in the coming election. It was the first management committee Kevin had attended for four years. He said afterwards that it was like passing through a time warp. Same old faces. Same old song. One of the councillors complained that a new member (God knows, we don’t get many) had appeared at his branch without his being notified. There was a fuss about plans to hold a referendum on whether to have an elected mayor and an (entirely justified) suspicion that we are being rail-roaded by the New Labour high command into something that no one wants. Pat Smith said that only two members of the public turned up to the consultation meeting at Hall Farm and only three to the one in Silksworth. She said, ‘The government keeps talking about public participation, but the public don’t want to participate.’ To which Charles Bate added, ‘They just want us to get on with the job.’

  Tuesday, 8 May

  As expected, the election will be on 7 June. The Man went to the Palace this morning.

  Mike O’Brien has been talking to John Bercow, who says that, if the Tories gain less than 40 seats Portillo will run against Hague for the leadership, although not until the second ballot (so that he can proclaim his undying loyalty in the first). Ann Widdecombe will also run and the Portillistas are desperate to stop her reaching the run-off because they fear that, if she does, she will win. She may not be popular with fellow MPs, but she has a lot of support in the Tory party and, under the new rules, the membership have the final
say.

  The threat of Widdecombe may be just what we need to awake the Labour heartlands from their torpor.

  Friday, 11 May

  Much speculation about which members of the New Labour elite will be parachuted into the safe seats vacated by MPs retiring at the last moment. Ed Balls and David Miliband are among the names being mentioned. Not for them the cutting of teeth in hopeless seats or the long, wearying slog around the selection circuit. A few high-level phone calls, a quiet word in the right ears and … Bob’s your uncle … a safe seat for life. And who knows, within two or three years a foot on the ministerial ladder, first steps on the inevitable rise to the Cabinet. Most resentment, not to say anger, is reserved for Shaun Woodward, who is being touted for St Helens.

  Monday, 14 May

  Shaun Woodward has been selected in St Helens. Hearing him on the radio this morning promising to be a champion of the poor and downtrodden made my flesh creep. This is one of New Labour’s vilest stitch-ups.

  Tuesday, 15 May

  A call from a young woman at Labour Party HQ in Millbank. ‘Would you like to go to Calder Valley on Saturday?’

  ‘Not particularly. Why?’

  ‘They are having a two-hour electioneering blitz.’

  ‘I am afraid I don’t see the point of driving three hours each way to take part in two hours of activity which could just as easily be carried out by those who live there.’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t realised it was so far away.’

  ‘Do you know where Sunderland is?’

  She giggled. ‘No, not really.’

  She rang off promising to find me a meeting to address in Carlisle or Tynemouth, where I am sure they have absolutely no desire to hear from me. Lord save us from the young master-strategists in Millbank, playing with imaginary armies.

  Wednesday, 16 May

  A bad day on the campaign trail. The launch of the manifesto was overshadowed by an angry woman who confronted The Man outside a hospital in Birmingham. Then Jack Straw was slow-handclapped by the Police Federation. Finally, this evening JP was filmed landing a punch on the jaw of a man who had just smashed an egg all over him. Poor JP, I sympathise, I really do, but he’s a disaster waiting to happen. For how much longer can we afford him?