|
Who’d have believed that our triumphant second term could be such a mess? Tony hit the ground stumbling, ministers bumbling, the PLP grumbling, which would be serious if the Tory Party hadn’t decided to go into pantomime early. Having given up my month long vigil by the telephone waiting for the call, I’ve decided to take some of Roy Hattersley’s Viagra and ’Rise Up’. Unfortunately, he hasn’t told me what to do next, the unions are milling round not quite believing what they’re being told, the Left is out of practice, and the New Chums stunned.
Everyone’s hoping it’s just Tony’s attempt to frighten us with horrors, this time privatisation, last time welfare reform, before putting them away at the first sign of opposition and going back to the basic New Labour programme of nothing very much but well presented.
Keep the faith. Tony knows what he’s doing. Or not doing, as the case may be. Just wait and meanwhile enjoy the backbencher’s grind of summer parties while pleading with the Whips to get on to select committees to give us something to do. The election now looks like a happy time an eternity away, joyously fighting for a different Party with a different programme and communing with the people instead of Tommy McAvoy. The electorate duly repeated itself - another election like that and they’d have a case for repetitive strain injury. For us it’s Groundhog Day. Fifty wasted Labour days. Is this going to be like Reagan’s second term and Thatcher’s third?
* * *
Saturday 30 June.
Belt from a surgery full of angry trawler men, who’ve been refused Icelandic compensation for all sorts of crazy reasons, to the Yorkshire Convention in Wakefield. While I’ve been pacifying the occupied territories of Northern Lincolnshire, the campaign has been hi-jacked by militants like the Quinn twins, Joyce and Laurie, who’re steering it to mindless militancy. I bring the movement back into line by a powerful speech which has the entire audience cheering my "fighters not quitters" peroration. Hell have no fury like a Yorkshire man scorned. Unless it’s a Mandelson.
Wednesday 4 July
The Bill Cash Benefit Bill a.k.a. Treaty of Nice. Decide to match the vacuous Euro-enthusiasm of my Party by wearing my new Euro tie coveted by Euro-enthusiasts and political pundits, several of whom ask me to sell it to them, but hated by Euro sceptics who urge me to tighten it. At this stage in my career I need a futile gesture. Problem is I seem to be backing the Euro just as Government backs away from it. Same thing happened with the Third Way.
European Treaty meetings are like the Big Brother House in reverse. They work themselves into a frenzy, crammed together day and night, but no-one is allowed to leave. They’re forced to stay and give more away. This offends Tony’s managerial instincts but could make marvellous reality TV if televised live and intercut with the press conference at the end when all PMs say "I won". If the American Founding Fathers had written the Constitution like this they’d have gone as cracked as the Liberty Bell. Our debate today is on the same lines. Supporters say the Nice Treaty is about enlargement when it’s really about building a stronger centre.
Friday 13 July
Co-chairing the Congress for Democracy with Michael Spicer in Church House. Sir Oliver Wright denounces both the Euro and European Federalism. How did he survive so long in the Foreign Office’s Quisling Chorus? Back to Grimsby to meet the Primary Care Trust who break the news that Grimsby doctors’ lists are so full that anyone coming into the town has to be shuttled round on a monthly basis until they either die or move out, so no-one will prescribe Viagra for me. Go on to the St. James’ Festival. Our wonderful parish church has been turned over to art, culture, music and cream teas for a whole week. Tonight it’s the Youth Orchestra.
Sunday 15 July
To Jill Baverstock’s 70th birthday celebrations at the Devonshire Arms at Bolton Abbey. The Dales elite are spitting with fury about the resumption of Foot and Mouth culls immediately after the election. Decide to write to Tony Blair to tell him to have his summer holiday in the Dales. There’s some lovely tarmac still open. You can peer over the dry stone walling at some nice, empty countryside. The pubs, shops and chip’oles are all open for business and devoid of customers. He will be abused but probably won’t understand the broad Yorkshire which has no similarity with estuary English. Sadly, Yorkshire Airways, Tyke Travel and Beautyke Tours, have all gone bust. No-one now comes to Yorkshire and Tykes can’t find anywhere outside the Broad Acres that’s worth flying to.
Monday 16 July
Drive down early to limber up for Revolution 2001 to save Gwyneth and Donald for the nation. I don’t think the Prime Minister is a control freak. Of course not. But Parliament is a bit of a nuisance in his managerial view. Like the Labour Party, though that’s had its teeth pulled.
It’s not Tony wot dun it but acolytes with the collective IQ of a cup of tepid tea all driven by the Thomas a’Beckett Syndrome. Gwyneth is the Rhodri Morgan de nos jours, Donald its Ken Livingstone. Fortunately, Tony’s an understanding man who always announces afterwards that he’s sorry, it was all a mistake. Just before he does it again. Little misunderstandings won’t deprive us of the sunshine of his smile for long.
Colleagues spend the day telling me they’d like to vote for Gwyneth but couldn’t possibly vote for a Tory motion. When the Tories deprive them of that excuse they still don’t desert the dwindling Party line of ecraser les infames. A great victory. But, still, critics like Diane Abbott, Mark Fisher, Frank Field are still deprived of the ability to make any contribution to the select committees. A smart Government would cram the committees with rebels to stop them revolting when things turn sour.
Tuesday 17 July
Now that the Nice Treaty is before the House Tommy McAvoy has become very keen for me to live a full and active night life. He offers tickets to theatres and lap-dancing clubs and lots of entertainment away from the Commons. Decide to go out for dinner with friends in Highgate but after following the map for a quarter of an hour in the pouring rain I discover I’ve held it the wrong way up and must return to the tube station to start over. I intended to arrive elegant and urbane in my new light-weight summer suit. Instead arrive like a drowned rat, get drunk and involved in a violent argument about elitism at Oxford. Never argue with the English about education. My opponent is a Fellow of St. John’s where the Fellows have privileges over the Swans. He tells me that when Tony was there he was regarded as Prince Hal. Can’t understand the allusion. Does it mean Peter became his Falstaff?
Wednesday 18 July
Meeting with DTI Ministers about the mess over compensation scheme for Icelandic trawler men who lost their jobs in the Cod Wars in 1976. It really is a super-scale cock-up, complicated by the failure to take decisions during the election and since as new Ministers learn the job.
Patricia Hewitt defends the indefensible brilliantly but I can’t see yet another delay pacifying the angry trawler men who’re besieging MPs’ offices, the Grimsby Resource Centre and the British Fishermen’s Association, demanding answers we can’t give. It takes genius to turn a generous compensation, righting the wrongs of a quarter century ago, into an angry row!
Evening. Great debate on Euro Federalism at the Foreign Press Club. Judging by the number of foreigners in the audience and the fact that Ian Taylor is my impartial chairman I am as much among friends as Tony Blair going to the PLP. Manage to lose the debate and attack a small angry Frenchman who bangs on about the need for the Brits to commit wholeheartedly to the EU so we can be screwed and France can continue to receive all the benefits. Federal Trust members look askance at my shouting and hurry me to the door. Where it’s still raining.
I’d like to say it’s nice to be back for our triumphant second term. Except it isn’t. The economy is turning sour, the trade deficit gaping and everyone borrowed up to the eyeballs. This time Labour’s will get the blame, not Tories. No benefit of every doubt now.
We’re committed to world class spending and services and all sorts of things we can’t deliver on if the economy turns sour and now we’re picking a fight with the unions. I’m sure Government knows what it’s doing even if they can’t tell us. But it would be nice to be consulted from time to time and to feel that government listens to the troops. When the tough times come and the government’s traditional relationship with the electorate of mutual loathing returns, it’s going to come as a shock to people who’ve known only the golden weather. Let’s get Joe Ashton back to tell us what real misery is, though Portcullis House will be a much nicer bunker than we had then. Meanwhile I can see the sense of our new Third Way: when in doubt have babies and good Fecund Government. Thank heavens we set up the delivery unit in Downing Street. |
