Seize the Day

by Mike Read

  The other side of the coin was being almost set upon by various key figures muttering something that sounded extraordinarily like ‘London mayor’. They couldn’t be serious? It seemed they were. It was something that had never crossed my mind. Within a couple of weeks I was summoned, in a polite way of course, to meet with the then Conservative Party chairman, Francis Maude. There was no coercion. No press gang offering me the King’s shilling. The gist of the meeting went something along these lines. I telescope them to make it more digestible.

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘You’re intelligent.’

  ‘But surely I don’t know enough about politics.’

  ‘But you’re interested enough to speak at the conferences.’

  ‘Well…’ I was losing ground.

  ‘And you’re known. We have a lot of up-and-coming politicians who are interested in standing for London mayor.’

  ‘Probably better qualified than me.’

  ‘Not at all. You’re smart, you can absorb facts very easily, and as I said you’re known.’

  ‘Does that have a bearing on it?’

  ‘Very much so. We’d have to spend millions on trying to give someone else a profile as high as yours, and in a very short space of time. It just wouldn’t work.’

  ‘Isn’t there anyone with a high profile?’

  ‘No one has thrown their hat in the ring.’

  I reasoned that I wasn’t using my brain at that time at anywhere near its maximum capacity. That’s like not exercising and putting on weight. I didn’t want a fat brain.

  Francis Maude could see me wavering. ‘Look, you’re used to the media. However much we train someone, they’ll have to get used to being in the limelight, appearing live on television and radio and knowing how to deal with the press. That’s what you’ve done for years.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Anyone else will have a standing start. You’d have a flying start. You’re up to speed.’

  Francis dispatched me to have tea with Gillian Shephard, once billed as Margaret Thatcher’s successor. It was a delightful occasion and Gillian a most gracious hostess. On the business end of things, she sent me along to the corridors of power at City Hall, that odd glass thing plonked near Tower Bridge by Norman Foster in the name of architecture. It has the appearance of a pile of those streamlined modern cycling helmets just about to keel over. Inside it feels like a combination of the Tower of Pisa and one of those caterpillar rides at the fair. I had more meetings, was given literature to absorb and was informed that although the party were enthusiastic about me pushing forward, they couldn’t be seen to only be supporting one person. Fair enough.

  As soon as the news leaked, as news does, I found myself having to give interviews on the possibility of standing for London mayor, TV crews turned up at Radio London (Big L) the radio station where I was working and the press called for quotes. They were much fairer than I imagined. Iain Dale suggested I appear on his political internet station, 18 Doughty Street, which ran from 2006 to 2007, to discuss my candidature and generally answer questions from both him and viewers. I believe I was the last of the ten people in the running who appeared on there and apparently gave such a good showing that I was pointed up as being the most likely to succeed. I had a massive vote of confidence from the London taxi drivers and the Jewish community, neither camp being major supporters of the then mayoral incumbent, Ken Livingstone.

  Global PR guru Chris Lewis, who had his finger very much on the political pulse, started to build a team for me. We had many meetings and suppers at Westminster, with the likes of Liam Fox and other powerful MPs. I guess they were sounding me out. We had meetings with Steven Norris, who had been the official Conservative candidate for the mayoral office in 2000 and 2004 and had lost both times to Ken Livingstone. He imparted his knowledge of, and passionate interest in, public transport, saying that if I landed the position, he would love to be responsible for Transport for London and if he became mayor I could head up Culture, Media and Sport. From that I assumed that he intended to stand for a third time. Our spies in the Commons chamber and the Strangers’ Bar informed us that Steven Norris was indeed not only intending to stand for a third time, but had a strong team and the money for his campaign in place. I wavered. If that were true, I wasn’t off the starting blocks. I was told not to believe all I heard and also to sharpen up. I’d assumed that I was smartly dressed for these occasions at Westminster. Clearly not. For one very important meeting I turned up in suit, tie and polished shoes only to be informed by Chris Lewis that I wasn’t smart enough.

  ‘You’re joking?’

  ‘No I’m not, this is a seriously important meeting. You have to look 100 per cent.’

  ‘Not much I can do about it now, the shops are closed and there’s only half an hour until we convene.’

  ‘You’ll find a suit of clothes, another tie and a pair of brand new shoes in the bedroom … just through that door.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  It was at that moment that I realised that this was business.

  Chris also put me through my paces on the media front. ‘This would be a doddle,’ I reasoned, ‘my strong point.’ I had to think again. With the cameras rolling he fired questions at me from all angles. I thought I’d acquitted myself reasonably well. Until we watched the playback, that is.

  ‘Look at you, you’re lolling back in the chair as if you’re not interested.’

  ‘I was being laid back. I was relaxed.’

  ‘Not good enough. You sit up straight and look like you mean business.’

  ‘OK.’ If it was only my posture, I could deal with that. It wasn’t only my posture.

  ‘You’re looking around the room. You must look the interviewer right in the face. If you don’t want to look in their eyes, look at the bridge of the nose and keep your gaze right there.’ It was a good lesson. I still try to adopt a ‘hold the bridge of their nose’ policy.

  Like a rebellious tube train announcer, Chris told me ‘not to mind the gap’. ‘Although a one- or two-second silence will feel as if you could drive a bus through it, don’t worry, it’s fine. It looks as though you’re thinking about a point that has been raised or considering the question that’s been put to you. Don’t trot your answer out so fast, even if your brain works that quickly, that it sounds glib.’

  Another ploy he used ‘to sharpen the brain’ was to answer a question with a question.

  ‘Did you come here by car?’

  ‘Is it important?’

  ‘Are you refusing to answer my question?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Why are you being so evasive?’

  ‘Do you seriously think I’d be evasive?’

  And so on … you have to be up to speed, that’s for sure.

  With one week to go before the declarations, Ian Sanderson at party HQ called to ask if I had my papers ready to send in. I did. There was still talk of Steven Norris making a strong bid and rumours abounded. Just when it seemed that the declared runners were heading for the final furlong a backmarker appeared to be making headway with the odds shortening all the time. I was at a tennis party at Tony Samuels’s house in Burhill, near Weybridge, when I chanced to be paired in the doubles at one point with the backmarker’s father. ‘I hear you may be standing for London mayor,’ he beamed, admiring my backhand.

  I gave a self-effacing laugh. In hindsight, as a response that was probably a tad weak. A real leader would have boomed in stentorian tones, ‘Yes I am.’

  How much Stanley Johnson knew of his son’s intentions to stand for London mayor I didn’t know. In between volleys and half-volleys I asked him the question, but either he was keeping his cards close to his chest or genuinely had no idea.

  A week later the final phone call came from HQ. ‘Could you ensure your declaration papers are faxed in by eleven o’clock, to be on the safe side?’

  ‘Has Steven Norris declared yet?’

 
‘Not yet.’

  Boris Johnson?

  ‘Not yet.’

  Maybe the field was clear.

  Half an hour later Boris declared. Steven Norris didn’t declare. I didn’t declare either, reasoning that Boris must have had talks with David Cameron so there would be heavy support at the top. One or two doubting Thomases asked what I would have done had I been chosen. The answer is I’d have stepped up to the mark without any qualms, given it my very best, learned where necessary and delegated when I needed to.

  A year or two later it was mooted that the government were after ambassadors in various areas to act as a bridge between them and the people. Crikey, I thought, in true schoolboy annual style, if they feel they’re that out of touch with the public, there’s a problem. Following a lengthy phone call with Nigel Farage in the summer of 2012, we agreed to meet and have a chat. I found him charming and intelligent with a pretty good take on where the country was going and where the country should be going. I liked his policies and I delivered my first speech alongside Nigel at the UKIP south-east conference in 2012 and spoke at the National Conference a few months later. I became their spokesman for Culture, Media and Sport, three areas I love and in which I work. I have since spoken all around the country, in Birmingham, Wiltshire, Gloucestershire, Hampshire, Tyne and Wear, Oxfordshire, Sussex, Humberside and Kent. The extraordinary thing is that despite not yet having a single seat in the Commons, the daily YouGov polls consistently show UKIP in third place. The party also created the ‘earthquake’ that Nigel predicted by securing the most MEPs at the 2014 European elections, UKIP becoming the first party for 100 years to beat the two main parties in a national election.

  What has slightly soured the world of politics for me is the smear campaigns and the deliberately misleading information and propaganda that’s put about. I’m a great believer in being positive about yourself rather than being negative about someone else. When parties openly admit that they’re trying to knock back any potential opponents it all becomes pointless. If you are selected to serve, either as Prime Minister, governing party or MP, your primary duty is to serve the country in the best way you think possible. Executing U-turns and appropriating other parties’ policies to maintain popularity, when they have never been part of your manifesto, is shallow and weak. The racist nonsense which had been levelled at UKIP was suddenly and deliberately brought back with a vengeance as the party’s popularity rose. In every field I work in I’m friends with people of all creeds and colours. Just diving off-piste for a moment, I was recently at a gallery where my very talented friend Ros Lloyd had an exhibition of her sculptures, and met a triple amputee called Dan. Having had a good chat with him, I reflected on the drive home how difficult life must be for him now. He was upbeat and trying to be positive, but facing an uncertain future. Not surprisingly the phrase ‘there but for the grace of God’ came into my head and by the following morning the emotion had become a song, the chorus of which was:

  There but for the Grace of God

  Go you or I or anyone,

  Culture, creed or colour,

  They’re all somebody’s son.

  During 2014 the BBC made me aware of a possible conflict of interest with regard to being a spokesman for Culture, Media and Sport, especially as part of my brief included broadcasting. This meant having to turn down various programmes on which I was scheduled to appear. I still do talks every few weeks but without wearing an official hat. Several papers reported that I was going to stand as an MEP, but that was never discussed. I have been approached to stand in the 2015 general election, which is flattering and of course I have to give that serious consideration. How extraordinary that a party with, at the time of writing, no MPs could have such an effect on British politics, create so much media interest and shake the foundations of a structure that has possibly outlived its usefulness. Nigel Farage is a leader who communicates. We talk on the phone, or text. Even the morning after the EU elections, when the media circus was pursuing him after UKIP’s historic victory, we remembered a conversation from two years ago. I told Nigel then of a day when I went to a local pub in Weybridge. I’d just started the Radio One breakfast show and was forever being given pieces of paper to say hello to someone the following morning. I was always pretty good about remembering, so stuffed some thirty scraps of paper in my pocket and took them in with me the following day. Even though they were from different groups of people and both sexes, virtually all of them asked me to play Duran Duran’s ‘Planet Earth’, which had just been released. I looked at my producer and said, ‘This group is going to be huge.’ I told Nigel that he would know when that moment came for UKIP, which is why he texted after the EU earthquake to say, ‘This is the Duran Duran moment.’

  It’s healthy to have different ideas and opposition, but I can’t believe that we are really so diametrically opposed on so many aspects of life in the UK. And what makes the country work. Politics has become rather a dirty word, so as I say, I’m not a politician just a bloke with a view. I chatted with Tony Blair over dinner one evening at a friend’s birthday and found him quite delightful, extremely charming and good company. I have never been a Labour voter but he was a statesman and a gentleman whatever you think of his politics. At one point he enquired about Robin Gibb’s state of heatlth, after which he and Cherie sent a long and heart-warming email to Robin and Dwina at what must have been something like two in the morning. Very caring.

  CHAPTER 19

  TOMORROW NEVER KNOWS

  SO HERE I sit by the timeless waters of the River Thames, which has been flowing to the sea, via one route or another, for fifty-eight million years and shows little sign of letting up. I’ve ‘seized the day’: made decisions, some right, some wrong, some beneficial and some downright catastrophic. Time passes quickly. I didn’t believe that when I was a teenager. I assumed it would stand still … for me at least. I believed the maxim expounded by Pete Brown and Piblokto, ‘The Art School Dance Goes on Forever’. My relationships have been fun and I’ve stayed on excellent terms with my long-term girlfriends, but clearly, for one reason or another, they weren’t meant to be lifetime partners. As the Beatles opined, Tomorrow Never Knows … or maybe they were wrong.

  On the radio front, I have worked with so many incredible people, but Neil ffrench Blake and Doreen Davies cannot be credited enough for their inspiration, common sense, passion and belief in me, for which I thank them with copious amounts of gratitude and love.

  On the songwriting side, my earliest publisher and promoter of my first hit, Dave Most deserves a special mention, as does Barry Mason for listening to my early songs and being encouraging and supportive. Bless you both.

  As a galvanising force and inspiration to young people, Eric St John Foti, inventor and mentor, gave many the belief in themselves they needed to face the world.

  I salute three great writers with whom I’ve worked extensively, Rupert Brooke, Oscar Wilde and Sir John Betjeman.

  I was genuinely delighted for Vanessa when she was awarded the OBE. A just reward for a lot of hard work, determination and fortitude. Well done Vanessa Brady OBE.

  I still try to uphold the school motto, taken from Milton’s tractate On Education: ‘Justly, Skilfully, Magnanimously’. Having visited his blue plaque at Berkyn Manor near Colnbrook, where he lived from 1632 to 1638, I like to imagine the seeds of Milton’s statement on comprehensive reform were sown there before being published a few years later. Ergo, I can feel I have re-tuned to the original roots of the Wokingians’ motto.

  We’re told that it’s not a good thing to have regrets. What rubbish. If I wish to wallow in the odd regret or two, why shouldn’t I? They’re my regrets. Everybody tells me what a good father I’d have made. I wish that I’d had children, but either the circumstances, timing, or nature of the relationship dictated otherwise. I could certainly have been more judicious with some of the business advice I took. I love radio and TV but I also wish I’d concentrated even more on the songwriting. It’s alway
s been a deep and abiding passion. There have been copious amounts of fun, however, so no complaints there and it’s a great bonus to leap out of bed on a daily basis eagerly looking forward to the day. The crazy years of the rock & roll business flashed by before I noticed, and carried the past away, but the future, as always, holds allure, mystery and promise. As J. B. Priestley said, ‘I’ve always been delighted at the prospect of a new day, a fresh try, one more start, with perhaps a bit of magic waiting somewhere behind the morning.’ I’ve believed in the magic of the morning since being a child. The knowledge that the day could bring anything; that one could achieve anything … that there may just be some magic lurking somewhere, or if not it might be possible to create some.

  As Horace scribbled in a wise moment after a particularly good breakfast, carpe diem quam minimum credula postero – ‘seize the day, but put little trust in tomorrow’. I do both.

  INDEX

  100 Years of Prime Ministers and Prime Music 1

  210 Thames Valley 1, 2, 3, 4 Read and Wright Show 1

  24 Hours 1

  7-UP 1

  A Christmas Carol 1

  A Hard Day’s Night 1

  ‘A Room with Books’ 1

  Aardvarks, The 1

  Abba 1, 2

  d’Abo, Mike 1

  Action, The 1

  Adam and the Ants 1

  Addis, David 1

  Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, The 1

  Adventures of Robin Hood, The 1, 2

  Adverts, The 1