A View From The Foothills

by Chris Mullin

  We were kept voting until after 1 a.m. To bed at 2 a.m. I have to be up again at 7.

  Wednesday, 16 February An hour discussing night flights with officials. This is an issue on which progress ought to be possible, given that only 16 flights are involved. The officials recited a long list of reasons why nothing could be done about anything. The more they went on, the more I realised how the aviation industry has had successive governments twisted around its little finger. The assumption seems to be that airports will carry on growing indefinitely, however unbearable life becomes for those who live under the flight paths. Sooner or later politicians are going to have to pluck up the courage to say no, although I see little sign of it so far. As regards night flights, it occurs to me that there may just be a small window of opportunity when the inspector gives the go-ahead (as I am sure he will) for a fifth terminal. At the very least, permission should be made conditional on ending night flights.

  Thursday, 17 February A rumour that the Countryside Bill could be held over or even abandoned. The Man is said to be anxious not to upset the landowners. ‘Attitudes at the centre seem to be hardening,’ said a note which crossed my desk the other day. Michael Meacher is fuming. This is his flagship. ‘When will a decision be made?’ I inquired of Ann Taylor.

  ‘This weekend,’ she replied.

  Sunday, 20 February

  Sunderland

  Frank Dobson has narrowly beaten Ken Livingstone for the London mayoral nomination. A result that stinks. Frank owes his ‘victory’ entirely to the machine. He will be badly damaged by this. Come the poll many of our people will stay at home. You can fix the party, but you can’t fix the electorate.

  Monday, 21 February

  A visit from Lord Sainsbury, the only billionaire of my acquaintance.

  A pleasant, down-to-earth man, completely without airs and utterly above the rat race. The purpose of his visit was to extract a commitment that we would use at least 2.5 per cent of our research budget to boost small and medium-sized companies. The official advice was ‘resist’ and I was given a long list of reasons why it wasn’t a good idea. I could see the meeting ending badly, but when I pointed out that about 20 per cent of our research budget already goes to small companies, he simply came out with his hands up. There was some quibbling about definitions, but the meeting ended amicably and he appeared to go away happy.

  The talk of the Tea Room is whether or not Ken Livingstone will stand as an independent. The Standard, under the heading ‘Go For It Ken’, is running a poll saying he would win by a mile.

  Tuesday, 22 February Lunch in the Millbank Room with Bruce Grocott. He asked about air traffic control. Would I have opposed it, if I were still on the backbenches (Jack Straw asked the same question the other day)? I gave my usual spiel. No ideological objection, safety arguments bogus. Adding, however, that it would save everyone a lot of trouble if Gordon simply wrote out a cheque. Bruce is a dissenter on air traffic control. I notice he drummed his fingers on the table as I attempted to justify our plans.

  Friday, 25 February

  Sunderland

  To Pennywell, where Denise Barna gave me a tour of the shiny new community centre, complete with doctor’s surgery, crèche and a little café. It also provides a base for successful parenting courses and much else besides. Great things are happening in Pennywell. No more refugees appear at my surgeries begging to be evacuated. For the first time I can recall there is an air of optimism. Just one little speck on the horizon, however: who is going to pay for all this in four years’ time when the regeneration money runs out?

  A call from Jessica (who is soon to leave me). ‘Good news and bad news.’ The good news is that the water clauses are being withdrawn from the Utilities Bill. The bad news is that I am under no circumstances to admit that it has anything to do with the government’s grossly overloaded legislative programme. Oh dear, I am hopeless at dissembling.

  Monday, 28 February

  To Admiralty House, in the company of about 25 junior and middle-rank ministers for another of the informal lunches organised by the Cabinet Office. This one addressed by Jonathan Powell, a member of the magic circle. We sit in stiff-backed chairs in the music room.

  Above the mantelpiece a huge naval canvas depicting The Attack on Martinique. Elsewhere, oils of Australia in all its primeval glory, by John Webber, the draughtsman on Captain Cook’s third expedition.

  Powell, curly-haired, fluent, aloof (never quite looking us in the eye), offered what he called ‘the view from Number 10’. He was unapologetic about the strengthening of the centre, saying that weakness had been one of the chief faults of John Major’s government. He listed four main aims: on policy, to be proactive rather than reactive; better co-ordination; better integration between departments; efficient communication. The Number 10 apparatus has grown, he said, but it isn’t going to get any bigger (‘or else we will lose the ability to move fast’). He cited the German chancellery and the White House as examples of large, unwieldy bureaucracies that had grown up around the head of government.

  Questions warmed up slowly. We treated him warily. This was, after all, a man who could make or break careers. Nick Raynsford talked of ‘unhappiness at control freakery’ to which Powell retorted that this government had given away more power than any other.

  ‘Trying to be competent,’ he added, ‘was not control freakery.’ Angela Eagle said that the recent upset over the London mayoral nomination had squandered a lot of good will. There was a lot of waffle about the need for better communication. When my turn came I asked, ‘Have any lessons been learned from our recent difficulties in Scotland, Wales and now London* and, if so, what are they?’ Lessons had indeed been learned, asserted Jonathan, but when it came to saying what they were he was surprisingly reticent.

  ‘You beast,’ he said cheerfully as we were leaving.

  ‘So what were the lessons that you couldn’t talk about in there?’

  ‘Well, for a start, we fucked up.’

  ‘With you so far,’ I said.

  Then he spoiled it: ‘But we couldn’t allow a bozo like Livingstone to win.’

  So there it is. The language of the Nixon White House. Bozo, indeed. Oh the arrogance of the unelected.

  ‘A good question,’ whispered the Cabinet Secretary, Richard Wilson, who had overheard the exchange. ‘The truth is they haven’t learned any lessons. They can’t let go.’ He added in an apparent reference to The Man, ‘He’s got teenage children. He’s going to have to learn to let go sooner or later.’

  There was a spring in my step as I walked back through St James’s Park, sun shining on great drifts of crocuses and daffodils.

  Wednesday, 1 March Ran into Ken Livingstone in the corridor between the Library and the Members’ Lobby.

  ‘Don’t,’ I said.

  He sighed. ‘All my friends – I mean my real friends’ (he touched my arm) ‘say that.’ He’s obviously tempted to go it alone. ‘I don’t know what I’d say to all the people who stop me in the street if I didn’t.’ He said he was lying awake worrying about it. ‘I’m going to have to take a decision before I’m ill.’

  He is still hoping against hope that Frank will stand down. ‘Frank’s unelectable. Whoever gets into the final ballot with him – either Norris or the Liberal Democrats – will win. I think Millbank are just beginning to realise. That’s why I have given them another week.’ He added, ‘I’ve been so reasonable. I’ve really bent over backwards. One day someone will publish the correspondence. When the left find out, I shall be denounced!’

  ‘Don’t rule out the possibility of staying here,’ I said as he disappeared through the swing doors, coffee cup in hand. But he obviously has.

  Jean gave me a report of tonight’s meeting of the parliamentary committee. The Man went out of his way to say that there were lessons in this for him personally. He admitted he should never have interfered in Wales. On Ken, however, he remains unrepentant. He pointed out that not a single one of the 17 assembly candida
tes had voted for him (that says more about them than it does about Ken). Jean says no one spoke up for Ken. The Man did say he had given clear instructions that there were to be no personal attacks. ‘Not only wrong, but counterproductive.’ I fear there are still a few more lessons in the pipeline.

  Thursday, 2 March

  Waited more than half an hour for a bus this morning. The 159s all passed without stopping because they were full and there was no sign of any Number 3s. Then five came in convoy. They were still within a hundred yards of each other when I got off at Westminster.

  General Pinochet went home today.* Jack made a low-key statement. There were cries of ‘shame’ from a few people on our side, but in truth most people are relieved to see the back of the old villain. The Tories were for the most part restrained (the more sensible of them have worked out that it would not be wise to appear too jubilant – he is after all a serial killer).

  ‘Are you sure you are happy with the briefing for Questions today?’ Jessica asked, seeing that I had just glanced at the file. She blushed as she always does when drawing attention to one of my many shortcomings.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘We’ve had feedback from the DPM’s office.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘The word is that Chris Mullin is not off message, but that he doesn’t know what the message is.’

  I wonder where this is coming from? Is it really JP? Or the un identified detractor who Don Brind warned me about several weeks ago?

  Friday, 3 March Sunderland

  An hour with Dave Wilkinson, head teacher of Pennywell School. The poor man is in despair. Blunkett has just decreed that secondary schools achieving less than 25 per cent A to C grades may have to close. The Times has helpfully printed a list of the schools in question and one of them is Pennywell. Needless to say this was faithfully embellished by last night’s Echo. ‘PENNYWELL SCHOOL TO CLOSE?’

  shouted billboards all over town. Just at the moment when Dave and his staff are, with some success, in the process of recruiting students for next year. And how is he going to find new teachers or hang on to those he already has? Dave is an excellent headmaster. Tough, dedicated, battling against great odds in what is surely one of the toughest educational environments in the country. Under his stewardship results, although a long way short of official targets, have been steadily improving. He has had two good OFSTED reports. He could walk away and get a job in a leafier area any time he wanted and yet he chooses to stay. And all he gets for his trouble is a kick in the teeth from New Labour. Understandably he is incandescent. He is writing a letter which I promised to press into Blunkett’s hand.

  Saturday, 4 March

  We are becoming unlucky. Not yet as unlucky as poor John Major, but the symptoms are unmistakable. Nothing goes right. The media, scenting blood, are becoming nastier. Every day brings news of more disasters, real and imagined. Some, of course, are self-inflicted, but that is not the whole story. Today’s headlines are about a row between Clare Short and the Ministry of Defence over the cost of helicopters for Mozambique. Who, reading the headlines, would guess that the UK has provided more aid than anyone else? Worse still, one might be forgiven for thinking that New Labour was responsible for the floods to judge by some of the reporting. John Humphrys was practically hysterical on the Today programme yesterday. Things will get worse before they get better. Whether or not Ken runs, the London elections will be a disaster. Surprisingly, there is as yet no sign of a Tory recovery, but it can only be a question of time.

  Monday, 6 March The big story today is that Ken is running for Mayor of London as an Independent. He has chosen a lonely path. He has few real allies of any substance and, if elected, will end up with an assembly composed largely of members who are hostile, facing a government which will not give him the time of day. My instinct is that he will win, though not by the margin that many expect. Millbank will pile on the shit and some of it will stick. It’s going to be a very nasty campaign – and deeply damaging to all of us.

  In the Tea Room, Sylvia Heal and Estelle Morris were lamenting New Labour’s tendency to overspin which nearly always backfires.

  Estelle cited the suggestion that the average nurse would be taking home £20,000 a year, which immediately resulted in a lot of nurses popping up saying that their earnings were nothing like that. They both said they were finding it impossible to justify the 75 pence uprating to the old age pension. ‘Does Gordon know the damage it’s doing us? He must do.’ I wouldn’t count on it.

  Tuesday, 7 March

  A disturbing piece by Nick Davies in today’s Guardian in which he alleges that Blunkett’s much-trumpeted £19 billion extra for education over the life of this Parliament is really only about £6.7 billion – and not that much more than the Tories were proposing to spend anyway. Most of the difference is accounted for by double and triple counting. Presumably a similar technique was used on the NHS and housing budgets. I have heard this alleged before, but never seen it spelled out so starkly. If true – and I hear no denials – it would help to explain why New Labour’s lavish claims about spending on health and education don’t seem to be reflected at the coalface. No wonder there is such a gap between expectation and delivery.

  Ran into John Major on Upper Corridor South. We talked of The Great London Mayoral Fiasco. Blair, he said, should have made more effort to be nice to Ken, ‘and then, if Ken had stood, he would have looked graceless’. He added, ‘Heseltine only ran against Thatcher because he was told to put up or shut up.’ Like everyone I meet he asked how I was finding life in government. I dipped into my little bag of stock responses and came up with ‘I suppose it is one of those things that I will be glad to look back on.’

  ‘You and me both,’ he chuckled.

  During the ten o’clock division I was sitting in the Aye Lobby with my head down, feet stretched out in front when someone playfully kicked me. I looked up to find myself gazing into the eyes of our beloved Prime Minister. Our exchange included the following:

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Depends on which day you catch me. To be honest I have less influence now than I ever did as a select committee chairman.’

  ‘For now,’ he murmured. ‘For now.’

  Wednesday, 8 March

  Incredibly, JP and Nick have talked the Treasury into allowing the most efficient 10 per cent of local authorities to fund social housing by raising capital from the markets. Angela Eagle remarked that JP is the only minister capable of persuading the hard hearts in the Treasury to let him get round the public sector borrowing rules. Thinking about it, she’s right. He did it on air traffic control and on congestion charging. There’s more to JP than meets the eye.

  A meeting with Nick Raynsford, Angela Eagle and officials to discuss how we go about cutting the flow of housing benefit to rogue landlords. My little campaign is bearing fruit at last. Everyone is on board and the Green Paper – due next month – is positive. Nick says that, if legislation is required (and it almost certainly is), we can get something into the local government bill proposed for next session. There are complications, of course. Nothing in government is ever simple. If we were to impose the same conditions across the country, southern landlords would simply refuse to take housing benefit claimants so we would end up with a lot of homeless people. Further north, however, it’s a different story. The landlords are dependent on public subsidy and would have no choice but to clean up their act if they wanted to stay in business.

  Thursday, 9 March

  Today I was Minister of Zoos. I went with Jessica to Bristol for the launch of yet another code of practice. We passed a pleasant two hours touring the local zoo and being photographed with penguins, seals and gorillas. I’ve never been keen on zoos, but this one appeared well-run – from the point of view of both animals and visitors. Then to the grim 1960s office block housing the Department’s Countryside Division for a whistlestop tour. There are some attractive parts of Bristol, but I had forgotten how much damag
e the planners had inflicted during the 1960s and ’70s. A drive around the ring road brought it all back.

  Sunday, 12 March Sunderland

  Up into the wilderness above the Tyne valley to see Malcolm, Helen and family. Malcolm and I had a pleasant stroll along a section of the Roman wall that I have not previously visited. Malcolm recounted how the special school at which he used to work in Hartlepool had suffered two OFSTED reports which had come to absolutely opposite conclusions. The first, led by someone from Cheltenham, was very bad and led to the school being placed on special measures. The second, a year later, was extremely complimentary and led to the school being declared a beacon. The head was so disillusioned with the process that he has resigned from the Labour Party.

  Monday, 13 March At supper in the Tea Room the talk was of New Labour’s tendency to double and triple count new public spending. We were joined by Jack Straw, who said the idea was Gordon’s and he had been against it from the outset. He added, ‘Fancy tactics never work. They always catch up with you in the end.’

  Tuesday, 14 March To lunch in the Millbank Room with the boys and girls from the private office in honour of Jessica, who is leaving us this week. I asked them all to stop calling me ‘Minister’ for a couple of hours, but Nicky was at it again within minutes. Sometimes, when I ring up, Nicky or Kerry will forget themselves (Jessica and Shayne never do) and say, ‘Hello Chris,’ but by the end of the conversation – and sometimes even by the end of their opening sentence – it’s back again to ‘Yes, Minister.’

  Wednesday, 15 March I have been drafted in to wind up tomorrow’s opposition debate on planning policy – all those new houses for the Home Counties. As a result I spent an hour this morning being briefed on the housing crisis in the south, during the course of which one of the officials remarked that it was mainly down to the influx of asylum seekers. ‘But for asylum seekers there would be empty property in London.’ He added quickly, ‘Actually, Minister, you’d be very unwise to say that.’ He went on, ‘We can’t believe we have got through six debates without anyone mentioning asylum seekers. We have been waiting for it to happen, but it hasn’t.’