Decline & Fall

by Chris Mullin

  Wednesday, 1 July

  Plans to sell off a third of Royal Mail have been shelved, ‘until the economy picks up’. Peter Mandelson announced the news in a statement to the Lords in an elegantly executed U-turn. The real reason, as everyone knows, is that our masters have finally grasped that we, the poor bloody infantry, are just not having it. Yesterday Alan Johnson announced that ID cards would not, after all, be made compulsory. Let no one say we humble backbenchers are without influence.

  Lunch with a noble lord, who recounted a tale about an occasion when Gordon was at the Treasury. Apparently he had insisted on tabling a self-congratulatory amendment in the teeth of resistance from the Clerk’s Department, whereupon the Speaker had (unusually) refused to call it, resulting in a terrible tantrum. Later, a Treasury official remarked, ‘What you don’t realise is that it cost us £2,000 in furniture repairs.’

  Friday, 3 July

  Sunderland

  Rupert Hanson is dead, barely a fortnight after his cancer was diagnosed. Derek Foster, who has known him for 60 years, says that Rupert came from one of the poorest families in Sunderland. I was in the process of trying to get him an honour, but of course it’s too late now. He deserves the biggest send-off we can organise.

  Monday, 6 July

  To the meeting of the parliamentary party, where Gordon Prentice demanded to know if the government was proposing to reverse a Lords amendment to the Political Parties and Elections Bill prohibiting political donations by tax exiles. Jack Straw promptly confirmed that this was his intention, saying that anyway it wouldn’t deal with the Ashcroft problem, and that we had to proceed by consensus, otherwise the Tories would go after the trade union levy, without which we are dead. This provoked mild heckling. Several times Jack prayed in aid the General Secretary, Ray Collins, who nodded vigorously, leaving a feeling that we may have some dirty secret of our own to hide. Dale Campbell-Savours, the peer who threw the spanner in the works, described Jack’s contribution as ‘a bloody outrage’.

  Later, we were addressed by Alistair Darling, who remains confident that the economy will begin to grow again by the end of the year, but – he added – ‘there is much uncertainty’. Our debt, he said, would rise to 80 per cent of national wealth ‘because we took a deliberate decision to increase spending up to 2011. We will need to halve the deficit over a five-year period. The next spending review will be tight.’

  Tuesday, 7 July

  This afternoon a spectacular storm. Thunder, lightning, hailstones. People gathered at windows to watch. An inch of rain in half an hour. Water cascaded through the light fitting on the committee corridor, outside Room 9, and wastepaper bins were commandeered to catch it. Later, a trickle of bedraggled, sodden refugees arrived back from the Queen’s garden party, which caught the full force of the storm.

  Wednesday, 8 July

  This evening, along with a dozen others, a meeting with Ray Collins, who stuck firmly to the line that we must not ban donations by tax exiles. He confirmed that a ban wouldn’t just hit the Tories – a number of our donors would be affected and, given the parlous state of Labour finances, it could inflict serious damage.

  Thursday, 9 July

  The News of the World has been caught out paying huge sums of money to people whose phones it has been tapping, in return for their silence. An old story, but the suspicion is that it is the tip of a very large iceberg. What really gives it legs is that the editor who presided when the scandal was first exposed was none other than Andy Coulson, David Cameron’s chief spin doctor. Much happiness on our side. A rare chance to inflict a blow on both Murdoch and the Tories. The latter looked very sheepish when the subject came up at Question time. Their spokesman, an unhappy-looking Chris Grayling, quietly conceded that there were ‘questions to be answered’, provoking howls of ridicule from our side. An unexpected bonus, fun while it lasts, but I doubt it will make much difference in the long run.

  This evening, with half a dozen others, to Jack Straw’s room on the Upper Ministerial Corridor in a last-ditch attempt to try and talk him out of reversing the Campbell-Savours amendment. Gordon Prentice and Martin Linton led the way, saying how bad it would look for a Labour government to be amending the law in favour of tax exiles. At first Jack resisted, saying that it was gesture politics, but in the end, to our pleasant surprise, he backed down and we went away with an assurance that he would see what could be done. He asked me to stay behind afterwards for a brief chat. I said we had to end the growing dependence of all the main parties on the favours of rich men. Jack said there was a proposal to allow tax relief on small donations, to which he was sympathetic, but it had fallen because the Treasury weren’t keen. An issue to which we must return, if British politics isn’t to become fatally corrupted.

  Saturday, 11 July

  To Durham for the miners’ gala, a reminder of that golden age of working-class solidarity, in the days before the triumph of selfishness, consumerism and global markets. I stood in sunshine in front of the County Hotel as the bands and banners flowed down Old Elvet. Then to the cricket ground to listen to the speeches, most of which were devoted to a blow by blow re-fighting of the ‘84–5 strike. Only Dennis Skinner rose to the occasion with a magnificent rant that somehow managed to end on a positive note.

  Sunday, 12 July

  A growing list of casualties from the war in Afghanistan. Every week the coffin plane arrives at RAF Lyneham. The newspapers carry photos of fresh-faced young men killed in action, victims mainly of roadside bombs, at which the Taliban are becoming increasingly adept. Among recent casualties, several officers, including a highly regarded colonel who leaves two small daughters. A growing chorus of voices calling for us to get out and leave the Afghans to their fate. The Liberal Democrat leader, Nick Clegg, always quick to spot a bandwagon, is calling for withdrawal.

  The case for getting out is that we aren’t achieving anything. The case for staying is that a Taliban-controlled Afghanistan will provide the jihadis with a base from which to organise a takeover of nuclear-armed Pakistan, a prospect too awful to contemplate.

  Monday, 13 July

  The Tories and their friends in the media are becoming increasingly shameless re ‘our boys’ in Afghanistan. Liam Fox, their defence spokesman, has been at it all weekend, brazenly accusing Gordon of sending our soldiers into battle without adequate protection. This morning’s Telegraph splashes photos of the latest casualties across the front page under the heading ‘BROWN’S DERELICTION’. It’s entirely cynical. As most of those on the front line seem to acknowledge, we are pouring resources into Afghanistan – an officer in Helmand, interviewed on the radio this morning, asserted they were ‘better equipped than ever’. Bob Ainsworth, the Defence Secretary, remarked at Questions today that we can give our soldiers all the armour and helicopters in the world, but to achieve anything they have sooner or later to get out of their armoured cars and engage with the locals.

  Increasingly the same paralysing, risk-averse culture that has infected so much of the public sector is being applied to warfare. There are no acts of God any more. Lawyers, cheered on by sections of the media and some of our more disreputable politicians, are everywhere trying to persuade grieving parents that the death of their beloved sons was the fault of someone in authority who must, of course, be avenged by way of legal action. If we are not careful, our armed forces will be neutered.

  There is the usual hypocrisy on spending. The loudest demands for increases coming from members of a political party that is simultaneously demanding savage cuts. Also a bit of snobbery about Bob Ainsworth. A feeling that he is NCO rather than officer material – which I don’t accept for a moment.

  This evening to Number 10 for Gordon’s annual garden party. I go mainly to see the garden, steering a wide circle round Gordon and his entourage. This year, between the roses and the Cabinet Office, a healthy bed of vegetables has appeared. Whose idea was that? Not Gordon’s, surely?

  Tuesday, 14 July

  The latest cof
fin plane arrived from Afghanistan, bearing the bodies of eight young men who died on the same day. The television news showed them being unloaded, draped in the Union flag, followed by the ritual procession of hearses through streets lined with silent crowds and sobbing relatives.

  Wednesday, 15 July

  Lunch with Grey Gowrie at White’s in St James’s, a little corner of the Establishment that I have never previously penetrated. Very old world. Fawning factotums calling everybody ‘My Lord this’ and ‘My Lord that’ and strictly no women, although the Queen was allowed in once and a picture of her with the committee hangs in the loo. Only a couple of faces I recognised. According to Grey, the clientele these days tend to be gentry rather than Tory politicians. David Cameron’s father once chaired the management committee, but father and son resigned in protest at the vote to maintain the ban on women. Grey, a civilised one-nation Tory, was a minister in Mrs Thatcher’s government. I owe my invitation to the fact that he enjoyed the diaries.

  A huge increase in unemployment – up 281,00, the largest monthly increase on record. At this rate it will cross the three million mark by the time we leave office.

  Thursday, 16 July

  All day long I have had to listen to my Tory neighbour dictating Pooterish letters re his spats with the Telegraph and now Private Eye. To be sure, he has been traduced. I wish him well in his attempt to exact retribution, but I do wish the walls were thicker. Why can’t he just sit in front of a computer and tap out his own missives?

  William Hague was on the train going home. ‘You may be the one who has to extricate us from Afghanistan,’ I said.

  He did not demur. He thinks Obama will give the war another two years and then review the situation.

  Friday, 17 July

  Sunderland

  To the Minster, packed to the rafters for Rupert Hanson’s funeral. A little too much God for my liking, but fine music, moving tributes from his children, at the end of which Rupert, as befits a maestro making his final curtain call, was carried away to applause and shouts of ‘Bravo’.

  The generals have opened fire on us re Afghanistan. Richard Dannatt, the head of the army, has been at it all week. Today it was the turn of the Chief of Staff, Sir Jock Stirrup. More helicopters is their immediate demand, but they are also rumoured to have asked for a couple of thousand more troops and been given only 900. The problem is, of course, that the military are not prepared to give up anything in return. They want more of everything – aircraft carriers, the latest jet fighters and (most of them) a new generation of nuclear missiles. The Tories, needless to say, are making the most of our difficulty, while remaining notably silent on how they would fund an expansion of our already enormous arms budget.

  Sunday, 19 July

  St Bede’s Terrace, Sunderland

  Our annual get-together for the movers and shakers in the local Labour Party. The last after 22 years. As usual Ngoc laid on a huge spread. The sun shone, after days of heavy rain. Among our guests a local GP who says she is inundated with patients claiming to be stricken with swine flu and demanding sick notes. Few, if any, have it, she says, and some are talking enthusiastically about the possibility of up to two weeks off work that the ‘flu’ affords

  Monday, 20 July

  A ray of sunshine amid the gloom. Nissan today announced they are to build a factory, adjacent to their car plant at Washington, to make 60,000 lithium-ion batteries a year, a first step towards the manufacture of electric cars. It means 350 new jobs immediately and the prospect that the new electric models will be built in Sunderland. The Prime Minister, accompanied by Peter Mandelson, paid a flying visit to celebrate the good news.

  Wednesday, 22 July

  A glimpse into the depressing world of benefit culture. Every week the Echo carries a column offering advice to readers who write in with queries about benefits. The adviser, John Gordon, is a true professional. He gives concise, precise answers, never commenting or moralising. Many of the requests come from pensioners struggling to survive on modest incomes who simply set out what they are already claiming and end with the sentence: ‘Is there anything else I can claim?’

  This week several particularly shameless examples, including this from the father of an 18-year-old school leaver who is preoccupied not with encouraging his son to better himself through work or higher education, but with introducing him to what could be a lifetime of dependency: ‘Last week you told me that my . . . son could not claim benefit until September. This would be when child benefit stopped and I would be responsible for him until then. Could he claim sooner, however, if he were to go and live with my sister and we were to give up claiming child benefit . . .?’

  Thursday, 23 July

  To the Empire to see Emma and friends in the Wizard of Oz. She plays a Winkie, a role which seems to require her and others to march back and forth across the stage dressed in a Ku Klux Klan-type outfit, chanting, ‘YO-WE-O’. Unfortunately the great actress seemed to have lost her voice by the end of the third performance – that plus the ominous news that one of the cast has gone down with suspected swine flu. That’s all we need. We are off to Vietnam on Saturday.

  Friday, 24 July

  To London, through torrential rain. En route the inevitable news that the Tories have won the Norwich North by-election on a 16 per cent swing. A wholly self-inflicted disaster. The by-election was triggered by the resignation of Ian Gibson after the black spot was put on him by the party’s so-called ‘Star Chamber’ following controversy over his expenses. He was widely respected and there is a general feeling that he was badly done by.

  Saturday, 25 July

  The Lycee, Kennington

  ‘MPs attack Brown over expenses defeat,’ reads the headline in today’s Telegraph. Amusing to see how sympathetic the Telegraph is towards Ian Gibson (‘popular figure, independent-minded’) when it suits their purpose. Just goes to show that expenses are a weapon that can be switched on and off at will, deployed for or against, depending on the needs of the hour.

  Emma awoke early complaining of a temperature and a sore throat. Catastrophe looms. We are due to depart for Vietnam tonight. Rang the swine flu hotline and got through with surprising ease – considering that the media are full of stories about supposed meltdown. A calm, sensible young woman noted Emma’s details and then read out a long list of symptoms, most of which Emma didn’t have, but she ticked three boxes and Tamiflu was therefore recommended. I was given a code number and an address in Vincent Square. I drove straight there. No queue. Rolls-Royce service. The man on reception even stood outside, protecting my car from a predatory traffic warden. I was back at the Lycee within the hour.

  The patient was up by nine, consumed a light breakfast, shivery, speaking in a whisper, 50 per cent normal cheerfulness. Should we postpone? Singapore Airlines threatening a huge surcharge and at least a week’s delay if we do. We decide to press on.

  Sunday, 26 July

  Transit Lounge, Changi Airport, Singapore

  Space age. So sedate one feels one should speak in whispers. Headline in the local press about a Buddhist monk explaining to a court how he came by cash, cars, credit cards and a condo. Small patient, dosed with paracetamol, back to 75 per cent cheerfulness. Touch and go whether we will be allowed into Vietnam. Alarming stories of swine flu suspects being whisked off into quarantine.

  Tan Son Nhut Airport, Ho Chi Minh City

  Big panic underway. Officials wearing face masks. All passengers must pass a heat-seeking machine, which allegedly identifies those with abnormal temperatures, but Emma passes without incident. Within an hour we are comfortably installed in Aunty Hong’s house. The small person on course for a remarkable recovery. Thank goodness we kept our nerve.

  Monday, 27 July

  Ho Chi Minh City. Saigon as was. The change since I was last here is astonishing. Entire neighbourhoods transformed. Everywhere banging and hammering, drilling and digging. In the city centre skyscrapers tower above the little French shop-houses that have so f
ar, but for how much longer, survived the onslaught of market forces. And the traffic . . . motorcycles flow in a great, unceasing river. When they come to an obstacle they simply meander around it, along the pavements, down alleyways, across forecourts . . . an irresistible force. And the roar, punctuated by the incessant hooting of horns, is constant, day and night.

  A few surviving air pockets of tranquillity. Notably the magnificent French colonial-style post office. A vast, airy hall, with shuttered windows, ceiling fans, walnut writing desks and 20 separate windows for the multiplicity of transactions which were once possible here. My favourite is labelled ‘Domestic Flower Delivery’.

  Tuesday, 28 July

  When I first came here 36 years ago I made my own way and got by. Now I have become utterly dependent on Ngoc, who, like all Vietnamese wives, keeps a tight hold on the purse strings. I have not a penny in my pocket or, more to the point, a single dong. This afternoon outside the Continental Palace Hotel I was waylaid by a one-legged beggar who simply would not believe I had no money. In the end I had to turn my pockets inside out to convince him and he looked at me with contempt. From now on I will insist that I am allocated a small supply of dong so that I can at least pay off the beggars (of whom, it must be said, there are a great many fewer than in times gone by).