by Chris Mullin
At PMQs much fun over Cameron abandoning his ‘cast iron’ pledge to hold a referendum on the Lisbon Treaty. The Tories looked uncomfortable. Through the thin walls of my office on Upper Corridor South I can hear my backwoods Tory neighbour dictating a response (‘I am sure that David Cameron is an honourable man . . .’) to protests from the angry Little Englanders in his constituency.
After Questions Speaker Bercow announced the appointment of Professor Sir Ian Kennedy to head the independent body that will in future regulate our terms and conditions. There was uproar at the news that he is to be paid £100,000 for a three-day week.
Thursday, 5 November
Jack Straw emailed me a draft of a written statement he is proposing to make tomorrow, announcing that he is abandoning the requirement that applicants for the judiciary should have to disclose whether or not they are Freemasons. Apparently he has been advised that he has no choice, given a ruling by the European Court regarding a case in Italy. Instead he is planning to introduce a register of interests for judges, but that won’t be ready for some time. I sent him back a note suggesting that he delay amending the questionnaire until the register is in place. And also that he’d better get a move on with it or the idea will be forgotten as soon as he is out the door. Interesting that, in this age of transparency, the Masons (and the judges) are heading resolutely backwards.
To the Reform Committee, where for more than two hours we debated the final text of our report, which has to be ready by next week. It is becoming apparent that some of our members are not interested in change of any sort.
Saturday, 7 November
Today’s Telegraph unleashes an assault on Professor Sir Ian Kennedy. The main charge seems to be that he is a friend of Alastair Campbell’s, but what has upset them is the suggestion that he is proposing to take his time over the Kelly proposals and may not implement them in full. Let us pray he doesn’t drag this out too long. We urgently need closure. There also seems to be a growing chorus of demands that we deserve a huge pay rise. Mostly they are anonymous and appear to be coming from colleagues (mainly Tories) who have a grossly inflated view of their own worth. Ominously, however, the former head of the Senior Salaries Review Body, Sir John Baker, has added his voice, saying we should be paid £100,000 a year. Like hell we should. It is hard to think of anything that would bring our profession into greater discredit than the suggestion that we should receive a whacking pay rise in return for not cheating on our expenses.
Sunday, 8 November
Sunderland
To Mowbray Park for the Remembrance Day service. My 23rd and last. I have outlasted half a dozen council leaders and three chief executives, but now it is my turn to fade away. Never again shall I process down Burdon Road behind the Mayor in his finery, in the company of assorted bigwigs, or sit in the front row listening to the last doddery veterans paying homage to The Fallen in calm, clear voices that belie their infirmity. Today’s parade, bigger and better than ever, was given added poignancy by the place of honour accorded to the relatives of the half-dozen Sunderland lads who have been cut down in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Afterwards I chatted to Lee Martin, who, come the election, will contest Sunderland Central for the Tories. He reckons there is a thousand votes in it either way.
Monday, 9 November
A huge, largely synthetic row has been whipped up by the mother of a soldier who has complained that Gordon’s letter of condolence was full of spelling mistakes and generally illegible. Needless to say, she has poured out her heart to the Sun, which is stirring the pot for all it’s worth. ‘The reason these things happen,’ remarked a senior minister, ‘is because Gordon’s staff are scared of him. They don’t dare say anything because he shouts at them.’
‘Has he shouted at you?’
‘Yes, there have been occasions when we’ve had to shut the door. Once or twice I have had to put stuff in writing because I can’t have a conversation with him. Then he rings up and shouts at me.’
This evening I found myself in the same lobby as David Cameron (voting against secret inquests). He says he has nominated the diaries his Observer Book of the Year and seemed particularly tickled by the account of my struggle with the government car service, which he says he plans to reform.
Tuesday, 10 November
Lunch with a banker who I came across in Vietnam last summer. He reckons that the economy is doing better than the official statistics suggest, saying that our economic indicators are notoriously inaccurate compared to those in America and the EU. Re the Tories, he said they appear to have no serious plan for managing the economy and that Osborne is regarded as a lightweight in the City.
Wednesday, 11 November
The Sun has declared open season on poor Gordon, publishing a transcript of his 13-minute telephone conversation with the woman who rejected his letter of condolence. The whole thing reeks of a set-up (although we are assured it wasn’t) and there are signs that, for once, public sympathy may be with Gordon – even the Sun’s own website has a narrow majority in his favour. On the radio this morning Peter Mandelson astutely remarked that – so far as the Sun was concerned – the real enemy was not the Taliban, but the British government.
Thursday, 12 November
A perfect autumn day, the sky cloudless. Victoria Tower Gardens carpeted with golden leaves from the plane trees. A whiff of roasting coffee beans wafting across the river from the little floating café opposite the entrance to Lambeth Palace. These are the things I shall miss when the curtain falls.
To the Grimond Room for the final session of Tony Wright’s Reform Committee. We wrangled for three hours, several of our more assiduous colleagues wanting to nail down every dot and comma, as though we were compiling a legal document. Then Natascha Engel and Peter Atkinson moved a wrecking amendment, suggesting that we simply give up and leave all decisions to some future parliament (imagine the ridicule!); happily they attracted no support. Finally, we were left with a document recommending that select committee chairmen be elected by the whole House and that a backbench business committee be established to give MPs more say over the timetable. Even these modest proposals were too controversial for some. Several people (ominously all, save Natascha, former whips) voted against the business committee and another ex-whip abstained. On September sittings we were split down the middle and opted for a fudge. Overall, a disappointing outcome. We may one day be allowed to elect select committee chairs, but not much more.
Later, I was sitting in the Tea Room when Henry Bellingham came in, fuming at the news that John Bercow’s wife is to stand as a Labour candidate for election to Westminster Council. Breathtakingly reckless for an inhabitant of Speaker’s House. Is anything more likely to antagonise the Tories, on whom her husband’s survival may soon depend? Until now, I thought he would survive, but I begin to wonder. As Henry said, if sufficiently provoked, the Tories won’t hesitate to dethrone Mr Speaker Bercow and install one of their own.
Friday, 13 November
Sunderland
An hour with the City Hospitals chief executive, Ken Bremner. Thus far, he says, there have been just 53 confirmed cases of swine flu (so much for all those tabloid scare stories). The number of patients presenting at A&E continues to rise, despite the money lavished on primary care centres. Orthopaedic waiting lists (up to two years when we came in) are now down to 18 weeks or less. He still has problems with some consultants whose NHS work-rate is significantly less than their private sector turnover, though the fact that there are more of them gives him slightly more leverage than he used to have.
Sunday, 15 November
This evening I had the following exchange with Emma (aged 14½) re her failure, despite repeated reminders, to refill the bird-feeders:
‘I am trying to teach you responsibility.’
‘I have lots of responsibilities.’
‘Such as?’
‘Homework, my health, my social life . . .’
Tuesday, 17 November
; A poll in today’s Guardian suggests that, for the first time, many people are attracted to David Cameron for positive reasons, rather than simply because they don’t like us. By a narrow margin, a majority even appear to believe that the Tories are more likely to lift people out of poverty. Which only goes to show that God has a sense of humour.
To the Inner Temple to hear a lecture by Lord Hoffman. On the tube I fell in with a couple of Law Lords and Douglas Hogg. Despite initial misgivings, the Law Lords seem happy with their new abode in what was once Middlesex Town Hall; they get many more visitors and still have the use of the club facilities in the Lords. Douglas told me a shocking story. One evening, not long after he had relinquished the Lord Chancellorship, his father opened his front door to a man who was aggressively ranting and raving. As luck would have it, just at that moment a police car drove past and the man ran off. The next night, however, he knocked on the door of a county court judge and murdered him.
Back at the House I came across Bruce Grocott, who remarked apropos New Labour’s Faustian pact with Murdoch, to which (as the Campbell diaries confirm) Bruce was wholly opposed, that it reflected The Man’s total lack of confidence that we could win an election under our own steam and that, even if we won a first election, we couldn’t hope to win a second.
Wednesday, 18 November
To Westminster for the State Opening. Ominously grey skies, a strong wind whipping up whirlpools of fallen leaves. I arrived just as a coachload of portly Beefeaters was disgorging by the Victoria Tower, along with convoys of ambassadors and high commissioners in gleaming, flag-flying limos. In an inner courtyard a tiny old lady on walking sticks was being helped out of large black car. ‘The Lord Chancellor’s mother,’ a policeman called to a colleague. Jack’s dear old mum, come to see him strut his stuff for the last time.
Never having attended a Queen’s Speech and this being the last opportunity, I decided that this is another little box that needs ticking. So I hung around in the Members’ Lobby waiting for Black Rod to summon us to the upper house, and as soon as the top brass had passed fell in behind, through the Central Lobby crowded with onlookers, and just managed to squeeze into The Other Place, climbing up three steps, from where I had an excellent view. The scene resembled one of those giant costume dramas that the BBC does so well. Her Majesty, motionless, resplendent in white, seated upon the throne; beside her the sprightly Duke in full dress uniform. To the left a gaggle of pageboys, fresh-faced young aristos in red, and to the right two po-faced ladies-in-waiting, also in white, and the Lord Great Chamberlain, also motionless, holding upright the bejewelled Sword of State. Arrayed before them, peers of the realm, great and small, all in red gowns, which (so David Clark told me later) have to be rented at £150 a time by those who cannot afford to buy them.
The Speech was a long wishlist, much of which – as everybody knows – will never see the light of day, more appropriate to an election address than a programme of legislation. Most ludicrous of all a Bill requiring a future government to halve the public debt within four years. Some involve nonsensical, undeliverable target-setting, a habit that New Labour just can’t kick. There is no shortage of people pointing this out.
Afterwards, in the Library Corridor I ran into Alan Milburn and his wife, Ruth. Alan said that shortly after Gordon became leader he advised him to go for an early election. ‘I suggested September, before the party conferences, to deny the Tories the oxygen of publicity. If he’d done that, he would have had a majority bigger than Blair’s, Cameron would have been toast and the Tories would have been in turmoil.’ Alas, his advice was not taken, and the rest is history . . .
I had intended to speak in the debate, but after sitting for three hours in an almost empty chamber my morale nose-dived. I went to the Chair and asked Alan Haselhurst to cross my name off his list. ‘But you’re next on your side. I am sure the House will want to hear from you.’
‘I am afraid not,’ I replied, gesturing at the empty benches. If nothing else, a timely reminder of why I need to give up.
Thursday, 19 November
To St Martin-in-the-Fields for Peter Townsend’s memorial. Beautiful music, generous tributes from friends and colleagues, one of whom remarked, ‘Peter remained dedicated to the Labour Party all his life, despite its almost bottomless capacity to disappoint.’ Then to the atrium at 4 Millbank to talk to some American students. Back at the House, I put my head inside the chamber to see how the debate on the Queen’s Speech was going and was shocked to find not a single Labour backbencher, just a couple of junior ministers, a whip and a PPS; on the other side half a dozen Tories and two Lib Dems; otherwise a sea of green benches. The public gallery was empty, too. And this on a day when we were discussing health and education, two of Labour’s big issues. Truly, this is a dying parliament.
Monday, 23 November
In today’s Telegraph, leaked Ministry of Defence documents which shed fascinating light on relations between British officers in Iraq and their American counterparts. This from Major General Andrew Stewart: ‘Our ability to influence US policy in Iraq seemed to be minimal.’
And this from Colonel J. K. Tanner, who commanded the British contingent in Basra in 2004: ‘I now realise that I am a European not an American. We managed to get on better with our European partners and at times with the Arabs than with the Americans. Europeans chat to each other whereas dialogue is alien to the US military. Dealing with them corporately is akin to dealing with a group of Martians. If it isn’t on the PowerPoint slide, then it doesn’t happen.’
Tuesday, 24 November
To the Standards and Privileges Committee, where it was agreed, at the suggestion of Nick Soames, that I should be appointed acting chairman in place of David Curry, who has had to stand down owing to expenses trouble. News of the appointment went out on the lunchtime bulletins, resulting in a flurry of congratulatory emails. Alas, it won’t last. This afternoon Soames reported that he had failed to persuade the Tory whips to leave me in situ for the duration. A senior Tory will be nominated shortly.
Wednesday, 25 November
To the Royal Lancaster Hotel for the annual dinner of the Institute of Directors. Not my natural territory, but curiosity got the better of me. A lavish event, 700 black-tie businessmen, four courses, good wines. Entertainment by Ronnie Corbett and Ken Clarke. Not much evidence of recession, despite several references from the platform to ‘hard times’, accompanied by the usual demands for lower taxes and less ‘government interference’ etc (except, presumably, when it comes to rescuing the banks). Ken Clarke, entertaining as ever, complained for 20 minutes about the government’s allegedly catastrophic levels of debt without once conceding that much of it was down to the cost of rescuing the economy from the consequences of the greed and avarice of his party’s friends in the City. At one point, only slightly tongue in cheek, he compared the government’s fiscal policy to that of Robert Mugabe. Even in this most Tory of institutions, not everyone was signed up to the mantra coming from the platform. At the mention of Shadow Chancellor Osborne, someone at my table whispered, ‘If that guy had been in charge last autumn, there would have been meltdown.’
Later, a naval officer expressed concern about the weekly parade of coffins from Afghanistan through Wootton Bassett. ‘It’s turning the army into victims,’ he said.
Thursday, 26 November
Final day of the Queen’s Speech debate. George Osborne led for the Tories, mocking us mercilessly for the proposed Bill to cut government debt by half (another of Gordon’s pointless little wheezes) and the continuing stream of unfeasible spending commitments. The Tory case, however, suffers from a central core of dishonesty – a flat refusal to acknowledge that the state of the public finances has anything to do with the fortune we have spent rescuing the banks. I made this point when my turn came, forcing Ken Clarke into a grudging admission that the debt crisis might, after all, have something to do with the profligacy of the bankers. Vince Cable (‘St Vince’ as he is known on our side),
on the other hand, was very fair in his assessment: ‘Although I have major disagreements with the government’s management of the economy up to the crisis, I agree with its management of the economy during the crisis.’ He is so much more credible than Osborne.
Friday, 27 November
Customers at this evening’s surgery included an agency worker who had been paid off for the winter and faced not being able to meet his mortgage payments. The sum involved was tiny – £260 a month – but way beyond his means. He was a decent, dignified man who had worked all his life, latterly for a plastics factory making components for Nissan, from which he had been laid off when the market collapsed last autumn. He had signed up with an agency and been taken on by the council to pick litter in Mowbray Park, but the work was seasonal and now he faced a winter on the dole – on benefit of just £64 a week. An ominous trend this. The growth of ‘outsourcing’ is producing a class of employee who can be picked up and dropped at will without qualifying for holidays, sickness or redundancy pay or any of the other hard-won benefits we used quaintly to associate with civilisation. Slowly, but surely, we are heading backwards towards the nineteenth century.