The Complete Yes Minister

13 The Quality of Life

[Early in September Sir Humphrey Appleby started negotiations with the merchant bank of which Sir Desmond Glazebrook was the Chairman. Sir Desmond had been appointed Chairman of the Co-Partnership Commission in March by Hacker, at Appleby’s instigation, in order to get them both off the hook of the Solihull Report scandal (see here).

In September Sir Humphrey was negotiating for a seat on the board of the bank when he retired three or four years hence. Sir Humphrey Appleby still had not received his G, nor had he sewn up a suitable retirement position for himself. Recent encounters with Sir Arnold Robinson (see Chapter 10) suggested that, although it was not impossible that he would become the next Secretary of the Cabinet, he was probably not the front-runner. He was known to be anti-Europe, so a Director-Generalship in Brussels seemed unlikely to be offered. He was therefore most anxious to ensure the seat on the board of Sir Desmond’s bank — Ed.]

September 14th

Excellent coverage in the press today for my speech on the environment last night.

Headlines in a couple of the quality dailies: HACKER SPEAKS OUT AGAINST TOWER BLOCKS and MINISTER’S COURAGEOUS STAND ON HIGH BUILDINGS, though the latter does make me sound more like Harold Lloyd than a Minister of the Crown. Still, to be called courageous by a newspaper is praise indeed.

But all this coverage in the posh press, though nice, isn’t worth all that much in votes. There was no coverage of my speech in the popular press. It’s weeks since I had my photo in any of the mass-circulation dailies.

So I called in Bill Pritchard, the press officer, and asked his advice. He thought for a moment or two.

‘Well,’ he offered, ‘the papers always like a photograph of a pretty girl.’

Brilliant. I pointed out that, although it may have escaped his notice, I did not qualify on that score. But he went on to suggest that I judge a bathing beauty contest, kiss the winner, that sort of thing. A cheap stunt really, and rather old hat. Besides, if my picture’s going to be in the paper I’d like the readers to look at me.

Then he suggested animals and children. He pointed out that tomorrow’s visit to a City Farm will almost certainly yield good publicity. Apparently it’s to be covered by the Mirror, Mail, Express, Sun, and Today and Nationwide.

This is marvellous. Telly coverage is the best of all, of course. And an innocuous non-controversial venue like a City Farm can’t possibly contain any hidden pitfalls.

Bill told me that Sue Lawley wanted to interview me. And that I was to be photographed with some baby donkeys at the Sun’s special request.

Sometimes I think he’s got no sense at all! Even if the Sun has no ulterior motive (which I doubt) it would be a gift for Private Eye — JAMES HACKER WITH A CROWD OF OTHER DONKEYS or A MEETING OF THE INNER CABINET.

I refused. He offered little pigs instead. I don’t think that my being photographed with a crowd of little pigs is any great improvement! That could give rise to SNOUTS IN THE TROUGH jokes.

I told Bill to pull himself together, and that I’d agree to be photographed with Sue Lawley or a nice woolly lamb. Positively no one else.

[Politicians frequently try to avoid making public appearances that could give rise to jokes at their expense. For instance, when Harold Wilson was PM in the late 1960s some of his advisers suggested that perhaps he shouldn’t go to Fiddler on the Roof as it might encourage jokes about his leadership style. He also avoided going to visit A Month in the Country as it was feared that this would give rise to dangerous speculation that he was going to the country, i. e. calling a general election — Ed.]

At my diary session later this morning Bernard said that Sir Desmond Glazebrook wanted an urgent meeting with me tomorrow. He’s a ridiculous old fool who keeps making speeches against the government. Unfortunately, I appointed him Chairman of the Co-Partnership Commission — I’d had no choice [see Chapter 7 — Ed.].

Glazebrook wants to talk to me about his forthcoming application to add some more storeys to his bank’s proposed new office block.

Clearly he hasn’t read this morning’s papers!

This is just the sort of thing we have to stop. Someone has to speak out to save the environment. I shall do it, without fear or favour. It is the right thing to do. Also, it’ll be very popular.

[Bernard Woolley reported this conversation with Hacker to Sir Humphrey Appleby sometime later that day. He knew that Appleby was due to meet Sir Desmond Glazebrook for tea, to discuss the new high-rise building for the bank, and he felt obliged to let Sir Humphrey know the extent of the Minister’s opposition to it.

We found a report of this and of Appleby’s meeting with Glazebrook among Sir Humphrey’s private papers — Ed.]

B. reported to me that the Minister wanted to make a courageous stand on high buildings, for the press. I hope he has a head for heights. It seems that Hacker will do anything to get his picture in the papers.

Had tea with Sir Desmond, and reported that the matter did not look too hopeful. He was surprised. I remarked that, clearly, he had not read the Financial Times this morning.

‘Never do,’ he told me. I was surprised. He is a banker after all.

‘Can’t understand it,’ he explained. ‘It’s too full of economic theory.’

I asked him why he bought it and carried it about under his arm. He explained that it was part of the uniform. He said it took him thirty years to understand Keynes’s economics and just when he’d finally got the hang of it everyone started getting hooked on those new-fangled monetarist ideas. Books like I want to be free by Milton Shulman.

Presumably he means Free To Choose by Milton Friedman, but I share his feelings and doubts.

He asked me why they are all called Milton, and said he was still stuck on Milton Keynes. I corrected him: ‘Maynard Keynes.’ He said he was sure there was a Milton Keynes, I felt the conversation should be abandoned then and there, and I opened up his copy of the FT and showed him our Minister’s speech to the Architectural Association last night in which he attacked skyscraper blocks. This speech has attracted much favourable publicity and must be reckoned a problem for us now.

Sir Desmond insisted that the bank’s new block is not a skyscraper. Nonetheless, it has thirty-eight storeys on current plans, and he is asking for an extra six storeys.

The Minister, on the other hand, is talking about a maximum tolerable height of eight storeys.

The Minister is further encouraged by his party’s manifesto, which contained a promise to prevent many more high-rise buildings. But this problem is more easily dealt with. I explained to Sir Desmond that there is an implicit pact offered to every Minister by his senior officials: if the Minister will help us implement the opposite policy to the one to which he is pledged (which once he is in office he can see is obviously undesirable and/or unworkable) we will help him to pretend that he is in fact doing what he said he was going to do in his Manifesto.

[We are indeed fortunate that Sir Humphrey’s training as a civil servant — training to put everything down in writing — resulted in his recording for posterity these attitudes and skills which were undoubtedly Civil Service practice in the 1980s but which were kept secret because they were unacceptable constitutionally — Ed.]

Desmond said that this was a reasonable compromise, in his opinion. So it is. Regrettably, reasonableness is not the first quality that springs to mind when one contemplates the average Minister. [Hacker was a very average Minister — Ed.]

Desmond tried to apply pressure to me. He dropped hints about our future plans together. I reassured Desmond that, although he would not get permission from Hacker this week and although it would be tricky, I was sure a way could be found to alter any adverse decision.

Desmond was puzzled. He thought a decision was a decision. I explained that a decision is a decision only if it is the decision you wanted. Otherwise, of course, it is merely a temporary setback.

Ministers are like small children. They act on impulse. One day they want something desperately, the next day they’ve forgotten they ever asked for it. Like a tantrum over a rice pudding — won’t touch it today and asks for two helpings tomorrow. He understood this.

Desmond asked me if I intended to tell him that I refused to accept his decision. The man really is dense! I explained that, on the contrary, I shall start off by accepting Hacker’s decision enthusiastically. Then I shall tell him to leave the details to me. [Appleby Papers 97/JZD/31f]

[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]

September 15th

We had the urgent meeting with Sir Desmond Glazebrook today. It went off most satisfactorily and presented no problems, largely because it was preceded by a meeting between me and Sir Humphrey in which I ensured his full co-operation and support.

When Humphrey popped in for a quick word before the meeting he outlined Glazebrook’s case for a tower block:

1) There are already several tower blocks in the area

2) Their International Division is expanding rapidly and needs space. And international work brings in valuable invisible exports

3) Banks need central locations. They can’t move some of it elsewhere

4) It will bring in extra rate revenue for the city

This is a not unreasonable case. But, as I pointed out to Humphrey, it’s a typical bank argument, money, money, money! What about the environment? What about the beauty?

Humphrey was impressed. ‘Indeed Minister,’ he agreed. ‘Beauty. Quite.’ He told Bernard to make a note of it.

I could see I was winning. ‘And what about our children? And our children’s children?’

Again he agreed, and told Bernard to be sure he make a note of ‘children’s children’.

‘Who are you serving, Humphrey?’ I asked. ‘God or Mammon?’

‘I’m serving you, Minister,’ he replied.

Quite right. I told Bernard to show Glazebrook in, and Sir Humphrey said to me: ‘Minister, it’s entirely your decision. Entirely your decision.’ I think he’s getting the idea at last! That I’m the boss!

Desmond Glazebrook arrived with an architect named Crawford, complete with plans. They began by explaining that they would be making a formal application later, but they’d be grateful for any guidance that I could give them at this stage.

That was easy. I told them that I had grave misgivings about these tower blocks.

‘Dash it, this is where we make our profits,’ said Sir Desmond. ‘Six extra storeys and we’ll really clean up. Without them we’ll only make a measly twenty-eight per cent on the whole project.’

I stared at him coldly. ‘It’s just profits, is it, Sir Desmond?’

He looked confused. ‘Not just profits,’ he said, ‘it’s profits!’

‘Do you ever think of anything except money?’ I asked him.

Again he looked completely blank. ‘No. Why?’

‘You don’t think about beauty?’

‘Beauty?’ He had no idea what I was driving at. ‘This is an office block, not an oil-painting.’

I persevered. ‘What about the environment?’ I enquired.

‘Well…’ he said, looking at Humphrey for help. Sir Humphrey, to his credit, gave him none. ‘Well, I promise you we’ll make sure it’s part of the environment. I mean, it’s bound to be, once it’s there, isn’t it?’

I had reached my decision. ‘The answer’s no,’ I said firmly.

Crawford the architect intervened. ‘There is just one thing, Minister,’ he said timidly. ‘As you will remember from the papers, similar permission has already been given for the Chartered Bank of New York, so to refuse it to a British bank….’

I hadn’t realised. Bernard or Humphrey should have briefed me more thoroughly.

I didn’t answer for a moment, and Sir Desmond chipped in:

‘So it’s all right after all, is it?’

‘No it’s not,’ I snapped.

‘Why not, dammit?’ he demanded.

I was stuck. I had to honour our manifesto commitment, and I couldn’t go back on my widely-reported speech yesterday. But if we’d given permission to an American bank…

Thank God, Humphrey came to the rescue!

‘The Minister,’ he said smoothly, ‘has expressed concern that a further tall building would clutter the Skyline.’

I seized on this point gratefully. ‘Clutter the skyline,’ I repeated, with considerable emphasis.

‘He is also worried,’ continued Sir Humphrey, ‘that more office workers in that area would mean excessive strain on the public transport system.’

He looked at me for support, and I indicated that I was indeed worried about public transport. Humphrey was really being most creative. Very impressive.

‘Furthermore,’ said Humphrey, by now unstoppable, ‘the Minister pointed out that it would overshadow the playground of St James’s Primary School here…’ (he pointed to the map) ‘and that it would overlook a number of private gardens, which would be an intrusion of privacy.’

‘Privacy,’ I agreed enthusiastically.

‘Finally,’ said Humphrey, lying through his teeth, ‘the Minister also pointed out, most astutely if I may say so, that your bank owns a vacant site a short way away, which would accommodate your expansion needs.’

Sir Desmond looked at me. ‘Where?’ he asked.

I stabbed wildly at the map with my finger. ‘Here,’ I said.

Desmond looked closely. ‘That’s the river, isn’t it?’

I shook my head with pretended impatience at his stupidity, and again Humphrey saved the day. ‘I think the Minister was referring to this site,’ he said, and pointed with precision.

Sir Desmond looked again.

‘Is that ours?’ he asked.

‘It is, actually, Sir Desmond,’ whispered Crawford.

‘What are we doing with it?’

‘It’s scheduled for Phase III.’

Sir Desmond turned to me and said, as if I hadn’t heard, ‘That’s scheduled for Phase III. Anyway,’ he went on, ‘that’s at least four hundred yards away. Difficult for the Board to walk four hundred yards for lunch. And impossible to walk four hundred yards back afterwards.’

I felt that I’d spent enough time on this pointless meeting. I brought it to a close.

‘Well, there it is,’ I said. ‘You can still put in your formal application, but that will be my decision, I’m sure.’

Bernard opened the door for Sir Desmond, who stood up very reluctantly.

‘Suppose we design a different rice pudding?’ he said.

I think he must be suffering from premature senility.

‘Rice pudding?’ I asked.

Humphrey stepped in, tactful as ever. ‘It’s er… it’s bankers’ jargon for high-rise buildings, Minister.’

‘Is it?’ asked Sir Desmond.

Poor old fellow.

After he’d gone I thanked Humphrey for all his help. He seemed genuinely pleased.

I made a point of thanking him especially because I know that he and Desmond Glazebrook were old chums.

‘We’ve known each other a long time, Minister,’ he replied. ‘But even a lifelong friendship is as naught compared with a civil servant’s duty to support his Minister.’

Quite right too.

Then I had to rush off to my public appearance at the City Farm.

Before I left, Humphrey insisted that I sign some document. He said it was urgent. An administrative order formalising government powers for temporary utilisation of something-or-other. He gave me some gobbledegook explanation of why I had to sign it rather than its being put before the House. Just some piece of red tape.

But I wish he wouldn’t always try to explain these things to me when he can see I’m late for some other appointment.

Not that it matters much.

SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:[33]

Hacker was being thoroughly bamboozled by Sir Humphrey and was completely unaware of it.

The Administrative Order in question was to formalise government powers for the temporary utilisation of unused local authority land until development commences, when of course it reverts to the authority.

In answer to Hacker’s question as to why it was not being laid before the House, Sir Humphrey gave the correct answer. He explained that if it were a statutory instrument it would indeed have to be laid on the table of the House, for forty days, assuming it were a negative order, since an affirmative order would, of course, necessitate a vote, but in fact it was not a statutory instrument nor indeed an Order in Council but simply an Administrative order made under Section 7, subsection 3 of the Environmental Administration Act, which was of course an enabling section empowering the Minister to make such regulations affecting small-scale land usage as might from time to time appear desirable within the general framework of the Act.

After he had explained all this, to Hacker’s evident incomprehension, he added humorously, ‘as I’m sure you recollect only too clearly, Minister.’ Appleby really was rather a cad!

I must say, though, that even I didn’t grasp the full significance of this move that afternoon. I didn’t even fully comprehend, in those days, why Humphrey had persuaded Hacker to sign the document on the pretext that it was urgent.

‘It was not urgent,’ he explained to me later, ‘but it was important. Any document that removes the power of decision from Ministers and gives it to us is important.’

I asked why. He rightly ticked me off for obtuseness. Giving powers of decision to the Service helps to take government out of politics. That was, in his view, Britain’s only hope of survival.

The urgency was true in one sense, of course, in that whenever you want a Minister to sign something without too many questions it is always better to wait until he is in a hurry. That is when their concentration is weakest. Ministers are always vulnerable when they are in a hurry.

That is why we always kept them on the go, of course.

[Hacker’s diary for that day continues — Ed.]

It’s always hard to find something to make a speech about. We have to make a great many speeches, of course — local authority elections, by-elections, GLC elections, opening village fetes or the new old people’s home, every weekend in my constituency there’s something.

We must try to have something to say. Yet it can’t be particularly new or else we’d have to say it in the House first, and it can’t be particularly interesting or we’d already have said it on TV or radio. I’m always hoping that the Department will cook up something for me to talk about, something that we in the government would have to be talking about anyway.

Equally, you have to be careful that, in their eagerness to find something, they don’t cook up anything too damn silly. After all, I’ve got to actually get up and say it.

Most civil servants can’t write speeches. But they can dig up a plum for me (occasionally) and, without fail, they should warn me of any possible banana skins.

Today I planned to make a sort of generalised speech on the environment, which I’m doing a lot of recently and which seems to go down well with everyone.

Hacker was persuaded to pose for the above photograph against his better jugement, because he was unwilling to appear ‘a bad sport’ in public. He subsequently had the photograph suppressed but it was released under the Thirty-year Rule (DAA Archives)

At the City Farm we were met by a brisk middle-class lady called Mrs Phillips. She was the Warden of the City Farm. My party simply consisted of me, Bill Pritchard of the press office, and Bernard.

We were asked to drive up to the place two or three times in succession, so that the television crew could film us arriving.

The third time seemed to satisfy them. Mrs Phillips welcomed me with a singularly tactless little speech: words to the effect of ‘I’m so grateful that you could come, we tried all sorts of other celebrities but nobody else could make it.’

I turned to the cameraman from the BBC and told him to cut. He kept filming, impertinent little man. I told him again, and then the director said cut so he finally did cut. I instructed the director to cut Mrs Phillips’ tactless little speech right out.

‘But…’ he began.

‘No buts,’ I told him. ‘Licence fee, remember.’ Of course I said it jokingly, but we both knew I wasn’t joking. The BBC is always much easier to handle when the licence fee is coming up for renewal.

I think he was rather impressed with my professionalism and my no-nonsense attitude.

We went in.

I realised that I didn’t know too much about City Farms. Furthermore, people always like to talk about themselves and their work, so I said to Mrs Phillips — who had a piglet in her arms by this time — ‘Tell me all about this.’

‘This is a piglet,’ she replied. Asinine woman. Or perhaps I should say piginine.[34]

I told her to tell me about the farm. She said that there are over fifty such City Farms, built on urban wasteland to give children who seldom see the countryside a chance to understand livestock and food production. A wonderful idea.

I was photographed with Mrs Phillips, meeting the staff, with the children and with the piglets. [Everybody’s a ham — Ed.] Then it was time for my speech.

There was a moment of slight embarrassment when I realised Bernard had given me the wrong speech, but that was soon overcome.

SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS:[35]

Slight embarrassment does not begin to describe the general reaction to Hacker’s speech.

There was confusion over who had the copy of his speech, I or he. I distinctly remembered giving it to him. He denied it, and demanded I look in my briefcase. There was indeed a speech for him there. And he grabbed it and read it.

[The speech has been found in the DAA archives, and we reprint it below — Ed.]

Yes, indeed, Hacker had insisted on reading the speech that we had put into my briefcase after his address to the Architectural Association on the issue of high-rise buildings.

There was an embarrassed pause, while I whispered to him that he had today’s speech. He felt in his inside pocket, found the City Farm speech, and began to read.

Unfortunately, this only increased the already considerable embarrassment.

[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]

After my speech I was interviewed by Sue Lawley for Nationwide, surrounded by kids and animals as previously arranged with Bill.

While they were positioning everyone for the cameras, Mrs Phillips asked me if she could really rely on my support. I told her that of course she could. She then explained that their lease was running out at the end of the year, and they needed to get it extended.

I couldn’t involve myself too directly. I had gone there to get some personal publicity, and I’m not fully acquainted with all their circumstances. So I pointed out that this lease was not really within my sphere of influence, but that I would do what I could to help the City Farm movement flourish. This I was careful to state only in the most general terms.

Then the interview began, just as a very grubby smelly child of indeterminate sex with a sticky lollipop in its mouth was placed on my knee. I tried to show pleasure instead of disgust — which I fear would have been my natural expression.

Sue Lawley asked Mrs Phillips the first question. ‘Warden, I understand that the lease on this wonderful City Farm is due to run out at the end of the year.’

I could scarcely believe my ears as I heard Mrs Phillips reply: ‘Yes, we have been very worried about this, but I’ve just had a word with the Minister, Mr Hacker, and he has indicated that he will make sure that the farm can carry on.’

I was startled and horrified, more so when Sue Lawley turned to me and asked how I was going to ensure the continuance of the City Farm.

I started out to qualify what Mrs Phillips had said, with the usual temporising phrases like ‘let’s be absolutely clear about this’ and ‘at the end of the day’ and so forth, but somehow felt unable to deny what she’d said while the cameras were rolling. Instead, I heard myself saying, ‘the quality of life is becoming more and more important. The environment, conservation, the problems of pollution, the future of our children and our children’s children, these are today’s issues.’

[We have discovered the following series of memos that were exchanged, over the following few days, between Sir Frank Gordon, Second Permanent Secretary at the Treasury, and Sir Humphrey Appleby, see below — Ed.]

A note from Sir Frank Gordon, Second Permanent Secretary of the Treasury:

A reply from Sir Humphrey Appleby:

A reply from Sir Frank:

A reply from Sir Humphrey:

A reply from Sir Frank:

A reply from Sir Humphrey:

We also discovered a brief note to Sir Desmond Glazebrook, addressed to his home at Cadogan Square:

[Hacker’s diary continues — Ed.]

September 20th

For some reason they didn’t run the story of my visit to the City Farm in the Standard last week.

But today I got a double-page spread. Wonderful. One photo of me with a duck, another with a small multiracial girl. Great publicity for me, and the Department.

I was busy discussing the possibilities of visiting other City Farms — in Birmingham, Manchester, Glasgow, Newcastle. Preferably in the Special Development Areas. [The new euphemism for marginal constituencies — Ed.]

This happy conversation was rudely interrupted by Bernard announcing that the wretched Mrs Phillips was outside in the Private Office, demanding to see me.

I couldn’t see why. Then Bernard told me that it was announced this morning that the City Farm is being closed. This was a bombshell.

‘The lease runs out at the end of the year and it’s being turned into a car park,’ Bernard told me. ‘For Inland Revenue Inspectors.’

Bill and I both knew what the headlines would be. CHILDREN AND ANIMALS EVICTED BY TAXMEN. HACKER RENEGES ON TV PLEDGE. That sort of thing.

I told Bernard that it simply couldn’t be allowed to happen. ‘Which idiot authorised it?’ I asked.

He stared unhappily at his shoes. ‘I’m afraid, er, you did, Minister.’

It seems that the administrative order that I signed a couple of days ago, which Humphrey said was so urgent, gives government departments the power to take over local authority land. It’s known as Section 7, subsection 3 in Whitehall.

I sent for Humphrey. I told Bernard to get him at once, pointing out that this is about the worst disaster of the century.

‘There were two World Wars, Minister,’ said Bernard as he picked up the phone. I simply told him to shut up, I was in no mood for smartarse insubordination.

‘Fighting on the beaches is one thing,’ I snarled. ‘Evicting cuddly animals and small children to make room for tax inspectors’ cars is in a different league of awfulness.’

Humphrey arrived and started to congratulate me on my television appearance. What kind of a fool does he think I am? I brushed this nonsense aside and demanded an explanation.

‘Ah yes,’ he said smoothly. ‘The Treasury, acting under Section 7, subsection 3 of the Environmental…’

‘It’s got to be stopped,’ I interrupted brusquely.

He shook his head, and sighed. ‘Unfortunately, Minister, it is a Treasury decision and not within our jurisdiction.’

I said I’d revoke the order.

‘That, unfortunately,’ he replied, shaking his head gloomily, ‘is impossible. Or very difficult. Or highly inadvisable. Or would require legislation. One of those. But in any case it could not invalidate an action taken while the order was in force.’

As I contemplated this dubious explanation, Mrs Phillips burst in.

She was in full Wagnerian voice. ‘I don’t care if he’s talking to the Queen and the Pope,’ she shouted at some poor Executive Officer outside my door. She strode across the room towards me. ‘Judas,’ was her initial greeting.

‘Steady on,’ I replied firmly.

‘You promised to support us,’ she snarled.

‘Well, yes, I did,’ I was forced to admit.

‘Then you must see that our lease is renewed.’

Sir Humphrey tried to intervene between us. ‘Unfortunately, dear lady, it is not in my Minister’s power to…’

She ignored him and said to me: ‘Mr Hacker, you have given your word. Are you going to keep it?’

Put like that, I was in a bit of a spot. I did my best to blur the issue.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘in that, well, I shall certainly… you know, I didn’t exactly give my word, that is, I shall explore all the avenues, make every effort, do all that is humanly possible —’ Words to that effect.

Mrs Phillips was no fool. ‘You mean no!’ she said.

I was quite honestly stuck for a reply. I said ‘No,’ then that seemed a little unambiguous so I said ‘No, I mean Yes,’ then that seemed dangerous so I added that by no I didn’t mean no, not definitely not, no.

Then — another bombshell! ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ she said. ‘My husband is deputy features editor of the Express. Tomorrow morning your name will be manure. You will be roasted alive by the whole of the national press.’

The room fell silent after she swept out and slammed the door. An intense gloom had descended upon the assembled company — or upon me, anyway. Finally, Sir Humphrey found his voice: ‘It falls to few people,’ he said encouragingly, ‘to be within twenty-four hours both St Francis and St Joan.’

I have got to stop this farm being closed. But how? Clearly I’m going to get no help from my Permanent Secretary.

September 21st

No story in the Express today, which was a slight relief. But I couldn’t believe they’ll let it pass.

And when I got to the office there was a message asking me to call that wretched rag.

Also, a message that Sir Desmond wanted to see me urgently. I suggested a meeting next week to Bernard, but it seemed that he was downstairs waiting! Astonishing.

So Bernard let him in. Humphrey appeared as well.

When we were all gathered, Glazebrook said he’d just had an idea. For nine storeys extra on his bank! I was about to boot him out when he explained that if they had nine more storeys the bank could postpone Phase III for seven years. This would leave a site vacant.

‘So?’ I was not getting his drift.

‘Well,’ he said. ‘I was reading in the Financial Times a day or two ago about your visit to that City Farm. Thought it was a jolly good wheeze. And, you see, our Phase III site is only two hundred yards away from it, so you could use it to extend the farm. Or if they wanted to move… for any reason… it’s actually a bit bigger… We thought of calling it the James Hacker Cuddly Animal Sanctuary…’ (he and Humphrey exchanged looks) ‘well, Animal Sanctuary anyway, and nine storeys isn’t really very much is it?’

It was clear that they were in cahoots. But it was, unmistakably, a way out. If I gave them permission for a high-rise bank, they’d enable the City Farm to stay open.

It is incredible, I thought, that I should ever have thought that Humphrey would take my side against his old chum Glazebrook. And yet, Glazebrook is not really Humphrey’s type. He must be holding something over Humphrey… I wonder what.

Meanwhile, I had to think up some valid reasons for approving the high-rise building — and quickly. The official application wouldn’t be in for a while but in front of Bernard I felt I had to come up with some face-saving explanations. Fortunately, everyone pitched in.

‘You know, Humphrey,’ I began, ‘I think the government has to be very careful about throttling small businesses.’

Bernard said, ‘The bank’s not actually a small business.’

‘It will be if we throttle it,’ I said firmly, squashing him. He looked puzzled. ‘Bernard,’ I said casually, ‘what’s one more skyscraper when there’s so many already?’

‘Quite so,’ agreed Sir Humphrey.

‘And let’s announce it right away,’ I continued.

So we all agreed that the high-rise building will cut both ways. It will create shade for the school. Extra revenue for the public transport system. And as for privacy — well, it could be fun for people in their gardens to look up and see what’s going on in the offices. Couldn’t it?

‘After all,’ I added meaningfully, ‘some extraordinary things go on in offices, don’t they Humphrey?’

He had the grace to smile. ‘Yes Minister,’ he agreed.