The Complete Yes Prime Minister

PARTY GAMES

December 6th

Sir Humphreys up to something. When I saw him yesterday at the Department of Administrative Affairs he was in a sort of dream and he seemed quite unable to concentrate on my problems with the Eurosausage, which is the latest idiotic standardisation fight that I have to have with our European enemies. [Or European partners, as Hacker referred to them in public Ed.]

But more of that in a moment. Sir Humphrey normally has a real zest and enthusiasm for bureaucratic battles, and he has been strangely subdued lately. No doubt hes plotting something. I suppose Ill find out soon enough -- if not, Im in trouble!

Meanwhile, today was mostly spent on routine business. I was wading through some Cabinet Defence Papers in the Office this morning when Bernard interrupted me.

Excuse me, Minister, but Im afraid you have to deal with something that is much more urgent.

I asked what.

Your Christmas cards, Minister. They cannot be postponed any longer.

Bernard was right. Getting the Christmas cards out is much more important than reading Cabinet Defence Papers -- unless youre the Secretary of State for Defence, I suppose.

[Hacker, like many politicians, was apparently unable to distinguish between Urgent and Important. Bernard had described the Christmas cards as the former. Hacker assumed that he meant the latter. On the other hand, the possibility exists that Hacker was right in describing the Christmas cards as much more important. As a mere member of the Cabinet his influence over defence matters would be negligible. So would the information contained in the papers he would be shown Ed.]

Bernard had laid out large piles of DAA [Department of Administrative Affairs] Christmas cards along the conference table. The piles were all different sizes. Clearly they were divided for a reason.

Bernard proffered the reason. Theyre all clearly labelled, Minister. He strolled along the table, casually indicating each pile in turn as if he were reviewing a Guard of Honour. These you sign Jim. These you sign Jim Hacker. These, Jim and Annie. These are Annie and Jim Hacker. These, love from Annie and Jim. These Mrs. Hacker should write, and you should append your name.

I spotted two more piles. What about those?

Those are printed. And those have cyclostyled signatures, so you neednt write anything. Just check to whom theyre being sent, to make sure theyre not going to people to whom you should have sent a personally signed card. You know, he added in explanation, signed Jim, or Jim Hacker, or Jim and Annie, or Annie and Jim Hacker.

There was yet another large batch at the end of the table, subdivided into several more piles. What are those?

Bernard was completely in command. Those are the constituency cards. Your election agent dropped them off this morning.

I hadnt realised that they were divided up into different sections like that. But of course, constituency mail is considered political, not governmental. The Civil Service would never help with that, because it mustnt take sides in party politics. At least, thats their excuse.

However, Bernard was more than happy to explain about the constituency Christmas cards. Those you sign Jim, these Jim Hacker, these Jim and Annie, these love from Annie and Jim

I told him that Id got the gist. But it was clearly going to take up much of the day. What a bore.

In fact, I hadnt yet been shown the full magnitude of the task. Bernard suddenly produced a bulging carrier bag.

And Mrs. Hacker left these, he murmured sympathetically. Your personal cards. But it wont take too long. Only eleven hundred and seventy-two.

I was appalled. Eleven hundred and seventy-two?

Apart from, he added, the cards that are waiting for you at Party Headquarters.

My heart sank. Party Headquarters. Id forgotten all about that. I didnt sign any Party Christmas cards last year. But last year I wasnt Party Chairman. This year I am.

I started signing the cards. To my surprise I noticed that there were two kinds: DAA cards and House of Commons cards.

Bernard explained. Departmental cards bestow a slightly higher status on the recipient than a mere House of Commons card. Quite right too -- a departmental card can only be sent by a member of the Department, whereas a House of Commons card can be sent by any ordinary backbencher.

I asked why we didnt send departmental cards to everyone.

They cost 10p more, Minister.

But arent people who get mere House of Commons cards going to be offended at being downgraded?

No, Minister, weve worked it out quite carefully. For some people you can get away with a House of Commons card if you sign it Jim instead of Jim Hacker, or Jim and Annie instead of Jim and Annie Hacker, or add with love, or sign it instead of cyclostyling, or

I silenced him with a look.

There was one card I particularly resented sending. It was to the EEC Agriculture Commissioner in Brussels. I would rather have sent him a redundancy notice. Hes even worse than his colleagues, and I cant speak any worse of anybody than that. Hes the fool who has forced through the plan to standardise the Eurosausage. By the end of next year well be waving goodbye to the good old British sausage, and well be forced to accept some foreign muck like salami or bratwurst in its place.

Of course, they cant actually stop us eating the British sausage. But they can stop us calling it a sausage. It seems that its got to be called the Emulsified High-Fat Offal Tube. And I was forced to swallow it. I mean, it is a perfectly accurate description of the thing, but not awfully appetizing. And it doesnt exactly trip lightly off the tongue. It sticks in the throat, as a matter of fact. Theres going to be frightful trouble over it.

But its my job to implement EEC regulations. And, in exchange for getting a new deal on farm prices and on Britains reduced contribution to the community budget, a concession had to be made. The PM didnt seem to mind, nor did the FO, nor did Agriculture -- presumably because Im the one who is to be landed with trying to sell this to the British people. It could ruin my career.

Bernard asked me what the EEC has against our sausage. Apparently he doesnt read the papers he puts into my red box. [The official briefcase containing government papers, which members of the government are given each evening and weekend as their homework Ed.]

Didnt you read this analysis?

I glanced at it, Minister, but Im afraid it rather put me off.

I re-read it, there and then.

a lack of healthy nutrition. The average British sausage consists of:

32% Fat

6% Rind

20% Water

5% Seasoning, preservatives and colouring

26% Meat

The 26% meat is mostly gristle, head meat, other off cuts, and mechanically recovered meat steamed off the carcass.

I felt slightly sick. I had had one for breakfast.

Bernard read the analysis. Perhaps the EEC Commissioner is right about abolishing it.

Bernard sometimes misses the point completely. He may be right, I explained wearily, but itll be dreadfully unpopular with the voters. Bernard nodded gloomily. Ah well, I added, it seems well just have to grit our teeth and bite the bullet.

[We have kept Hackers mixed metaphors in the text of this document because we feel it gives an insight into the mind of one of our great national leaders Ed.]

Bernard tactfully suggested that I should send Maurice a Christmas card, nonetheless. I toyed with the idea of wishing him an offal Christmas and a wurst New Year, but Bernard advised me against it.

[One of the reasons for trying to maintain impenetrable secrecy around Government Ministers is that without it many would make themselves laughing stocks within days or -- at most -- weeks. Bernards advice in this case was clearly wise Ed.]

I asked Bernard what Christmas presents it would be appropriate to give to the Private Office.

Bernard said that it was entirely up to me. But he recommended bottles of sherry for the Assistant Private Secretaries, large boxes of House of Commons mints for the Dairy Secretary and the Correspondence Secretary, and small boxes of House of Commons mints for the rest.

What about the Principal Private Secretary? I asked absent-mindedly.

Thats me, he replied, slightly startled.

I explained that I knew who he was. But I wondered what I should give him.

You dont have to give me anything, Minister.

I know that, I said with real warmth. But Id like to.

Bernard seemed quite touched. Oh, Minister, he replied.

Well? I asked.

Well, anything really.

He obviously didnt want to say. But I had no idea what hed like.

Such as? I prompted.

Really, he said, Id like a surprise.

I still didnt have a clue. What sort of surprise should I give you?

Well, he said cautiously, a bottle of champagne is the customary surprise.

I spent the rest of the day signing those bloody cards. I was supposed to have a big meeting with Humphrey, but it was cancelled because he had some unexpected meeting with Sir Arnold [Sir Arnold Robinson, the Secretary of the Cabinet]. I think Bernard knows that theres something going on with Sir Humphrey because I got one of his less-than-completely straightforward replies when I asked him if the meeting was something I should know about.

Well, he answered evasively, Im sure that if, you know, its about something you should know, assuming that, you know, you didnt know about it already, then, obviously, when you can know will be when Sir Humphrey really knows.

I dont like being kept in the dark, I complained.

Well, honestly, Minister, Sir Humphrey may not know what its about. Only Sir Arnold may know what its about. And they do have meetings that arent just about this Department.

Bernard may be right. But Sir Arnold always makes me feel nervous. The Cabinet Secretary is, in some ways, the most powerful man in the country. Hes the Prime Ministers right-hand man. He controls Cabinet Agenda. He can control access to the PM.

[Sir Humphrey Applebys meeting with the most powerful man in the country was to have a momentous effect on the future of them all: Hacker, Appleby and Bernard Woolley. A note of the meeting has been found among Sir Humphreys private papers Ed.]

Had an astonishing and nerve-wracking meeting with AR [Sir Arnold Robinson today. The CS [Cabinet Secretary] fixed me with an eagle-eyed stare.

Humphrey, he murmured, Ive been giving some thought to the matter of early retirement.

I was shocked. I had no wish to retire. I couldnt see what Id done wrong. But he seemed very firm. The time has come, Humphrey. Enough is enough.

I told him that this was a bit of a bombshell.

Im well aware of that, Humphrey, he replied firmly, but no one is indispensable.

I was hesitating, wondering whether I should launch into a defence of my own recent conduct, pointing out that there were severe limits to ones achievements when one has a Minister such as Hacker to contend with, when Arnold added: Dont try to persuade me, Humphrey, the die is cast. I shall retire six months early, in the New Year.

I reflected how fortunate it was that thirty years of training in Civil Service methods had triumphed over my initial impetuosity. So long as there is anything to be gained by saying nothing, it is always better to say nothing than anything.

But why was Arnold taking me into his confidence? The answer became clear immediately. My successor, Humphrey, has to be someone who can be firm with our political masters.

I hastened to agree. We cant put up with too much nonsense from that lot. I said as much. But we both agreed that Sir Arnolds successor, while not putting up with any nonsense, had to be tactful, suave, charming and emollient. But, above all, he has to be sound. There was no doubt in my mind that I embodied all the necessary qualities in full measure. And indeed, Arnold went on to say that it is his heavy duty to convey a recommendation to the Prime Minister as to which of the present Permanent Secretaries best meets these stringent criteria. [A small committee, including the Permanent Secretary of the Treasury and the Head of the Civil Service would have made this recommendation. In practice, the Prime Minister was likely to follow Sir Arnolds recommendation, especially if Sir Arnold ensured that his colleagues endorsed it Ed.]

He came to the point. He remarked that in his job, the problem isnt really finding the answers. Its finding the questions. We need the man who can find the key questions.

So this was it! This was my test. As Id been given no warning of this oral examination I had to think fast. Fortunately I collected my thoughts in a matter of moments, and the key question popped into my mind.

But it had to be asked with taste and discretion. So I remarked that I was changing the subject completely, and then enquired what he intended to do when he retired.

Arnold was delighted. He congratulated me on asking such a good question. But it was immediately clear to me that there would be ways in which he might serve the country [i.e. jobs that Sir Arnold might pick up Ed.] that his successor as Cabinet Secretary might persuade him to undertake [i.e. slip his way Ed.]

It transpired that Sir Arnold had given this matter some thought already, and had been offered the Chairmanship of Banque Occidentale, plus directorships of BP and IBM.

However, I made careful notes of a few other ways in which Sir Arnold suggested that he could serve his country, and which were on his mind. The Chairmanship of the Royal Opera House Trust is coming up next year, and the Chancellorship of Oxford. We agreed that the Deputy Chairmanship of the Bank of England would be a challenge, as would being Head of the Security Commission. And the Presidency of the Anglo-Caribbean Association would also give Arnold a chance to be of service. Especially in the winter months.

I assured Arnold that any successor worth his salt would be able to arrange those matters satisfactorily. I could tell that Arnold found my positive approach extremely reassuring.

However, it transpired that he had other matters on his mind as well. He was concerned that certain advice that he might have given the Prime Minister in the past could, if it comes out, be misinterpreted. [In other words, could be understood perfectly Ed.] Naturally we are, all of us, in the Service, concerned that advice that one has given could be misunderstood if it were to come into the public domain.

Arnold was particularly concerned because it appears that papers exist recording his reasonable and sensible advice to use troops during strikes, and suggesting the equally reasonable precaution that such troops should be armed. Of course, taken out of context [i.e. placed in the correct context Ed.] such information could be damaging to him.

He has also, in the distant past, suggested we ensure that sanctions against Rhodesia [as it was then Ed.] never happened, and in the recent past he proposed negotiations with South Africa about reactivating the Simonstown naval base. This was all perfectly sensible strategically, and of course would be a great help with the Falklands. But it could be an embarrassment for somebody in line for the Secretary-Generalship of the Commonwealth. And I was able to confirm that Arnold would be in line for the Secretary-Generalship of the Commonwealth.

He was gratified, especially when I told him that in my opinion the right successor would see no problem in keeping the relevant files under wraps.

So we reverted to the original subject of discussion, namely Arnolds retirement. He told me that he could now see his way forward to placing my name at the head of the list. Good news -- and better news followed at once, as careful questioning elicited the hint that there would be no other names on that list.

As I left, on cloud nine, Arnold mentioned that he had already accepted the Presidency of the Campaign for Freedom of Information. I was rather stunned. But then I quickly saw the wisdom of it. The Campaign is always very popular with the Opposition. And todays Opposition is tomorrows government. Also his Presidency of the Campaign will ensure that the Freedom of Information is not abused. Hopefully he will be in a good position to help keep those files of advice given to the PM -- and to Ministers -- under wraps.

We drank a toast to the continuity of sound government, and to freedom of information -- whenever its in the national interest.

[Appleby Papers/PPC/MPAA]

[Hackers diary continues -- Ed.]

December 9th

The day began with a frightful misunderstanding about Humphreys future. The resulting embarrassment could have been ghastly, but for the fact that I covered up the situation with my customary skill.

He came in to see me first thing this morning. He told me that he had very grave news, and he said it in a profoundly sepulchral tone. In fact, the misunderstanding that ensured came about entirely because he speaks in gobbledegook instead of plain English.

Later today I asked Bernard what Humphrey had said, and he remembered it perfectly. Apparently Humphrey had said gravely that the relationship, which I might tentatively venture to aver has not been without a degree of reciprocal utility and even perhaps occasional gratification, is approaching the point of irreversible bifurcation and, to put it briefly, is in the propinquity of its ultimate regrettable termination.

I asked him if he would be so kind as to summarise what hes just said in words of one syllable.

He nodded in sad acquiescence. Im on my way out, he explained.

I couldnt believe my ears. Did he mean what I thought he meant?

There comes a time, he continued, when one must accept what fate has in store, when one passes on

Passes on? I interrupted softly, aghast.

to pastures new, he continued, perhaps greener, to put oneself finally at the service of one who is greater than any of us.

I was shattered. I told him I was frightfully sorry. He thanked me. I asked him if his wife knew. He said that, apparently, she had suspected for some time. I asked him when they had told him. He said this afternoon. Finally, I asked how long theyd given him.

Just a few weeks, he said.

I was appalled. And very moved. It did strike me at the time that he was being awfully brave, but I just thought he was being awfully brave.

Humphrey, youre being awfully brave, I said.

Well, I am a little anxious, I must admit -- one is always frightened of the unknown -- but I have faith. Somehow Ill muddle through.

I was overcome. Overwhelmed. In fact, I am not ashamed to admit that I wept. Fortunately, Humphrey couldnt quite see that, as I had the good sense to cover my eyes with my handkerchief.

But he certainly noticed I was upset, and he asked me what the matter was. I was hopelessly inarticulate. I tried to explain how sorry I was, that wed had our ups and downs but they were nothing really. They I sort of noticed Humphrey eyeing me as if I were emotionally unstable.

Minister, dont take on so, he remonstrated. Well see each other regularly -- once a week at least.

I thought Id misheard him. But he was smiling a confident smile. My brain was in a whirl. What could he possibly mean? Had I totally misunderstood him?

I havent told you where Im going yet.

I goggled at him.

Ive been appointed Secretary of the Cabinet.

I had totally misunderstood him. Secretary of the Cabinet?

Yes. Now he looked as confused as I must have looked. Why, what did you think I meant?

I could hardly tell him, could I? I thought I thought Then I gave up and tried to explain it all away by hinting that I wasnt quite myself, tired, overwrought, that sort of thing. Ive honestly never been so embarrassed in the whole of my life.

Sir Humphreys sympathy, unlike mine, is to be avoided at all costs. Im so sorry, he murmured. Perhaps as Cabinet Secretary designate I should suggest to the Prime Minister some lightening of the load.

Thatll teach me to have kindly feelings towards him. Ill never make that mistake again! I hastened to reassure him that I was absolutely fine. I congratulated him warmly, even effusively, on his elevation. I may even have been too effusive, but I dont think so. I even flattered him a little, by asking how I would manage without him.

Youll probably manage even better without me, he replied with uncharacteristic honesty. I was about to agree enthusiastically, but I realised, just in time, that it would be a little tactless.

Also, it was already clear to me that Humphrey, when it was time for a reshuffle, would inevitably be advising the Prime Minister on his Cabinet colleagues. The PM would be bound to question Humphrey about me.

So I gave him a lot of soft soap about how wonderful hed been, how I had tremendous admiration for all hed done, wonderful work in the highest traditions of the service. Fulsome twaddle, but he lapped it up and told me I was too kind. Too true!

Carefully, I gave him the chance to reciprocate, by saying that in my opinion wed done a pretty good job together. I couldnt have wished for a better Minister, Minister, he said. Jolly nice, that. And I think he means it. Humphreys pretty devious but Ive never caught him out in an actual lie.

[Sir Humphrey Applebys diary reveals a somewhat different view of the conversation that Hacker describes above Ed.]

I told the Minister that I had to pass on to pastures new, and put myself at the service of the PM. I tried to express it with a sadness that I did not feel, in order that Hacker should not perceive the sense of delight and relief that I was experiencing now that my sentence of several years hard labour with him was nearly over. I had not been expecting to be paroled.

He reacted in a way which genuinely makes me wonder if he is emotionally unbalanced. He seemed to be weeping. He is obviously a serious hysteric. This had not been clear to me until today.

It took him some time to understand my new job, so upset was he at the thought of losing me. But then he grovelled in a deeply embarrassing fashion. He asked if Id be doing for the Prime Minister what I did to him. He must have meant for him. [We dont think so Ed.] He smarmed and greased his way through a bootlicking speech about how much he admired me and how wonderful Id always been. Perfectly true, of course, but his motives were completely transparent.

He invited me to return the compliment. The best I could manage was to assure him that I couldnt have wished for a better minister. He seemed positively thrilled. Remarkably, he still takes everything I say at face value.

We agreed that Id tell the DAA staff of my departure on Friday evening, just before my new appointment is promulgated. Then I can bid them all farewell at the Christmas drinks party.

Hacker said that that will certainly make it a happy occasion. Obviously he means for me. Of course it will be sad for him.

[Appleby Papers/PPC/MPAA]

[Hackers diary continues Ed.]

December 18th

This has been a highly dramatic weekend. It all started on Friday evening. We had a little drinks party in my offices at the end of the day. We had all the chaps from my private office and Humphreys private office in for some Christmas cheer, plus Roy my driver and a couple of messengers and cleaners. These are egalitarian times.

I gave them all their House of Commons mints, or bottles, and they all seemed pleased though not a bit surprised. Then we all had a few drinks, not too much, and I proposed Humphreys health in a charming speech which, though I say it myself, went very well. He complimented me in turn and we all drove home.

SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS [in conversation with the Editors]:

Hackers diary is a less than accurate account of that Christmas party. I remember it well. It was the usual initial embarrassment -- all of us standing around in an inarticulate circle, clutching sticky sherry glasses, in a freezing room because the central heating had already been turned off for the Christmas break. As at all office parties, we had nothing to say to each other socially, and foolish grins predominated until we realised that the Minister was, predictably, getting drunk.

He poured lavish drinks and finally asked us all, not once but several times, if we were having a good time.

I recall that he asked Sir Humphrey if he were looking forward to the Cabinet Office. Sir Humphrey enthused, but added kindly that everyone was still very excited over the vexed question of the Eurosausage.

Ah yes, slurped the Minister, the Eurobanger.

Sir Humphrey was unable to resist a little joke at Hackers expense and replied that surely the Eurobanger was NATOs new tactical missile.

Is it? asked Hacker, confused, not getting the joke. This increased the general embarrassment factor tenfold.

Then, at last, the moment we all dreaded: Hackers speech of farewell to Sir Humphrey. Hackers belief, revealed in his diaries, that he made a charming speech which went well is a startling example of self-deception even by his own unique standards.

He began by saying that he had to say a few words -- always an understatement, I fear. He babbled on about how Christmas is a special time for us all, peace and goodwill to all men and so forth, and how it is always a pleasure to have a little seasonal get-together for those who serve him. He clumsily amended serve to help.

He thanked them all for their help, everybody from the Permanent Secretary right down to my messenger, my driver, the cleaner not down to, that is, only down in the sense that Humphreys up here on the fourth floor, oh no! we dont have any litism here.

He must noticed that we were staring at him in some disbelief, as he hastened to explain himself still further. Were all equals, he said with transparent dishonesty. A team. Like the Cabinet, except that were all on the same side. No backstabbing, no leaking to the press. Realising that he was being quotably disloyal to his Cabinet colleagues, and that even though he was arguing that we were all on the same side with no backstabbing or leaking there might nevertheless be amongst the gathering an unofficial spokesman or an informed source, or perhaps a feeling that he was being a bad team player by criticizing his Cabinet colleagues, he added, I mean, the Shadow Cabinet. Then he retracted even that. No. No. Must keep politics out of it. Peace and goodwill. Even towards ones officials, especially those who are leaving. So to Humphrey. He raised his glass unsteadily.

It is hard to describe the sense of relief that swept around the frozen room as Hacker finished his speech. We sipped our drinks and Sir Humphrey replied briefly and elegantly thanking everyone for their hard work over the past years. He remarked that such an occasion engenders a certain emotional ambiguity and personal ambivalence, because though honoured by the cause of his departure he was saddened by the fact of it.

He added that he was particularly sad to leave the service of a Minister without parallel in his experience. Perhaps it was this remark that Hacker mistook for a compliment.

We all agreed that an absolutely unique partnership had come to an end.

[Hackers diary continues Ed.]

I sent our detectives home early, before the party. They shouldnt have gone off duty, but I insisted. Season of goodwill and all that. So they werent on hand when the police stopped me. I dont know why they did. I was driving perfectly safely. I was going slowly and carefully home to the constituency. I do dimly remember being overtaken by a middle-aged lady on a bicycle, which may suggest that I was overdoing the safety bit, but that is hardly a reason to accuse me of drunken driving. I mean, theres nothing wrong -- I mean morally, of course, not legally -- with being drunk. The danger comes if youre dangerous with it, which I never am.

Anyway, a couple of bobbies appeared from nowhere in a panda car, but when I mentioned that I had a Silver Badge there was no more trouble. I dont think Annies much of a driver, but in the circumstances I had to let her drive the rest of the way home.

[Our researches have not revealed the notebooks of the policemen who stopped Hacker that night. But we were fortunate enough to find, in the Home Office files, a letter from the Commissioner of Police in which their report was quoted. We reproduce it below Ed.]

New Scotland Yard

Broadway, London SW1H 0BG

Permanent Secretary

Home Office

Whitehall

London SW1

19 December

Dear Richard,

We regret to inform you that the Rt. Hon. James Hacker, MP, Minister for Administrative Affairs, was stopped while driving home on Friday night. He was driving at approximately nine miles an hour, and his breath smelled strongly of alcohol. Since he immediately produced his Silver badge my two officers did not breathalyse him, a serious error which I can only put down to inexperience.

They reported that when they approached Mr. Hacker he began the conversation with the words Good evening, Cinstable, Happy Chrostmas. When asked why he was driving so slowly he replied, I didnt want the kerb to hit me. Mrs. Hacker, who had apparently not been drinking, offered to drive the rest of the way home.

I would be obliged if you would make the Minister aware of the seriousness of this matter and warn him that, in the event of a further breach of the law, his Silver Badge will afford him no protection. For my part, I shall be disciplining the detectives responsible for his protection, and ensuring that in future they understand that their job includes protecting politicians from themselves.

Yours sincerely,

[illegible]

December 20th

Imagine my surprise when after the next Cabinet meeting -- Humphreys first as Cabinet Secretary -- he buttonholed me as we were leaving the Cabinet Room and asked me if Id pop over to his office and have a word with him.

I congratulated him on the conduct of his first Cabinet meeting and asked him how it felt, sitting there at the PMs right hand.

He ignored my question, asked me to take a pew and, absolutely without any warning and not even pausing to offer me a drink, told me that he wanted to have a word about a traffic incident.

Well, a nod is as good as a wink. I realised at once that it must be my little incident to which he was referring.

Ive had a report from the Home Office. Of course, its entirely your affair

I interrupted him firmly. Precisely, I said.

But, he continued, the Home Office takes a very grave view. They feel that Ministers should set an example. Theres a lot of damage to police morale if people get away with things just because they happen to hold an office of trust, however temporarily.

The threat in the last two words was unmistakeable. I could hardly believe my ears. Two days as Cabinet Secretary and he was really getting rather uppity.

Humphrey, I asked with some incredulity, are you trying to tell me off or something?

He backtracked immediately. Minister! Far be it from me. I am only the servant of the members of the Cabinet. A humble functionary. But I have been asked to reassure the Home Office that it will not occur again.

I knew I was untouchable. What do they give us Silver Badges for then? I enquired loftily.

To get police co-operation, to let us pass through police cordons and security barriers and so forth. Not to protect drunks who drive cars.

I rose above it. Humphrey, I am not going to be lectured by functionaries, not even those as humble as your good self. I am a Minister of the Crown.

Of course, Minister, he replied pleasantly. I will inform the Crown of the incident, if that is your wish.

That was not my wish, as he perfectly well knew. I started to explain that I was speaking purely technically when I said I was a Minister of the Crown, but he interrupted me to add that his proper course was actually to inform the Prime Minister. At which point I decided that, thinking it over, he could feel free to tell the Home Office that Id taken the point.

He thanked me politely. I asked if the Home Secretary knew. It would obviously be rather humiliating if the rebuke had been authorised by one of my colleagues.

Humphrey said no. This came straight from the Permanent Secretary of the Home Office.

I was relieved. So theres no need for the Home Secretary to be I mean, one doesnt want ones colleagues (I nearly said enemies) to know?

Humphrey guessed what I meant. After all, my views on Ray have not exactly been a closely guarded secret. I think the Home Secretary is not in a position to take advantage.

I wondered why not. I suddenly realised that Ray hadnt been at Cabinet. Then Humphrey showed me the headline in the Standard.

The London Standard

Home Secretary Charged With Drunken Driving, by Peter Kingsley

In an astonishing turn of events, the Home Secretary was today charged with driving a

The long and the short of it is that the Home Secretary, having personally initiated the Dont Drink and Drive At Christmas campaign, and having ordered a get-tough policy from the police, was picked up pissed in his car in his own constituency.

How had he got into such a situation? I asked Humphrey why his security man hadnt been with him.

Apparently, replied Sir Humphrey pointedly, hed given him the slip. You know how cunning these drunks can be.

It transpired that the Home Secretary had been rather less lucky than me. Hed collided with a lorry that was fully of nuclear waste. Then, as if that wasnt unlucky enough, he rebounded off the lorry and smashed into a car which was being driven by the editor of the local newspaper. Fat chance of hushing that up. So naturally it leaked out. [The story, not the nuclear waste Ed.]

That was the end of Ray. By the end of the day he would be out of office.

I looked at Humphrey. Whatll happen to him?

I gather, he replied disdainfully, that he was as drunk as a lord -- so after a discreet interval theyll probably make him one.

SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS [in conversation with the Editors]:

I well remember the dramatic events of two days later. I had called at the Ministers London flat, to collect him for a dinner to which I had to accompany him.

He was late home from the office. Annie Hacker was writing her Christmas cards, and asked me if I could put stamps on them while I was waiting.

I explained that I was not able to. Not, I hastened to explain, because the task was beyond me, but because I guessed that the cards were being sent to constituents. Such Christmas cards were considered political activity rather than government business, and of course as a Civil Servant I was not allowed to help with the Ministers political activities.

Im only asking you to lick some stamps, she said plaintively.

I explained that it would be government lick. [Bernard Woolleys cautious and pedantic attitude is seen clearly here, and doubtless explains his relatively quick rise to the highest reaches of the Civil Service Ed.]

Mrs. Hacker found an ingenious solution to her dilemma. Suppose all these cards were to journalists? she asked.

That would be all right, I confirmed.

Theyre all to journalists, she said firmly, and of course I could not doubt her word. So I settled down on the sofa to lick stamps, reflecting privately that licking is an essential part of relationships with the press. [Doubtless Bernard Woolley and Mrs. Hacker were pleased to be only licking journalists envelopes, for a change Ed.]

We discussed the opinion polls which had been released to the newspapers that morning. The Minister had been absolutely delighted with them. It seemed that the Home Secretarys misfortune had done the Government no harm in the country, even though he was the Deputy Leader of the Party.

We discussed the inevitable reshuffle, although Mrs. Hacker seemed uninterested. The only thing that concerned her was the fact that Hacker might get Northern Ireland, but we agreed that the Prime Minister did not appear to dislike Hacker enough for that. Most people, of course, found Ulster a dead end, although there was always the possibility of finishing up there in a blaze of glory. [We feel sure that Sir Bernard intended no puns here Ed.]

Eventually we switched on the television news. Like most Government wives, Annie Hacker liked to watch the news because it was her best chance of finding out where her husband was.

We were astonished by a newsflash, reporting that Number Ten Downing Street had just announced that the Prime Minister was to retire in the New Year.

According to the press release, the Prime Minister did not wish to serve through another Parliament and therefore was resigning now in order to give his successor a good run up to the next election. A historic day.

[Hackers diary continues Ed.]

December 22nd

When I got home Annie and Bernard were there, apparently poleaxed by the news of the PMs resignation. I knew already -- the PM had held an emergency Cabinet meeting late this afternoon, to tell us. You could have knocked all twenty-four of us down with the metaphorical feather.

Annie asked why hed resigned. That was the question we were all asking. He had said, to us and to the press, that hed done it so as to give his successor a good run up to the next election. So thats obviously not the reason.

There have also been some amazing rumours flying around Whitehall. The left are saying the PMs a secret CIA agent. The right are saying that hes a secret KGB agent.

Bernard and I discussed these rumours. Bernard had heard something quite different. Minister, Ive heard that there is 1 million worth of diamonds from South Africa in a Downing Street safe. [Similar rumours circulated in Whitehall at the time of the surprise resignation of Mr. Harold Wilson, as he then was.] But of course, he added, its only a rumour.

Is that true? I asked.

Oh yes, he said authoritatively.

I was amazed. So there are all those diamonds in Downing Street.

Bernard looked surprised. Are there?

I was confused. You said there were, I said.

I didnt, he replied indignantly.

You did! I wasnt going to let him get away with it. You said that there was this rumour. I said, is it true? And you said yes!

I said yes, it was true that it was a rumour.

No, you said youd heard it was true.

No, I said it was true that Id heard it.

Annie interrupted us. I apologise for cutting into this vital discussion, but do you believe the story about the diamonds?

I dont, and nor does Bernard (it transpires). Its not impossible, but its never been officially denied so I think we can discount it. The first rule of politics is Never Believe Anything Until Its Been Officially Denied.

We discussed the likely possibilities. It was clear that there wouldnt be a general election. Our party has quite a big majority. All that will happen is that the party must choose a new leader.

Annie asked me if I wanted the job.

I hadnt really thought about it. Theres no chance. Itll either be Eric [Eric Jeffries, the Chancellor of the Exchequer Ed.] or Duncan [Duncan Short, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs Ed.]. I started to explain why to Annie. You see, it would have been Ray, he was Deputy Leader, but as hes had to resign from the Home Office

I stopped dead. Suddenly I understood. That was why the PM resigned! He had always hated Ray. And Ray was his natural successor. So he had hung on just long enough to make sure Ray didnt get the job.

[The Prime Minister had probably learned this trick from Clement Attlee, who unquestionably hung on as Prime Minister until Herbert Morrison was out of the running. It has also been suggested that Harold Wilson chose the time of his own surprise resignation to coincide with a period of Denis Healeys unpopularity with the Left of the Labour Party, thus ensuring the succession for James Callaghan. Of course, there is no evidence for this allegation Ed.]

I explained this to Annie and Bernard. Bernard was touchingly pleased that the Prime Ministers press statement had been true. So the resignation is to give time for the new leader to be run in before the next election.

Now that the Home Secretarys been run in already, said Annie with a quiet smile.

Naturally we started to discuss the two likely candidates. They had both buttonholed me after Cabinet this afternoon.

Eric wants me to support him, I told them. I think he could be the man for the job, hes been quite a successful Chancellor. Ive already indicated that Im on his side.

Annie was surprised. But what about Duncan?

Duncan is indeed a very real possibility. I nodded. Perhaps he should get it. Hes done quite well at the Foreign Office, after all. Yes, he could be the man for the job. I think perhaps Id better give him my support.

So youre supporting Eric and Duncan? she enquired innocently.

I was indignant. Its obviously a very difficult choice. Look, I told her, if I support Duncan, and Eric gets it then, thats it, its all over for me. But if I support Eric, and Duncan gets it thats it too.

Then dont support either of them, she suggested.

If only it were that simple. Then, whichever of them gets it, thats it!

She understood. Then she asked me which one I actually am going to support. I told her.

Ill support Eric.

Or Duncan.

December 23rd

Eric wasted no time in lobbying me. I was in my office at lunchtime when he phoned and said he was popping over for a drink.

Erics a charming man. Tall, elegant, greying hair, with an incisive, intelligent manner. Quite an appealing party leader to offer the electorate, I think. They never see the other side of him -- mean-spirited, devious and malicious. Hed hardly set foot in the room when he started rubbishing Duncan.

Duncans so divisive. So it really wouldnt be for the good of the party, or the good of the country.

I still havent made up my mind and I was struggling to find a way to avoid committing myself. I was starting to say that I didnt see how I could offer Eric my public support, when he explained his position more fully.

His argument, quite simply, is that my support would be crucial for him because Im universally popular. I must admit that I can see the truth of this. He also emphasised that I have a good public image and that Im regarded as sound by everyone.

I explained my problem. Well, at least, I didnt explain that I was undecided because of my legitimate anxiety about backing the wrong horse. But I did explain, fully and frankly, that as Chairman of the Party I have to look impartial. [We note that Hackers definitions of fully and frankly, though in general use in politics, would not correspond with definitions found in the Oxford English Dictionary Ed.]

Eric played on my feelings of party loyalty. He reminded me that we are both moderates, that weve always had the same objectives for the Party, and that if Duncan got it it would be a disaster.

I knew hed say all that. But then he surprised me. Ill tell you one thing, he said firmly, I wouldnt keep Duncan at the Foreign Office. Id be looking for a new Foreign Secretary.

The inference was clear. He means me! This is very exciting! But its still dangerous -- what if he were to lose the race? However, I must seize my opportunities. So in conclusion I said to Eric that although I must appear impartial I would find ways of hinting at support for him. In a completely impartial way, of course.

So I think perhaps Ill be supporting Eric.

December 24th

Duncan came round to see me at the flat last evening. I got the impression that hed heard about my little chat with Eric.

Duncan is very different from Eric. Also very bright, he is not devious, malicious or treacherous -- he is a straightforward, heavy-handed bully. I began to explain that I ought to be impartial, or at least look impartial, as Chairman of the Party.

He brushed that aside in his usual offhand manner. As Chairman of the Party you carry more weight than before. And you havent got any real enemies. Yet.

The threat was unmistakable. Then he went on to explain what a catastrophe it would be if Eric got into Number Ten. I nodded, which I felt could be interpreted as full agreement, but in fact could also be taken merely as an indication that I could hear what he was saying.

Then, like Eric, he tried the loyalty gambit. He bared his teeth in what he thought was a warm and friendly smile. Jim, were on the same side, arent we?

I said yes, as I felt that a yes could simply mean that as members of the same party we must be on the same side. [Not necessarily Ed.] I was scrupulously careful not to tell lies. [There is, of course, a significant difference between not telling lies and not telling the truth. The truth in politics means any statement that cannot be proved false Ed.]

Good, said Duncan. But Im afraid that he could see my support for him was less than wholehearted, because he added: Im going to win, you know. And I never forgive people who let me down.

Really, Duncans not obviously subtle. I pointed out that if I gave him my support I couldnt make it too public.

It doesnt have to be public, he answered, just as long as everybody knows. Then, when Im in Number Ten and Erics in Northern Ireland, here he chuckled maliciously, we know wholl be the next Chancellor, dont we?

Another job offer! He means me! But, predictably, he couldnt finish the conversation without a threat. Unless you fancy Northern Ireland yourself?

I think perhaps Ill be supporting Duncan.

[There the matter rested until after the Christmas break. Hacker gave himself a well-earned holiday, and even stopped dictating his notes for his diary. There are one or two undecipherable, slightly slurred cassettes that may have been dictated over the festive season, but we have ascribed their lack of clarity to a faulty cassette recorder.

Early in the New Year Sir Humphrey Appleby met Sir Arnold Robinson for lunch at the Athenaeum Club. Appleby refers to the lunch in his private diary Ed.]

It was my first meeting with Arnold since he retired from the Cabinet Office and took on his other onerous duties. I asked him, mischievously, how things are at the Campaign for Freedom of Information. Im sorry, he said, but I cant talk about that.

Fair enough. Arnold wanted to know whether the new PM was likely to be our eminent Chancellor or our distinguished Foreign Secretary. [Sir Humphrey used irony extensively, even in his private notes Ed.] Funnily enough, this was what I wanted to discuss with Arnold: who, in his opinion, should get Number Ten?

He takes a fairly dim view of them both. Hes right, it is a difficult choice, rather like asking which lunatic should run the asylum.

We both agreed that they would present the same problems. They are both interventionists and they would both have foolish notions about running the country themselves if they became Prime Minister.

Arnold asked me if we had any allies. [Allies, that is, in helping to find a third, more suitable candidate for Number Ten Ed.] There is the Chief Whip, of course. He is worried that whichever gets the job will antagonise the other ones supporters and split the party. A very real fear, in my view.

As this could lead to a period of real instability and change [two things that the Civil Service wishes to avoid at all costs Ed.] it is clearly advisable to look for a compromise candidate.

We agreed that such a candidate must have the following qualities: he must be malleable, flexible, likeable, have no firm opinions, no bright ideas, not be intellectually committed, and be without the strength of purpose to change anything. Above all, he must be someone whom we know can be professionally guided [manipulated Ed.], and who is willing to leave the business of government in the hands of the experts.

Only one person seemed to have all these qualifications Hacker! But the idea of his becoming Prime Minister seems, on the face of it, completely laughable. And, what is worse, it would be difficult to achieve.

Nonetheless, we felt that it should be seriously considered for several reasons. Many of the government would welcome a less interventionist leader. The real obstacle will undoubtedly be the two front-runners for the job, but Arnold feels they might be persuaded to stand aside.

The key to this lies in their MI5 files. I have not yet had a chance to glance at them but Arnold advised me that one should always send for the MI5 files of Cabinet Ministers if one enjoys a good laugh. [The Cabinet Secretary is the centre of all security operations, and the Cabinet Office contains rooms full of top-secret security information Ed.]

BW [Bernard Woolley] joined us for a brief cup of coffee, as he had some final DAA files for me to look at. We wished each other a Happy New Year, and then I raised the matter with him.

He was quite astonished when I asked him what he would think of his present master as the next Prime Minister. In fact, he seemed unable to grasp the question for some moments. He kept asking if I meant Mr. Hacker, his Minister?

AR wanted to know if BW was suggesting that JH was not up to the job of PM. BW seemed unable to frame an appropriate reply. So we explained that there is a considerably body of opinion that can see many advantages in such an appointment. Advantages for Britain. [By which Sir Humphrey meant advantages for the Civil Service, which in his view represented all that was best about Britain. It is also worth noting that Sir Arnold Robinsons statement that there was a considerable body of opinion in favour might not have been true at that moment, but would definitely have been true by the following morning Ed.]

We concluded the meeting by giving BW some firm and clear advice as to what Hacker should not do in the next few weeks if he was to succeed. Essentially, Woolley has to ensure that his Minister does nothing incisive or divisive in the next few weeks, avoids all controversy, and expresses no firm opinion about anything at all.

Bernard felt that this would be no problem. He believes that this is probably what Hacker was planning to do anyway.

[Hackers diary continues Ed.]

January 2nd

There was a drinks do at the FCO [Foreign and Commonwealth Office] this evening. It was for our European friends. With friends like them

I met an EEC official who seemed awfully Teutonic, and I asked him where he was from.

From Brussels I have just arrived, he told me.

I was surprised. Youre from Belgium?

Brussels is in Belgium. That is correct. The Teutonic mind!

Bernard came to the rescue. I think the Minister is asking if you are Belgian?

The official nodded and smiled. No, I am German.

And what are you at the EEC? I asked pleasantly.

I am still German.

I reminded myself that patience is a virtue. I know that, I said, and looked to Bernard to rescue me again.

I think the Minister means, said Bernard carefully, what is your job?

Ah, said the Kraut. I am a Chef du Division.

Its a sort of Assistant Secretary, Bernard whispered to me.

I wondered, to Bernard, if our German friends (as I have to call him) can help us with our sausage problem. Bernard nodded, and asked him exactly what his job is.

He was only too happy to explain. My job is concerned with the Common Agricultural Policy. I have to see that the farmers are paid enough money to produce more food.

This came as a considerable surprise to me. I thought we were producing too much food in the EEC -- hence the surpluses. I said as much.

The German nodded significantly. Too much food to eat, yes!

I was baffled. What else is food for? I asked him. His eyes lit up with pleasure.

We do not produce food for eating. Food is a weapon!

I couldnt exactly see what he meant. A weapon? I said. You mean I searched for the right response, but answer came there none. You mean what do you mean, exactly?

It was obvious to him. Food is power. Green power.

I asked if he meant that we fight the Russians with food. He became impatient, and explained that we dont fight the Russians. They are our friends, our customers. We fight the Americans!

I asked him to expand on this theme. He was delighted. His eyes gleamed as he discussed his nations favourite pastime. It is a war, he began. A trade war. Using food we can increase our spheres of influence over Third World countries. You should have seen Dr. Kissingers face when we threatened to sell wheat to Egypt. He chuckled merrily. He wanted Egypt to himself. You see, if the Third World switches from American to European wheat, the US President loses millions of votes in the vest.

It took me a moment to realise that he was speaking geographically, not sartorially.

The Mid-vest, he explained. So. The Common Agricultural policy gives us great influence over America, you see? Last war, guns. This war, butter.

Its better, butter, I remarked facetiously and laughed a little. He did not get the joke. [Such as it was Ed.] So I asked what, precisely, he did in the food war.

I ensure that our farmers are subsidised to produce all the food that they can. We have underground silos bursting with agricultural missiles. We were standing by the buffet, and he started to set up a dinner-table battlefield as an illustration. We move a division of butter to Bangladesh, we threaten Egypt with three brigades of wheat. But it is a decoy, you see, he cried triumphantly. We have six airborne divisions of beef waiting to fly into China. Then

He suddenly paused, and then burst out laughing. Bernard and I stared at him, bemused. Finally I asked him what the joke was.

Its better, butter, he chortled. Very funny. Very funny.

Bernard took me by the hand and led me quietly away to another part of the reception, where he presented me to a Monsieur Jean Penglet, who is also a Chef du Division in Brussels.

I speak no German, but I tried out a little French on Monsieur P. Vous parlez anglais, Monsieur Penglet? I enquired poetically.

I do, he replied with cool politeness.

And what do you do? I asked.

My job, he said with a patient smile, is to deal with food surpluses.

You mean, export them or store them?

He was confused. Non -- I pay farmers to see that all surplus food is destroyed.

Now I was confused. Destroyed? I repeated.

But of course, he said with a patronising gallic shrug. Dont you know the Community produces too much food?

I kept my temper.

But look, sorry, I dont want to appear dense but that chap there -- I pointed to our humorous friendly German -- "pays farmers to produce surplus food. Green power, he says.

I know, he nodded. He does a good job. Food is a weapon.

This was making less and less sense. Then why, I demanded, do you pay people to destroy it?

There was no contradiction as far as our French friend was concerned. All weapons must be made obsolete. Then you can pay people to produce more. Simple.

Cant you just go on storing it?

He thought that was a silly idea. Non, it is cheaper to destroy the food than to store, liquefy or dehydrate.

Or send it across the world? asked Bernard.

Exactly.

The whole Through-The-Looking-Glass approach was becoming clear to me. And, I said, I suppose you cant sell it at the market price because then the price would fall and the farmers would not make enough money.

The Frenchman was delighted that I understood. Exactly.

I decided to sum up. So, he pays French farmers to grow too much food -- you pay the same French farmers to destroy it!

He was grinning now. Exactly.

There was just one thing left that I didnt understand. Why, I asked, dont we just pay the farmers to sit there and not bother to grow the food at all?

The Frenchman was offended. Monsieur Hacker, he replied snootily, French farmers do not want to be paid for nothing. We do not want charity.

[Hackers xenophobia is clear from the above passage. This unattractive ability to see Germans and Frenchmen only in national stereotypes was both a personal weakness and a political strength. We shall see how it became his trump card at a crucial moment in his climb up the greasy pole Ed.]

January 3rd

I didnt get to the office till late afternoon today. And, although I had lots to do, somehow I just couldnt concentrate. I felt overwhelmed by the complete futility of it all, of everything we do, in the face of an EEC bureaucracy even more pointless than our own home-grown variety.

I sat behind the desk, musing, lost in my thoughts. Then I realised that Bernard was standing in front of me, trying to attract my attention in his characteristic way.

Um, he was saying hopefully.

I stared at him gloomily. Whats it all for, Bernard? I asked. What are we all doing? Whats the point of it all?

He looked momentarily nonplussed. I didnt read theology, Minister.

I tried to explain my concerns to him. What I mean is, Bernard, the waste of it all. Paying a lot of people to produce masses of food. Paying another lot to destroy it. And paying thousands of bureaucrats to push paper about to make it all happen. Doesnt the futility of it all depress you?

Not really, he replied, slightly puzzled. Im a Civil Servant.

But when its all so pointless? I entered politics to make peoples lives happier.

Oh but they are, Minister. He was concerned about me now, trying to cheer me up. Busy people are much happier than bored people.

Even if the works futile? I asked despairingly.

Oh, yes, he replied encouragingly. Look at your private office. Theyre all much happier when youre here and theyre busy.

I couldnt see what he meant. I pointed out that the work in my private office has a purpose.

Bernard sort of disagreed. Well, most of it is drafts for statements you dont make, speeches you dont deliver, press releases nobody prints, papers nobody reads, and answers to questions nobody asks you.

This comment, not without truth, made me even more depressed. I told Bernard that he was saying my job is as futile as the EEC.

He denied this, emphatically. Not at all, Minister. You went into politics to make people happy. You are making people happy. Youre very popular in the private office. And everywhere else, of course, he added hastily.

We sat in the conversation area, and discussed the race for the Premiership. Bernard, I began, Ive been talking to Eric and Duncan. I think Ive promised to support Erics candidature.

I see, he said with interest.

And then, I continued, I think I promised to support Duncan.

Bernard looked approving. That sounds very even-handed, Minister.

Hed missed the point. I explained that I cant exactly keep my promise to both of them.

He didnt seem to think that this was anything to worry about. They were only political promises, Minister, werent they? I nodded. Well then, he said, its like your manifesto promises, isnt it? People understand.

Hes probably right about that. But there is another problem. Im not sure, now that I think back on my conversations with Eric and Duncan, that either of them made any categorical promises to me.

I confessed this to Bernard, slightly concerned that it would make me seem a little inept. But Bernard felt that if theyd made no promises to me, then I didnt really have a deal with either of them. Even if hes right, I still have to decide which of them to support. Its not just a question of picking the winner, because my support may tip the balance. So the question is, Bernard, do I want to be Foreign Secretary or Chancellor of the Exchequer?

I must say, I was genuinely surprised by his reply. Neither.

Neither? Why not?

Theyre both such terrible jobs.

I thought at first that Bernard was being rather silly. After all, he was talking about two of the top three jobs in the Cabinet. I explained to him that as he was just a Civil Servant he didnt really understand politics.

He looked contrite and apologised.

To be a success in politics, Bernard, I continued, you have to be in the limelight. You have a very high political profile if youre the Chancellor. That has to be good for votes. Do you see now?

It turned out that he saw only too well. He saw lots of things that I hadnt seen. I felt rather embarrassed that Id patronised him, but I hoped he hadnt noticed.

The Chancellor is Mr. Killjoy, said Bernard. Raising taxes on beer and cigarettes goes down awfully badly with the electorate. He was right. And, Minister, have you considered working with the permanent officials of the Treasury? I believe Im right if I suggest that you sometimes felt that Sir Humphrey, when Permanent Secretary here, did not always lay all his cards on the table?

Good old British understatement. But I pointed out to Bernard that, nonetheless, I usually got my way. [Here Hackers capacity for believing his own fantasies, essential equipment for all politicians, is clearly shown Ed.] Bernard asked me if I had no fears at all about handling the officials at the Treasury.

I was about to reply none, when I realised that Im not an economist, which meant that they could run rings around me. Also, it suddenly occurred to me that no new economic policy has any visible effect for at least two years -- which means that for the first two years as Chancellor you are, in effect, paying for the mistakes of your predecessor. And no one realises that when the economy goes wrong there is nothing you can usually do about it. Especially as our economy is governed by the American economy over which I, as Chancellor, would have no control.

Bernard concurred, and added that the grapevine thought that there were shockwaves coming from America.

It was now perfectly clear to me that I shouldnt become the next Chancellor. Theres no escape in that job, is there? I said to Bernard.

No, Minister. Unless, of course, you were sent to the Foreign Office as a punishment.

I couldnt see what he meant. A punishment?

The Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs is an even worse job.

So thats what he meant. No longer so willing to dismiss Bernards view out of hand, I stopped to consider this. Did he simply mean that there are no votes in foreign affairs?

Its not just that, Minister. The Government has to be nice to foreigners but the electorate want you to be nasty to them. For instance, they resent foreign aid to less developed countries while there is unemployment in the Midlands.

My constituencys in the Midlands! [The fact that Bernard Woolley gave this example was hardly coincidental Ed.] And, once I started to think about it, there are a variety of reasons for avoiding the FO. The Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs has to go gadding about the world, while all the rest of the Cabinet are involved in the nuts and bolts of governmental policy. The unemployed would see pictures of me on the news eating fancy meals in our Paris Embassy while their hospitals are being closed.

And in terms of world politics, the Foreign Office is virtually irrelevant. We have no real power, were just a sort of American missile base, thats all.

Bernard commented that the Prime Minister would send the Foreign Secretary out on all the tricky foreign missions -- but would go abroad personally and take the limelight if there was any glory to be had.

Nothing new in that. Its the same for the Chancellor. Everyone things that Chancellors lose elections but that the Prime Minister wins them. Chancellors never get the credit, only the blame.

I sighed deeply. Its a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, I told Bernard.

He had an unusual twinkle in his eye. Unless he replied hesitantly um, there is, of course, one other option.

I couldnt think what.

"Do the middle job.

No, Bernard, I said. Home Secretary? Dont be daft. Be responsible for all the muggings, jailbreaks and race riots? Thanks a lot.

No, Minister, be the one who takes all the credit.

At first I didnt see what he meant. Then I saw! Prime Minister! Bernard is even more ambitious for me than I am for myself! It was more than I had dared hope for, or even think of. But now that Bernard has suggested it to me, I cant get it out of my mind.

I asked him modestly if he was serious. He confirmed that he was. Why not, Minister? Now that youve considered the various possibilities, it does all seem to be pointing in one direction.

The major problem is that Im literally up to my neck in the Eurosausage. [Not literally, we presume Ed.] But if that problem could be solved

Anyway, I thanked Bernard. I told him that it had been a most useful conversation and that I would have to consider whether or not my candidature was a serious possibility.

Bernard said that, of course, it was not for him to say, being a mere civil servant. But he suggested that I should consider asking my Parliamentary Under-Secretary [Hackers junior minister] to stand in for me at tomorrows Guildhall ceremony. It seems that there is likely to be an anti-government protest in the street on arrival, and he suggested that this might not be the time to be seen in a controversial context or hostile environment.

Hes absolutely right, and I followed his advice. I told him that he was getting more like Sir Humphrey every day.

Thank you, Minister, I see that as a compliment.

You must have very good eyesight, I joked. But he was right. It was.

[While Bernard Woolley, acting on Sir Humphreys instructions, was planting the seed of Prime Ministerial ambitions in the fertile and plentiful soil inside Hackers head, and ensuring that Hacker avoided all controversy, Sir Humphrey himself was not idle. He telephoned Jeffrey Pearson, the Chief Whip, and invited him to a secret meeting at the Cabinet Office. There is no record of this conversation in Sir Humphreys private papers, perhaps because of its sensitive nature and security implications. Jeffrey Pearson, being a politician, had no such scruples, and the conversation is reported in his elegant memoirs Suck It And See Ed.]

I got a phone call from Sir Humphrey Appleby, the Cabinet Secretary, asking how the race for the leadership looked from the Whips Office.

He knew the grim prospect only too well. If Eric got Number Ten there would have been a split in the party in three months. If Duncan, there would have been a split in three weeks.

He gave me some startling information. He revealed that there were security question marks over both candidates. I pressed him for details but he said that he could say no more. The only person he could disclose this to, in the PMs absence, and since it was essentially a party matter, was the Chairman of the Party. [Jim Hacker Ed.] [The Prime Minister, having announced his resignation, went abroad on what where ostensibly goodwill visits to friendly countries. In reality he was setting up a lucrative lecture tour and some profitable consultancies Ed.]

He had invited Hacker to a meeting in the Cabinet Office, and wanted me to be there also. Naturally I accepted. He also asked me to suggest a compromise candidate. My first thought was that it could be any one of half a dozen.

Sir Humphrey asked if Id considered the Party Chairman himself. The idea of Jim Hacker as Prime Minister, though it struck me as ludicrous at first, rapidly became an idea that was really no worse than any other. After all, who is fit for the job? You never know, till you suck it and see.

Sir Humphrey pointed out that there have been less likely Prime Ministers. I wonder who. [Extensive research suggests that Sir Humphrey must have been referring to the Marquis of Bute Ed.]

[Hackers diary continues Ed.]

January 4th

I got a message to see Sir Humphrey urgently, in his office. To my surprise Jeffrey Pearson, the Chief Whip, was also there. A big burly man, with twinkling eyes just visible behind huge heavy-framed glasses topped by a shiny bald head which reflected the overhead chandelier. I felt I should have brought my sunglasses.

Humphrey was at his most courteous. So good of you to call, Minister. I have a problem. I need your help.

Cant you run the country on your own? I asked.

He was not amused. Yes, it is rather a grave matter, Im afraid.

I became grave at once.

Its about the leadership election. The PM felt that he had no alternative but to call you in.

So it was that bad. I nodded, and waited. Then he said something that I couldnt quite get the hang of -- perhaps I wasnt concentrating properly.

Sir Humphreys remarks that Hacker couldnt follow are recorded in a minute, reproduced opposite, which Sir Humphrey sent to the Prime Minster shortly after the meeting with Hacker Ed.]

70 Whitehall, London SW1A 2AS

Memorandum

To: The Prime Minister

From: The Secretary of the Cabinet

I informed Mr. Hacker that there are certain items of confidential information which while they are in theory susceptible of innocent interpretation do nevertheless contain a sufficient element of ambiguity, so that, should they be presented in a less than generous manner to an uncharitable mind, they might be a source of considerable embarrassment, and even conceivably hazard, were they to impinge upon the deliberations of an office of more than usual sensitivity.

[Hackers diary continues Ed.]

Jeffrey Pearson explained that Humphrey was talking about security.

Security? I repeated, puzzled. What do you mean?

Secrets, he said.

I tried to conceal my impatience. Obviously I know what security means. But what did Humphrey mean? Exactly.

Im not allowed to know, said Jeffrey.

Why not? I asked.

Security, he replied.

I turned to Humphrey for clarification. For once, he obliged. He explained to me that, as in the Prime Ministers absence I was deputizing on party matters, he needed me to look at the Security file on the Chancellor of the Exchequer. He was not allowed to give me the whole file, but only to show me the relative items.

He then showed me some astonishing pieces of paper. Reports on Eric from the Security officers, from the Special Branch, an interview with his driver, and a confidential memo from the PM himself.

I really cant go into the details here. This information is dynamite, and if the wrong person were to get their hands on this cassette [Hacker always dictated his diaries into a cassette recorder Ed.] it would be disastrous for Eric. Suffice to say that Eric had never struck me as a sex maniac or dirty old man, and I simply cant imagine how a workaholic like him finds the time for everything that I read about today.

Sir Humphrey has an explanation. My experience is that people who are highly active in one area of life tend to be equally active in all the other areas.

I mean, to look at him you couldnt think that he went in for I was stuck for a sufficiently delicate phrase.

Sir Humphrey supplied it. I believe the current expression is horizontal jogging, Minister.

I pointed out that all of this horizontal jogging had happened a while ago, and none of it proved conclusively that Eric had breached security.

Humphrey readily agreed. Thats why the PM thought it all right for him to be Chancellor. But in view of the Yugoslav one and the South Africans not to mention the shady lady from Argentina and its thought that shes just a cover, by the way.

This was even more mind-boggling. A cover? What on earth for? If these ladies are a cover story, I cant imagine what his real requirements are.

Nor can Humphrey, apparently. But it is clear that Defence or the Foreign Office might be a little too delicate for such a minister. And if Eric became PM hed be head of the Security Services as well. I could see why old Humphrey was worried. It would be unthinkable.

So, I said, what youre saying is, its got to be Duncan.

Sir Humphrey hesitated. Then he reached across his desk for another Top Secret file. I was coming to that, he replied carefully. This is the Foreign Secretarys file.

Another staggering pile of paper! More from the Special Branch. And from the Fraud Squad, and the Inland Revenue. Secret auditors reports. Letters from the Bank of England Foreign Exchange Division.

It took longer to read and grasp the essentials of this file. I wondered if everything revealed in it could be technically legal.

Sir Humphrey nodded judiciously. Technically, maybe. But it certainly ruled him out of consideration for the Treasury.

I suddenly got a little paranoid. I wonder if there were reports like this on me in the Cabinet Office. [Definitely Ed.] Not that anyone could suspect me of this sort of impropriety. [This is almost certainly true. Hackers private life was fairly dull Ed.] I asked Humphrey how they found out so much about Duncans finances.

He evaded the question. Lets just say its all been gone into quite enough. Like the shady lady, I suppose.

I suppose that MI5 is behind all these investigations. Though Sir Humphreys line on MI5 is that it doesnt exist, We do not admit that it exists. But if it did exist, which of course it does not, its title would actually be DI5. Which, since it does not in any case exist, is never used.

I dont believe a word of that. Im sure MI5 exists. [Hacker was right. Sir Humphrey was giving Hacker the official disinformation, which is defised to try to confuse MI5 watchers Ed.]

I must admit that I was totally amazed by everything Id read about my colleagues Eric and Duncan. I turned to the Chief Whip. Isnt this amazing? I said.

He was now looking irritable as well as shiny. I dont know, he snapped. I havent seen it.

I apologised and turned back to Humphrey. Humphrey, I said, I dont want you to think me stupid

Perish the thought, Minister, he replied, a little slow on cue, I thought.

But, I went on, why is the Chief Whip here if hes not allowed to see these classified files?

Jeffrey gave me the answer himself. We, the Party, dare not risk these scandals coming to light -- if they are as embarrassing as you both seem to think. It could be a deep embarrassment to both the country and the Party if either of them were Head of Government. We dont want to be caught with our trousers down.

Not like Eric. I didnt say that though, it was all far too serious. I simply remarked that the situation was serious.

Very serious, agreed Jeffrey.

Very serious, echoed Sir Humphrey.

We gazed thoughtfully at each other. So, I asked, what could happen if either of them were elected PM?

Something very serious indeed, replied Sir Humphrey carefully.

Very serious, agreed Jeffrey.

I see, I said, and waited.

Serious repercussions, mumbled the Chief Whip.

Sir Humphrey nodded. Serious repercussions, he emphasised.

Of the utmost seriousness, added Jeffrey, clarifying the situation.

In fact, said Sir Humphrey seriously, I would go so far as to say that it could hardly be more serious.

We all fell silent. So I decided to sum it up. I think were all agreed then, I said. This is serious.

They nodded. We were all in agreement.

The question was, what should happen next? Jeffrey had an answer. Weve got to have another candidate. Quick.

The Chief Whip, murmured Humphrey, wondered if you had any ideas.

As youre the Party Chairman, explained Jeffrey.

Naturally Bernards words were ringing in my ears. Why not go for the top job? Be the one who gets all the credit. But I couldnt suggest myself right away. They might think that I had delusions of grandeur. So I assumed a look of studied thought.

Its pretty difficult, I said. Were looking for someone pretty remarkable -- a potential Prime Minister. Someone whos sound.

Flexible, added Sir Humphrey.

Yes, I agreed. And normal, I remarked, bearing Erics predilections in mind, and knowing that I was unassailable on that score.

And, Jeffrey reminded us forcefully, wearing his Chief Whips hat, someone whos acceptable to both wings of the Party.

And someone who understands how to take advice, Minister, concluded Sir Humphrey.

The Cabinet Secretary and the Chief Whip looked at me politely, waiting for my suggestion. But I was not willing to suggest myself, just in case Id misread the signs.

Finally Jeffrey spoke. Have you considered doing the job yourself?

I pretended to be completely astonished. Me?

Why not? enquired Sir Humphrey.

Wouldnt you want to be Prime Minister? asked Jeffrey.

I decided to be modest. I explained that Id love it, but that I was not sure that I actually could do it.

Humphrey seemed to accept this far too easily. Perhaps this was not a good idea after all, he said, turning to Jeffrey.

I was forced to ask Humphrey what he meant. Perhaps you do not feel, Minister, that you are absolutely Prime Ministerial calibre.

I told Humphrey, very firmly, that I think that there is no doubt about that. Modesty forbids, but I have absolutely no doubt about my ability to do the job.

But Jeffrey said there was a fly in the ointment. You are a bit of an outsider. Unless you can stage-manage some sort of public success in the next few days.

I suggested that I merely start campaigning, and let people know I want the job.

Quite the reverse, I think, said Jeffrey. Better to let people know you dont want it.

I wondered if that would be enough. Jeffrey and Sir Humphrey were quite sure it would be provided that I let everybody know that I dont want it. Jeffrey offered to manage my campaign. If anyone asks me, I am simply to say that I have no ambitions in that direction.

And if anyone tries to trap me by asking if Id refuse to stand, Humphrey advised me that on previous occasions a generally acceptable answer has been that, while one does not seek the office, one has pledged oneself to the service of ones country and if ones colleagues persuaded one that that was the best way one could serve, one might reluctantly have to accept the responsibility, whatever ones own private wishes might be. (I wrote it down at the time.)

Finally, we got to the question of the election. It seemed to me that it would inevitably be a three-way election. But the Chief Whip thinks differently. He wants an unopposed election. Unity always goes down well with the public, and the Party would welcome a little unity too.

But there are two more flies in the ointment, namely Eric and Duncan. I suddenly realised the relevance of the Security files -- my two opponents have to be persuaded to withdraw. I asked Jeffrey if he was planning to have a word with them both.

I cant. He was insistent. I havent seen the files.

I asked Humphrey.

No, Minister. It is an internal party matter. It would be most improper.

The full horror of it now dawned upon me. They wanted me to force Eric and Duncan to withdraw. They want me to tell one of my colleagues that hes a swindler and the other that hes a pervert. I refused.

Humphrey said that I neednt say that at all, not in so many words. You can just let them know you know something.

It seemed hopeless. Theyll tell me to mind my own bloody business.

Jeffrey intervened. If they do, you must say that as Party Chairman its your duty to see that, if they stand, this information reaches those who need to know. The Party executive, its major contributors and elder statesmen. The Palace, perhaps. You must tell each of them that he has no alternative but to pull out and support someone who will protect him.

I could hardly believe my ears. Jeffrey wanted me to protect them?

Humphrey concurred, remarking that their private lives are nobody elses business as long as security is not involved.

I didnt quite have the stomach for this talk. Regretfully I told Humphrey and Jeffrey that I wouldnt couldnt do this. But Humphrey wasnt prepared to listen. He told me that, now that I know about them, I have no choice.

As no one else knows that I know, I said firmly, I intend to forget all about it.

Then Humphrey dropped his bombshell. That would be very courageous of you, Minister.

I was appalled! Courageous? I dont want to do anything courageous! Thats the kind of thing that finishes careers.

Sir Humphrey remained calm. If something were to happen and later it were to emerge that you had the information and suppressed it

I interrupted. Do you mean youd leak it? I was aghast!

Humphrey did not answer my question. It would be seen as covering up for your chums. Greater love hath no man than this, that he should lay down his career

I told him to stop threatening me.

He tried to soothe me. No, Minister, Im helping you.

Jeffrey mopped his shining forehead and blotted the top of his head. You see, Jim, there is one other quality that Prime Ministers need. The killer instinct.

Hes right. The killer instinct. But do I have it? Well see. Now that I know about Eric and Duncan, I have no choice but to stab them in the back.

Or the front.

Oh my God!

January 5th

Believing that there is no time like the present I rang Duncan this morning. I told him that I had something urgent to discuss with him about the contest for the Premiership. I refused to be drawn on the phone. Indeed, I could hardly have said what I had to say over the phone. But I tried to sound cheerful so that hed think I had good news.

He cancelled some appointments and showed up here at the flat after dinner. I poured him a small Scotch and me a large Scotch, and we sat in front of the fire. Id warned Annie and Lucy [Hackers daughter Ed.] to make themselves scarce.

Duncan was unusually cheerful. He raised his glass. Heres to Number Ten, eh?

Thanks, I said, without thinking. He gave me a funny look. I corrected myself somehow, drank up my Scotch and poured myself another biggie. I turned from the sideboard to see Duncan eyeing me with suspicion.

Whats up, Jim?

Duncan, I have a a problem.

Youre not going to support me?

The conversation was getting out of control and it had only just begun. I drank my next large Scotch, and told him that some information had come my way. Serious information. To do with his personal financial operations.

Of course he pretended he didnt know what I meant. So I referred to the collapse of Continental and General, which he said was just bad luck, and I mentioned earlier transfers of funds to Directors nominee companies, to which he replied that there was nothing wrong with that.

I replied that technically there wasnt, but if you looked at it in conjunction with a similar case at Offshore Securities

I let that remark hang in the air, unfinished.

Duncan swallowed. Where did you get all this?

I didnt answer. But I indicated that, if he stayed in the running for PM, I would be obliged to share my knowledge with senior members of the party, the Revenue, the Fraud Squad, and so forth. Not that it would matter if its all above board, I added innocently, and Im sure it is if you say it is. But the Americans would also have to know. And Her Majesty

He took a drink and considered his position. There was nothing improper, he said. Not a very convincing denial.

Fine, I said cheerfully. If thats what you say, Ill feel free to talk about it to them all. Bring it all out in the open.

He panicked. Hang on! Financial matters can be misinterpreted. People get hold of the wrong end of the stick.

I sipped my drink and waited. It didnt take long. It transpired that, according to Duncan, he didnt really want Number Ten at all. He said hed never wanted it really. He felt the Foreign Office was a much better job in many ways. He wanted to assure me that he had only wanted Number Ten to keep Eric out. I just want to make one thing clear -- I wont support Eric! he insisted hotly.

I suggested that Eric might not get it. How would it be if you transferred all your support to someone else?

Duncan looked blank. Who?

It would be a question of finding someone who recognised your qualities. Someone whod want you to stay on as Foreign Secretary. Someone who would be discreet about Continental and General. Someone you trust. An old friend.

I thought for a moment Id overplayed it. Im an old acquaintance of Duncans but scarcely an old friend. And clearly theres no one he trusts. No one at all.

But he sat there, staring at me, and I smiled back at him, and gradually I saw it dawning upon him.

Do you mean -- you? he asked.

I pretended surprise. Me? I have absolutely no ambitions in that direction.

You do mean you, he observed quietly. He knows the code.

Perhaps I do have the killer instinct.

January 6th

Today I dispatched my other colleague and rival. Its all proving much easier than I thought.

Eric came for a drink at the House [of Commons]. This time I found I was able to come to the point much more quickly. I have tasted blood now. I certainly believe that, having killed once, its much easier for a murderer to kill again.

Anyway, I told him what I knew, roughly. He went pale and downed his Scotch. I offered him another.

Yes please, he said quietly. I need a stiff one. Actually, that doesnt seem to be his problem. I asked him if he realised that his position was serious.

Grimly, he said that he saw that only too well. And, he said, eyeing me bitterly, youre not going to help me, right?

Yes, I said.

He was confused. Yes you are or yes youre not?

Yes, I said, and hastily added: Yes Im going to help you. But not to get elected Prime Minister.

You said you were.

Really, how could he not see that things are quite different now? I patiently pointed out that my offer to help him predated my knowledge of the shady lady from Argentina. And others.

Look, Eric, as Party Chairman I have my duty. It would be a disaster for the party if you were PM and it came out. I realised that there was an unintentional innuendo there, so I hurried on. I mean, I wouldnt care to explain your private life to Her Majesty, would you?

Ill withdraw, he muttered.

About time too, I thought. If he practised withdrawal a little more often he wouldnt be in this predicament now. But I told him reassuringly that we would say no more about it. To anyone.

He thanked me nastily and snarled that he supposed that bloody Duncan would now get Number Ten.

Not if I can help it, I told him.

Who then?

I raised my glass to him, smiled and said, Cheers.

The penny dropped. And so did his lower jaw. He was staggered! You dont mean -- you? he gasped.

Again I put on my surprised face. Me? I said innocently. Our children are approaching the age when Annie and I are thinking of spending more time with each other.

He understood perfectly. You do mean you.

This is fun!

January 9th

Events are moving fast. Although Eric and Duncan are both out of the running, no one knows that but me, Humphrey and Bernard. The trouble is, although theyre out of the running, Im not yet in the running. I do need some sort of public success to swing the party my way at the crucial moment, so that the others can plausibly drop out.

My big problem remained. I was stuck with the awful Eurosausage hot potato, and somehow Ive got to pull something rather good out of the hat. Or out of the delicatessen.

But we took a big step along that path today and, I must say, to give credit where credit is due, old Humphrey was quite a help.

Apparently Maurice, the European Commissioner who landed me in this mess, was in London yesterday. And Humphrey found out that his flight was delayed and maanged to fix a brief meeting with him.

I was summoned to an urgent meeting in Humphreys inner sanctum at the Cabinet Office. The only problem was that it was all arranged at such short notice that I only got there moments before Maurice himself arrived. So I had no idea what Humphreys strategy was, or what I was to say or anything. Humphrey simply whispered to me that he hoped to persuade Maurice to solve our little sausage problem, that I was to leave the talking to Humphrey but give him support when he asked for it.

Maurice arrived all smiles. Jeem, to what do I owe zis pleasure?

Of course, I didnt know the answer to that. But Humphrey rescued me at once.

Sitting us all down in his conversation area, Humphrey began by explaining (wholly untruthfully) that I had asked him to arrange the meeting to see if he could help us with a problem. Of course, it wasnt a real lie, more a white lie really -- the whole convention of our government is that when Civil Servants think of a good idea they give the credit to the Minister. Quite right too -- we take the blame for all their mistakes, we certainly deserve the credit for their occasional good ideas!

Anyway, I nodded, and echoed that we had a problem. Maurice said of course hed help.

The problem is, said Humphrey smoothly, that the EEC is becoming very unpopular over here. He turned to me. Isnt that so, Minister?

No problem there. Yes, I said.

Maurice knows this already. And you want to restore its image? he asked.

Yes, I said, jumping the gun.

No, said Humphrey firmly.

No, I corrected myself hastily, resolving not to speak again until it was quite clear what Humphrey wanted me to say.

Humphrey continued. The problem is that the Minister feels there would be more votes -- that is, he would be better expressing the views of the British people -- by joining the attack on the EEC rather than leaping to its defence.

He looked at me. I was happy to agree with that. Furthermore, it was actually true!

I was surprised how much this threat upset Maurice. It cant have been news to him. But he seemed quite appalled. But your government is committed to support us, he expostulated, glaring at me.

I wasnt quite sure how to answer this, as I hadnt yet got Humphreys drift. But Humphrey came to the rescue again.

The Ministers point, as I understand it, is that the governments commitment is to the concept and the treaty.

Treaty, I repeated firmly.

But it is not committed, Humphrey was quite adamant here, to the institutions. Or to the practices. Or to individual policies. You were giving me an instance, just now, werent you, Minister?

He looked at me. This was my cue. But I couldnt imagine what he wanted me to say. He must have seen the panic in my eyes. About food production, he hinted.

I suddenly saw the plan! Yes. I fixed Maurice with my tough gimlet-eyed gaze. I discovered recently that one of your staff spends all his time paying people to produce food, and the man in the next office spends all his time paying people to destroy it.

Maurice was outraged. Thats not true.

Humphrey and I were surprised. A barefaced denial? How could this be, wed had the story from the horses mouths.

Not true? queried Humphrey.

No, said Maurice. Hes not in the next office. Not even on the same floor.

The Minister has hundreds of similar examples of the EECs nonsensical behaviour, continued Humphrey inexorably.

Hundreds, I agreed, trying to remember another.

And the nub of the problem, Maurice, is that the Minister is beginning to think that some member of the Cabinet ought to start telling the British people about them.

Maurice was angry now. But that would be intolerable, he cried. Even the Italians would not stoop so low.

I saw my chance, and went for the jugular. The Italians are not being asked to redesignate salami as Emulsified High-Fat Offal Tube.

Our cards were on the table. Was Maurice going to pickup the ball and run with it? Yes, he grasped the nettle with both hands. [Yet again Hackers mixed metaphors give us a special insight into the quality of intellectual coherence in the mind of one of our great national leaders Ed.]

What, enquired Maurice carefully, are you proposing? After all, we are committed to harmonisation. We cannot call it the sausage. What do you suggest?

I had no idea at all. What do you call a sausage if you cant call it a sausage? The whole point was that we should be able to call it a sausage. But I should have realised -- Humphrey had thought ahead.

Politics is about presentation. Cant we call it the British Sausage? he murmured.

A brilliant idea. Maurice tried it out in a few of the EEC languages. Saucisson anglais Salsicce inglese Britischerwurst. Dreadful show-offs, these Continentals. Mmm, yes, I think we could recommend that to the Commission.

Of course he could. It was an offer he couldnt refuse.

We wrapped up the meeting, all agreeing furiously that the EEC is an absolutely splendid institution. I even kissed Maurice on both cheeks.

After he left, I had a long think. Humphrey and Bernard suggested that I call a press conference of all the European correspondents, to tell them that Ive solved the Eurosausage problem.

But I have a much better idea. Solved problems arent news stories. For the press, bad news is good news. So why should I give them such a non-story? A solved Eurosausage problem is not going to catapult one into the leadership of the Party -- the public doesnt even know the problem exists, so why should they care if I solve it? No, Ive decided that tomorrow I shall give them news of a disaster. Theyll love that. Then when I give them a triumph a few days later Ill be a hero.

January 10th

Today I held an off-the-record, non-attributable briefing with the European correspondents.

The lobby system really is invaluable. The hacks are keen to get a story, yet lazy enough to accept almost anything that we feed them. I told them that we had a big problem coming up with Brussels. Since theyd be hearing about it anyway some day soon, I told them Id level with them now and given them the whole embarrassing story. They lapped it up!

Brussels, I said, is going to make the British sausage illegal under EEC regulations.

Bernard looked very worried, and passed me a hurried note reminding me that the EEC plan was not to illegalise the British sausage, but merely to prevent us calling it a sausage.

I crumpled up his note decisively. Bernard just doesnt understand politics. [Though he did understand the difference between truth and falsehood Ed.]

I threw the meeting open to questions. The first question picked up the same point. What do you mean, illegal?

I qualified my answer. Effectively illegal, I replied. Pork sausages will have to be seventy-five per cent lean pork, and beef sausages too.

Somebody from The Sun asked if beef sausages will have to be seventy-five per cent lean pork, too. Typical lobby correspondent. If he was the sole entrant in an intelligence contest, hed come third.

I explained that insisting that sausages contained seventy-five per cent lean meat would put them in the luxury foods bracket. The implications for the average wage-earner were all too clear.

One of them asked when this was to be promulgated. I told him: next month. Then, cunningly, I added that the EEC will probably deny it at the moment. In fact, they will probably try to tell the British press that they are only discussing changing the name of the sausage.

Finally, one of the reporters asked me what the government is going to do about it. I looked despairing, pathetic and helpless, and told him that I had no idea, that it is a big problem, and that I wouldnt pretend that we have an answer.

Then I sent them all out into the waiting room so that the Press Office could ply them with drinks. As they left, Bernard cornered me. Minister! You realise the press will be printing something that isnt true?

Really? I smiled at him. How frightful!

January 12th

It all went like clockwork. The story about the outlawed sausage has been all over the front pages for the last two days. Its caused a major political storm. All the commentators and pundits have been saying that, with the government and the party leaderless, the sausage could be a banana skin.

Everyones been saying that the succession is also unclear. Jeffrey has been quoted all week as an Unofficial Spokesman, an Informed Source, Feelings in the Party, Sources Close to the Leadership, and as a Growing Body of Opinion. His fingerprints are all over the stories in the press saying that the party is increasingly troubled by the fact that the two obvious candidates for the leadership represent the extreme wings of the party.

Ive been leaking a little myself, to the effect that pressure is mounting for both Eric and Duncan to withdraw in favour of a compromise candidate. Unfortunately, the lobby correspondents to whom Ive been chatting have not had the sense to name me as the aforesaid compromise, but have foolishly added their own comments to the effect that none of the contenders has so far caught the public imagination. It is astonishing how you have to spell everything out to journalists. And not only cant they draw the simplest conclusions, they cant even quote me correctly: I actually said moderate not compromise.

Ive planned a big press turnout for my constituency speech tomorrow night. BBC News and 1TN are going to be there. Bernard asked me why they were so interested in fire and safety policy in government.

I didnt answer. But Im sure he will not be surprised if I talk about other issues as well.

[Hackers big speech did indeed attract a full press, radio and TV turnout. Sources Close to the Minister had hinted that he was going to make a major policy speech, and it was clear to all in Fleet Street that this meant that he was mounting a bid for the leadership. Much was to hang on how well Hackers speech went that night. The result was exactly as Hacker had hoped and planned, as can be detected from the triumphant tone of his diary Ed.]

January 13th

I have a feeling that tonight I clinched the leadership of the party and, if I did, its only a matter of time before Im in Number Ten. Today was Friday the thirteenth, and thirteen is my lucky number. [But perhaps not the United Kingdoms Ed.]

There were several bursts of applause during my speech, some lasting for up to half a minute, and at the end I sat down to cheers and a standing ovation. The last part of the speech really got them going. I think I might have a future as a major demagogue.

[The original typescript of the speech has been lost, so we cannot publish it in full. However, we can reproduce a transcript of the last section of it -- taken from the BBC Nine OClock News recording. Audience reaction is marked Ed.]

BBCTV

BRITISH BROADCASTING CORPORATION

The attached transcript was typed from a recording and not copied from an original script. Because of the risk of mishearing the BBC cannot vouch for its complete accuracy.

NINE-OCLOCK NEWS NEWSNIGHT

TRANSMISSION: JANUARY 13th

ACTUALITY:

THE RT HON. JAMES HACKER MP: Im a good European. I believe in Europe. I believe in the European ideal! Never again shall we repeat the bloodshed of two World Wars. Europe is here to stay.

But, this does not mean that we have to bow the knee to every directive from every bureaucratic Bonaparte in Brussels. We are a sovereign nation still and proud of it.

(APPLAUSE)

We have made enough concessions to the European Commissar for agriculture. And when I say Commissar, I use the word advisedly. We have swallowed the wine lake, we have swallowed the butter mountain, we have watched our French friends beating up British lorry drivers carrying good British lamb to the French public.

We have bowed and scraped, doffed our caps, tugged our forelocks and turned the other cheek. But I say enough is enough! (PROLONGED APPLAUSE)

The Europeans have gone too far. They are now threatening the British sausage. They want to standardise it -- by which they mean theyll force the British people to eat salami and bratwurst and other garlic-ridden greasy foods that are TOTALLY ALIEN to the British way of life.

(CRIES OF HEAR HEAR, RIGHT ON, and YOU TELL EM, JIM)

Do you want to eat salami for breakfast with your egg and bacon? I dont. And I wont! (MASSIVE APPLAUSE)

Theyve turned our pints into litres and our yards into metres, we gave up the tanner and the threepenny bit, the two bob and half crown. But they cannot and will not destroy the British sausage! (APPLAUSE AND CHEERS)

Not while Im here. (TUMULTUOUS APPLAUSE)

In the words of Martin Luther: Here I stand. I can do no other. (HACKER SITS DOWN. SHOT OF LARGE CROWD RISING TO ITS FEET IN APPRECIATION)

[The following day Hacker was interviewed by Ludovic Kennedy, the well-known television interviewer. We have been fortunate in obtaining the complete transcript from BBC Television, and reproduce it below Ed.]

BBCTV

BRITISH BROADCASTING CORPORATION

The attached transcript was typed from a recording and not copied from an original script. Because of the risk of mishearing the BBC cannot vouch for its complete accuracy.

TRANSMISSION: JANUARY 14th

ACTUALITY:

KENNEDY: Your speech was strong stuff, Mr. Hacker.

HACKER: Well, its something I feel very strongly about. In fact, I sometimes wonder whether you media people really appreciate how strongly the rest of us feel about our country and our way of life. We love it and were proud of it.

KENNEDY: So youre at odds with Government policy over the EEC?

HACKER: Im very happy with Government policy, Sir Ludovic. Sorry. Mr. Kennedy. It has never been Government policy to abolish the British sausage. Sausages are not just good to eat, you know. Theyre full of top-quality nutrition.

KENNEDY: Brussels has denied ever wanting to abolish the British sausage.

HACKER: Well, they would, wouldnt they? They know what theyre up against. They know the strength of British public opinion.

KENNEDY: Minister, your speech certainly got a lot of coverage and a lot of praise. Was there any significance in its timing?

HACKER: What do you mean?

KENNEDY: With your Party looking for a new leader. After all, your name has been mentioned by a few people.

HACKER: Quite a lot of people, actually, but no. Absolutely not. I have no ambitions in that direction.

KENNEDY: You mean, you wouldnt let your name go forward?

HACKER: Well, Ludo all Ive ever wanted to do is serve my country. Ive never sought office. But I suppose that if my colleagues were to persuade me that the best place to serve it from was Ten Downing Street, then I might reluctantly have to accept the responsibility, whatever my own private wishes might be.

KENNEDY: So, if youre not in the running, who will you be voting for?

HACKER: Well, of course, its too early to say. But what I will say is that I see this as a time for healing. A time to stress what we agree about, not what we disagree about. We need to see the good things in our opponents, not to keep looking for their faults. Theres good in everyone, you know.

KENNEDY: Except the French.

HACKER: Except the Fre No, even the French.

[Hackers diary continues Ed.]

January 18th

Ive been too anxious to do anything these past three days. Even making notes for the diary was too great a strain. But today I made it! Im it! Im in! I did it! I got it! I won!

Ill try to recount the last events of the leadership campaign in a coherent manner.

The committee held the annual meeting today. The ad hoc party leadership committee, that is. Eric and Duncan withdrew after the success of my speech put me unexpectedly at the front of the race. Of course, rather than vote for each other, they now both promised to put their weight behind me. As Ive got them both by the balls, this was no surprise to me, though it impressed everyone else no end!

So today the only issue was whether or not the Parliamentary Party was going to put up another candidate to oppose me. If so, we would have had to call an election.

I called both Eric and Duncan this morning, to check that they were supporting me. They were both slightly equivocal. It was still possible for them to withdraw and support someone else. In which case Id probably have won the election, but the agony would have been prolonged by another two or three weeks -- and who knows what might have happened in that time? If a week is a long time in politics, three weeks is an eternity.

Then I went to Humphreys office and we waited, all through lunch, Humphrey and me. Would the phone never ring? There were two phones on his desk. I asked him which one theyd ring on.

This one, probably, he replied. Then, after a moments thought: Or this one. Either, really.

I was none the wiser. Even that information was denied me. I told Humphrey that Id just sit and relax. As I sat his intercom buzzed, sending me three feet into the air. Bernard had arrived.

Minister, he told me reverently, the Palace has been on the phone.

The Palace?

Theyre checking with all the possible candidates, to see if theyd be free to kiss hands at five oclock. [The formal expression of allegiance to the Sovereign by a newly appointed Prime Minister Ed.] Thats only in the event of an unopposed recommendation, of course.

I told Bernard that I thought I could probably make time for it.

We sat and waited. And then I made a spontaneous and generous suggestion which I think I regret already. I asked Bernard to be my Principal Private Secretary at Number Ten, should I become PM.

His reply was characteristically ambiguous. Oh Minister. Gosh! But he smiled and went a little pink.

Pleased, I turned to Humphrey, whose face had turned to stone. I asked him if that would be all right.

The Prime Ministers word is law, he replied bleakly.

Perhaps hes right. On second thoughts, I was hasty. Im not actually sure that Bernard is up to it, he is so nave. But Im sure hell manage somehow and he is very loyal and he never plots against me. [Hackers calling Bernard nave in this context shows a remarkable lack of awareness of Bernards true loyalties, divided as they were -- equally -- between Hacker, his political master, and Sir Humphrey Appleby, his Civil Servant master Ed.]

I think I could have done better than Bernard [Hacker was correct Ed.] Still, Ive done it now.

At that moment, with Bernard all dewy-eyed with gratitude, the phone rang. I grabbed it. Nobody there. Humphrey coolly picked up the other one. Yes? he said. Yes yes yes hes here Ill tell him.

He rang off. I looked at him. I couldnt speak. But written all over my face was the question: was it me? Was I unopposed? Had I reached the top of the greasy pole at last?

Yes -- Prime Minister, said Humphrey. And I fancy that he looked at me with new respect.