The Complete Yes Prime Minister

THE GRAND DESIGN

January 23rd

The last few days have been overwhelmingly exciting. I went to the Palace and kissed hands. The next morning I moved into Number Ten. Id read in the memoirs of past Prime Ministers that the staff line up in the front lobby, and in the long corridor inside it that leads down to the grand central staircase, and applaud the incoming Prime Minister. I wonder why they didnt applaud me. [This accolade is only granted, traditionally, to a Prime Minister who had just won a general election Ed.] I hope this does not bode ill.

It took a day or two to move in. The PM lives in the flat above the shop, and the whole building is extremely confusing. From the outside it looks like an average size Georgian terrace house -- but inside it is absolutely huge, a small stately home, a mini palace.

This is because it is, in reality, two houses. Not two houses side by side (the Chancellor of the Exchequer lives in Number Eleven), but two houses that almost back on to each other, joined by corridors, stairwells and courtyards. Each house has five or six floors, and the house at the back has large, elegant staterooms for entertaining my subjects. [Hacker was plainly suffering from delusions of grandeur, and was confusing himself with the monarch Ed.]

The main problem in finding ones way around Number Ten is that, because it is two different houses, because of subsidence during the war [World War II Ed.], and because the ground slopes away towards the back, its almost impossible to know what floor youre on once youre upstairs.

But my confusion on moving in was like nothing compared to my state of mind today, my fifth day in office, on being taken into the top-secret operations room below the MOD [Ministry of Defence Ed.].

It looked just like youd expect: maps of the five continents, girls at video terminals, officers at desks. I was shown around by the Chief of the General Staff, General Sir Geoffrey Howard, a tall dapper chap with sandy hair, bushy eyebrows and a brisk commanding voice. Sir Humphrey and Bernard were hovering about, as always.

Naturally, my first question was about the Hot Line. The General looked puzzled.

Which one?

To Russia.

Ah. Thats in Downing Street, the General told me. I glanced at Bernard. Why hadnt I been shown it? He looked surprised -- perhaps he hasnt been shown it, either.

I continued: So if theres an emergency, can I get straight through to the Soviet President?

Theoretically, yes, General Howard replied cautiously.

Does that mean no?

Well, its what we tell journalists. In fact, we did once get through to the Kremlin, but only to a switchboard operator.

Couldnt the operator put you through?

We couldnt find out, she didnt seem to speak much English.

How often is it tested?

The General looked blank. Testing had clearly not occurred to him.

They try not to test it too often, Humphrey intervened smoothly. It tends to create unnecessary panic at the other end. And panic is always a good thing to avoid where nuclear weapons are concerned, dont you think? I certainly do.

The General walked me over to a telex machine.

Now this -- he said meaningfully, is it!

Is it? I asked.

Yes, he said.

Good, I replied, encouragingly. Then I realised that I was going to get no further clue as to what he was talking about. Er what is it, exactly? I enquired casually, with what I hoped was a knowledgeable air.

Its the trigger, Prime Minster, Sir Humphrey murmured.

I felt a sudden chill. The trigger?

Yes. The nuclear trigger the button.

This? I couldnt believe it. I stared at the innocent-looking telex machine.

Indirectly, yes. The General could see my concern. Its simply a telex link to HMS Northwood. You would send a coded signal, you see. Then the telex operator at Northwood sends out an authentication signal.

So he knows its from you, you see, added Sir Humphrey softly.

And when the instruction has been authenticated, and a target indication has been made, Northwood would send the command to one of our Polaris submarines, and theyd actually press the button. The General seemed quite satisfied with all this.

It all seemed so simple, so cut and dried. I give the order, they carry it out. My mouth felt all dry, but I had to find out more.

Theyd do it just like that?

Just like that. General Howard was visibly proud.

When I say so?

When you say so.

But wouldnt anyone argue with me?

General Howard was shocked. Of course not. Serving officers obey orders without question, Prime Minister.

I swallowed. But supposing I get drunk? I asked, jokingly. Humphrey replied, rather too seriously: On the whole, it would be safer if you didnt get drunk.

Yes, but seriously, I asked, what happens if I go off my rocker?

I think the Cabinet might notice. Sir Humphrey was trying to sound reassuring.

I wasnt reassured. I dont think one can count on the Cabinet noticing that kind of thing. For a start, half of them, if not exactly off their rockers themselves, are not exactly what youd call well-balanced.

I had to know more. Suppose I gave the order to press the button, and then changed my mind?

Thats all right, said the General with a chuckle, no one would ever know, would they? Everyone else chuckled appreciatively.

I tried to chuckle too, but somehow I just couldnt. Instead, I asked how many actual bombs we have.

Four Polaris submarines, said the General. Sixteen missiles on each. Three warheads per missile.

Mental arithmetic has never been my strong point and I didnt like to fish out my pocket calculator. Bernard saw my problem and spoke up. One hundred and ninety-two actual bombs, Prime Minister. Obviously hed been told before.

One hundred and ninety-two nuclear bombs! It doesnt bear thinking about! And Humphrey piled on the pressure, pointing out that each has at least five times the power of the Hiroshima bomb.

They all waited for me to speak. But I felt quite overwhelmed by the horror and the insanity of my new responsibilities.

The General looked at me with sympathy and understanding. I know what youre thinking, he said. Not very many.

That wasnt at all what I was thinking! I told him sharply that one hundred and ninety-two bombs seemed plenty to me. He didnt agree. Not with twelve hundred Soviet missiles trained on Britain, waiting to retaliate instantly.

Twelve hundred? I felt I should assume a stiff upper lip. Ah well, I remarked. Britains always fought against the odds, havent we? The Armada, the Battle of Britain

Even as I spoke I realised that the notion of fighting bravely against the odds is completely irrelevant in the context of nuclear war.

But General Howard saw this as an opportunity to put in a plug for Trident. He pointed out that we would have much more fire power at our disposal when it is delivered. And therefore wed have a much greater deterrent.

Meanwhile, I said, thank God weve got our conventional forces.

They all looked at me, slightly sceptically.

Prime Minister, said the General stiffly, our conventional forces could hold the Russians for seventy-two hours at most.

At most?

At most.

The General was standing at attention. It looked most odd in his civilian suit. As a matter of fact, I thought irrelevantly, all these men around me were unmistakably soldiers, even though none of them were in uniform. Unless you call baggy blue pinstripe suits a uniform.

I forced myself to consider the ghastly implications of the latest piece of information that Id just taken on board. So, in the event of a Russian attack, I would have to make an instant decision, would I?

General Howard shook his head and smiled. No, Prime Minister. Youd probably have twelve hours.

Twelve hours? Thats what I call instant. I asked him if we shouldnt do something about that.

The General agreed emphatically. He thinks we certainly should do something about it. But, he informed me bitterly, the military has been told by the politicians for thirty years that this country cant afford the conventional forces to do the job.

Sir Humphrey, at my shoulder, nodded.

Conventional forces are terribly expensive, Prime Minister, he explained. Much cheaper just to press a button.

January 24th

I had a sleepless night last night. My visit to the MOD had unsettled me quite profoundly. I couldnt get those figures out of my head. My powers of concentration are pretty remarkable [we believe Hacker intended no irony here Ed.] but today I found it hard to keep my mind on my work.

Seventy-two hours, I found myself murmuring in the middle of a meeting with Bernard.

Um, Prime Minister? He was trying to bring me back to what wed been discussing. Isnt seventy-two hours a bit generous for a meeting with the New Zealand High Commissioner?

He was being facetious, I suppose. He could see I was thinking about the length of time that NATO forces could hold the Russians. I asked him if we could persuade the Americans to strengthen their conventional forces.

Bernard felt that it wouldnt really help. Apparently the American troops in Germany are all so drug-ridden that they dont know which side theyre on anyway. And on the last NATO exercise the US troops dispersed and picnicked in the woods with lady soldiers.

I asked him about the other NATO armies. He said they were all right on weekdays. I asked him to make himself clear.

The Dutch, Danish and Belgian armies all go home for the weekend.

This was the most extraordinary thing Id heard yet. So, I followed through with my usual relentless logic, if the Russians are going to invade wed prefer them, on the whole, to do it between Monday and Friday.

He nodded.

[In fact, even if Warsaw Pact forces had invaded between Monday and Friday it would hardly have helped the NATO forces. The NATO barracks were so far behind their forward positions that the invaders would have, in any case, reached those positions first Ed.]

Is this widely known? I asked, amazed.

He could see I was thinking of the Russians. He explained that if he knew it, the Russians certainly do. The Kremlin usually gets NATO defence information before it filters through to us at Number Ten.

I summed up. So it all comes back to Trident.

When it comes, he agreed.

When it comes, I mused, wondering when that would really be.

If it works, Bernard added.

If it works? What did he mean?

Casually, he told me. Frequently, Prime Minister, when new weapons are delivered the warheads dont fit the ends of the rockets. Thats what happened with Polaris. You know the sort of thing. Its all in the files. He flipped open a file. Wiring faults, microchip failure. Ground-control transmitter on a different frequency from the receiver on the missile. He looked up at me apologetically. We didnt have the means of delivering Polaris for some years. Cruise is probably the same. Trident might be too.

I told him that I considered this absolutely intolerable, that we should take the manufacturers to court.

Bernard shook his head sadly, and explained that it is impossible for us to risk the publicity. And hes right of course. Security makes it impossible. And the manufacturers know it.

I asked him about changing manufacturers.

Oh we do. He sighed. All the time. But the trouble is that all the manufacturers know it too. Thats why that torpedo landed on Sandwich Golf Course.

I thought Id misheard him. A torpedo on Sandwich Golf Course? Why hadnt we seen that in the papers?

Bernard knew all about it. There was a cover-up. The members just found a new bunker on the seventh fairway the next morning.

I didnt know whether I was more concerned about the cover-up or the malfunctioning torpedoes. I asked Bernard why even our torpedoes dont work. He reassured me. Apparently its only the new ones that dont work. All the others are working fine -- the ones that were designed during World War II.

But these are forty years old. Why, I wanted to know, do they work better than our latest weapons? The answer was so obvious that I should have thought of it myself: the old torpedoes had lots of testing. We cant afford to test modern weapons properly -- partly because its too expensive and partly because if there is a nuclear war it wont last long enough for weapons tests.

I wondered what other revelations lay in store, now that I was entitled to know all our military secrets. I decided Id better find out. What else dont I know about the defence of the United Kingdom? I asked Bernard.

I dont know, Prime Minister. I dont know what you dont know.

I dont think he was being insolent because he went on to give me some useful advice. If I want another view, I might find it valuable to have a word with the Governments Chief Scientific Adviser. Apparently he sees the problem rather differently from the MOD.

I told Bernard to get him in at once. Bernard was hesitant. A late drink may be better, he advised. Better not to let the Cabinet Office know. Sir Humphrey gets rather upset -- he doesnt regard the Chief Scientific Adviser as one of us.

I looked up the chief Scientific Adviser in Whos Who. Professor Isaac Rosenblum. DSO at Arnhem. How could Humphrey not trust a man who fought on our side at Arnhem, and who was decorated by His Majesty for bravery?

Im afraid that it doesnt make up for his speaking with an Austrian accent, Bernard remarked. And he certainly didnt go to Oxford or Cambridge. He didnt even go to the LSE.

One of Bernards little jokes. I think.

January 25th

Tonight I asked Professor Isaac Rosenblum up to my flat for a late drink. And now my mind is reeling. Its not very often in politics that you meet, and talk to, a genuine intellectual. I used to be a polytechnic lecturer, and you dont get very many intelligent conversations in academic life either. [Hacker, it seems, regarded polytechnics as part of academic life Ed.] There are a few intellectuals in both walks of life, of course, but politicians never dare own up to it and academics prefer gossip anyway.

Professor Rosenblum is a small wiry elderly man. He is in his mid-seventies, lean, bright-eyed, and with a mind like a steel trap. I felt like an undergraduate at a tutorial. But I certainly learned a thing or two, and I believe that tonights discussion will have a decisive effect on the future of my government and of this country. There will be changes made. [Hacker was so excited when dictating this entry into his diary that he completely forgot about the Civil Service Ed.]

He popped in to Number Ten this evening, long after Humphrey had gone home. [6 pm Ed.] I arranged with the security people that he should be allowed in through the back door, as theres always press watching the front.

He began by asking me if I believed in the nuclear deterrent.

Yes, I said.

Why? he asked.

I didnt quite know what to say. I mean, everyone believes in the nuclear deterrent. I asked him to repeat his question.

Why? he asked again.

Because it deters, I replied, weakly.

Whom?

Id never before met anyone who spoke in such short sentences. You never find them in politics, nor in academic life either. But I couldnt see quite what he was driving at.

I beg your pardon? I asked.

Whom? he asked again. He could see I didnt understand. He clarified his question. Whom does it deter?

It seemed obvious to me. The Russians. From attacking us.

Why? There it was again, that irritating little word. Why what? I played for time. I beg your pardon? I asked.

Why?

Why does the deterrent deter the Russians from attacking us, thats what he was asking. Because, I replied firmly, they know that if they launch an attack Id press the button.

You would? He sounded surprised.

Well I hesitated, wouldnt I?

Well would you?

In the last resort, yes. Definitely. I thought again. At least I think I definitely would.

His questions continued relentlessly. I had to think carefully. [Hacker was out of practice at this Ed.]

And what is the last resort?

If the Russians invade Western Europe. That at least seemed quite obvious.

Professor Rosenblum smiled. But you would only have twelve hours to decide. So the last resort is also the first response, is that what youre saying?

Was that what I was saying? It seemed crazy.

The Chief Scientific Adviser stared at me critically. Well, you dont need to worry.Why should the Russians try to annex the whole of Europe? They cant even control Afghanistan. He shook his head. No. If they try anything it will be salami tactics.

[Salami tactics was the description customarily given to slice by slice manoeuvres, i.e. not a full scale invasion of the West, but the annexation of one small piece at a time. More often than not, the first steps would not be annexation of land but small treaty infringements, road closures, etc. Ed.]

Rosenblum stood up. He paced enthusiastically up and down my living-room, a glass of orange juice in hand, expounding an assortment of defence scenarios. First, he postulated riots in West Berlin, with buildings in flames, and the East German fire brigade crossing the border to help. He stopped pacing, stared at me, and asked me if Id press the button in such circumstances.

Obviously the answer was no. Rosenblum nodded. He seemed to agree. Then he asked me if Id press the button if the East German police came with the fire brigade. Again I shook my head. How could I start a nuclear war because of such a small territorial infringement?

Rosenblum started pacing again. A little smile was now visible around the corners of his mouth. Suppose the East Germans send some troops. Then more troops -- just for riot control, they say. And then the East German troops are replaced by Russian troops. You press the button?

Russian troops replacing East German troops in West Berlin? Would I start a nuclear war? I dont see how I could. I shook my head again.

The Chief Scientific Advisor smiled, and suggested cheerfully that the next slice would be that the Russian troops dont go. They would be invited to stay, to support the civilian administration. Then the civilian administration might close the roads and Tempelhof Airport. West Berlin would now be cut off. [West Berlin was an island of the West German Federal Republic, sixty miles inside the border of the German Democratic Republic. Democratic, in this context, naturally means communist Ed.] Would I now press the button? he enquired.

I didnt know. I told him I needed time to think.

You have twelve hours! he barked.

I felt totally panicked. Then I reminded myself, and him, that he was inventing all this, and I relaxed.

He shrugged. You are Prime Minister today. The phone might ring now, from NATO Headquarters.

The phone rang! It shook me to the core. Bernard hurried across my study and answered it. Hello. Yes? He turned to me. NATO Headquarters, Prime Minister.

Was a nightmare coming true? Then Bernard went on. Are you willing to address NATOs annual conference in April?

I thought I was -- but by then I was no longer sure of anything. I couldnt reply.

Yes, said Bernard into the phone, and rang off.

Professor Rosenblum turned to me again. Right, he began. Scenario Two. Russian army manoeuvres take them accidentally on purpose across the West German frontier is that the last resort?

No, I replied. It didnt seem to be.

All right, he continued with great enthusiasm. Scenario Three. Suppose the Russians have invaded and occupied West Germany, Belgium, Holland and France. Suppose their tanks and troops have reached the English Channel. Suppose they are poised for an invasion, is that the last resort?

I stonewalled. No.

Why not? he demanded. Why not?

My mind was a fog. I was trying to see sense in all this. Because, I fumbled, because we would only fight a war to defend ourselves. And how can we defend ourselves by committing suicide?

So what is the last resort? smiled the little old Professor. He shrugged, sat down and settled back into the overstuffed chintz armchair by the fire. Piccadilly? Watfod Gap Service Station? The Reform Club?

I stared at him, trying to put my thoughts in order. If you put it like that, I said to him, the nuclear deterrent makes no sense. Is that what youre saying?

Professor Rosenblum shook his head. No -- I'm not saying that. If either the Russians or the Americans have the bomb, the other side must have it too. And we might as well keep Polaris, just in case.

I didnt yet understand what exactly he was proposing.

He spelt it out to me. Cancel Trident. Spend the 15 billion you will save on conventional forces. Because you wouldnt really press the button, would you?

I might, I said carefully, if I had no choice.

He sighed. But weve been through this. Theyll never put you into a situation where you have no choice. Theyll stick to their salami tactics, remember?

So, I took a deep breath, what happens if we divert 15 billion from Trident. What do we spend it on -- tanks?

No. We spend it on ET.

What on earth could he mean? Extra-terrestrials?

He saw what I was thinking, and smiled. ET stands for Emergent Technology. Smart missiles. Target finding. Infra-Red. The ET needs to be operated by a large conventional army.

And then I got my inspiration! I suddenly saw what to do. Everything fell into place. It is ridiculously simple, but completely workable. First, we cancel Trident. We dont buy Cruise either. Then we introduce conscription, which will not only solve our defence problems by giving us a large conventional army, it also solves our unemployment problem! Excited, I explained my thoughts and Bernard raised a worry. Isnt conscription a rather courageous policy, Prime Minister?

Bernard was quite wrong. Conscription would certainly be a courageous policy in times of full employment -- but nowadays it would give young people something to do.

In fact, there are other definite plusses. Conscripted young people would be learning trades and skills. Theyd even learn to read -- the army never discharged anyone who was illiterate. In fact, we will be able to give our young people a comprehensive education, to make up for their Comprehensive Education.

We shall call the whole thing National Service, just like they used to -- to remind everyone that the young people will be out in the country, serving the community and the nation.

Its a great policy. A new deal for Britain. I shall call it my Grand Design. Hackers Grand Design. I already have notes for my House of Commons speech in which I shall outline the whole concept: From time to time, in our great island story, it falls to one man to lead his people out of the valley of the shadows and into the broad sunlit uplands of peace and prosperity.

I wonder why I never thought of all this till tonight.

[One reason, perhaps, was that Hacker and Professor Rosenblum had only just met Ed.]

January 26th

Things have really got to change round here, and Im the man to see that those changes happen. [After only a week in office Hacker appears to have slightly lost touch with reality Ed.]

A very busy morning was spent in Cabinet Committee and in appointing the remaining members of my government including some junior ministers. Then I went upstairs to the flat for lunch.

But there was none. As I came in Annie was putting on her raincoat. And she wasnt in too good a mood. When I asked her in a tone of only mild surprise if she was going off somewhere she reminded me that she was late for her Voluntary Services Committee. Whatever that is.

I asked her if there was any chance of some scrambled eggs or something. Anything really. She told me that there were eggs in the fridge.

I couldnt believe it. She wanted me to make lunch. I mean, its not that Im a male chauvinist or anything, but I am the Prime Minister and I do have plenty of other things to do. And as a politician Im not really eligible to eat with all the Downing Street civil servants in the Cabinet mess [attached to the Cabinet Office Ed.].

I can see her point. We did agree that she could carry on with her work if I became PM and we moved to Number Ten. She had been very opposed to the move here anyway, and I begin to see why. Theres not much privacy. We were just discussing the eggs and I was fairly unhappy at finding myself cast as Mother Hubbard when there was a knock on the open door and a young woman messenger marched in with a Foreign Office Green Box.

Foreign Office telegrams, Prime Minister, she explained.

Annie was absolutely fed up. See what I mean? she complained. Its bad enough living in this goldfish bowl anyway. Ive got to be able to get out and live my own life. Every time I want to step out for some cigarettes I have to walk past a dozen journalists, a TV film crew, a bunch of messengers, housekeepers and policemen in the lobby, and fifty gawping tourists at the bottom of the street. Theres no privacy anywhere!

I pointed out that there is a back door. She thinks it makes virtually no difference which door we use. And theres total privacy up here in the flat. Or nearly total privacy. Well, some privacy, anyway.

Our lifes not our own any more. She hammered home the point. What about the President ringing you in bed from the White House at two oclock this morning?

Rather foolishly I replied that it was only nine p.m. in Washington, which, I agree, hardly makes it any better from her point of view. I was about to explain that it was an important call to discuss my forthcoming visit to Washington when there was another knock on the door and in burst two sniffer dogs with tongues hanging out dragging a couple of police dog-handlers behind them. Apparently there was a bomb scare, and they had to search the place.

Annie looked at me and asked, Privacy?

She wasnt being very reasonable, in my opinion. Surely shed rather have security checks than be blown up. I told her that she could always have privacy if she went for a walk in the garden. Ive never seen anyone out there at all.

Ive tried that, she answered with defiance. About sixty people stare at you from the windows of Number Ten, Number Eleven, Number Twelve and the Cabinet Office. Its like exercising in a prison yard and being watched by the inmates and the warders. To think we actually have to pay rent for this place. They should pay us to live here.

I must admit I share her resentment about the rent. I should have thought -- I did think -- that we would be given the place to live in, in view of the great personal sacrifice one makes for ones service to the nation. [Many non-politicians do not see the acquisition of the greatest political power and patronage in the land solely in terms of great personal sacrifice. And many others may wonder why Hacker imagined that, on attaining power, he should be entitled to live rent-free Ed.]

The dogs and dog-handlers left. I said to Annie: Look, its actually a pretty nice place to live, at least its quiet. It was an idiotic thing to say -- no sooner had I uttered it than the bloody brass band started playing on Horse Guards Parade, right outside the window.

She snarled at me. Thats been going on since seven oclock this morning. True, but it is Horse Guards Parade out there, and they are the Horse Guards -- they have to rehearse somewhere. Of course, Im lucky, because Im always up by 7 a.m. in any case.

I tried to calm her down. Be reasonable, Annie. A career of public service inevitably involves some sacrifice.

She buttoned her coat up. Fine. I sacrifice my sleep. You sacrifice your lunch. And off she went.

I ran after her. What did you have for lunch? I called down the staircase.

Half a Yorkie bar.

Seething, I returned to the flat to look for the other half. I couldnt even find it. There were indeed some eggs in the fridge but I just couldnt face cooking. So I meandered gloomily down the stairs and mooched into my study. Hungrily I stood at the window, watching the military band marching up and down. I left a message in the private office that Bernard should pop up to see me as soon as he returned from lunch.

Forty-five minutes later he bounced in, cheerful and well-fed. I turned and asked him if hed had a good lunch.

He was slightly surprised. Quite good, yes.

Where did you have it?

In the Cabinet mess.

Three courses?

Yes.

Wine?

A glass of claret, yes. He paused, trying to understand what I was driving at. Um if youre interested, Prime Minister, I had mulligatawny soup, followed by a veal chop with saut potatoes and

Im not interested, Bernard, I snapped. Do you want to know what I had for lunch?

He sensed that I was upset, but still couldnt quite see why. Um do you want to tell me? he asked.

I smiled unpleasantly. Yes, I snapped. Nothing.

Are you dieting, Prime Minister?

I explained succinctly that I was not dieting. I expressed my total astonishment that there are facilities at Number Ten for feeding Bernard, and all the private secretaries, the whole of the Cabinet office, the press office, the garden-room girls, the messengers but not me. And I bloody live here!

[Garden-room girls is the name given to the very high-class ladies of the registry and typing pool at Number Ten, who worked in a basement room that leads out on to the garden Ed.]

Bernard asked if Mrs. Hacker could cook for me. I reminded him that she has her own job. Then he offered to get me a cook. It looked a good offer -- until closer examination revealed that I would have to pay for it. And, according to Bernard, the cost of a full-time cook would be between eight and ten thousands a year. I cant afford that. Trying to get himself off the hook, he suggested that I talk to the Cabinet Secretary -- obviously he didnt want to get involved in a discussion when it wasnt in his power to change the system.

But I was very irritated. Still am, come to that. I turned back to the window and fumed silently.

Bernard cleared his throat. I think the Cabinet Secretarys due here in a few moments anyway. So shall we get on with the affairs of the nation?

Stuff the affairs of the nation, I replied. I want a cook.

Bernard promised that the matter would be looked into, and ushered in Malcolm Warren, the Number Ten press officer. Hes a big bluff Yorkshireman, a career civil servant but with a sense of the way things are done in the real world. He was appointed by my predecessor in Number Ten, but Ive kept him on because he has an iron grip on the lobby correspondents and the whole Whitehall public relations machine.

I asked him to be brief, as I was due to meet the Cabinet Secretary any moment.

Certainly, Prime Minister. Two things. First, and most important, we should discuss your first TV appearance as Prime Minister.

This is such a big and important subject that I asked him to postpone discussion of it for a day or two, until we have time to go into it thoroughly.

The other thing he wanted to discuss was my official Washington visit. Of course, thats much less important than my first TV appearance.

The one urgent point he wanted to raise was that an awful lot of press want to come with us to Washington. I think thats good. Malcolm was worried about the expense. But I explained to him that this would be a terribly important occasion. I shall be standing there, on the White House lawn, side by side with the President of the United States. There will be national anthems. Photographs of two world leaders together. He will tell the world about our happy relationship, our unity and resolve. Hell probably say a word or two about my own courage and wisdom and statesmanship. And it is essential that, if so, it is fully reported back here in Britain. This sort of publicity is vital to Britain. [Hacker meant that it was vital to him Ed.] Vital to our prestige. [His prestige Ed.] Our place in the world. [His place in the history books Ed.]

Malcolm readily agreed, especially when I told him that, as a matter of policy, I intended that we should have no secrets from the press about this countrys successes. I told him that we must be absolutely frank about my governments achievements. I want fearless honesty about every government triumph.

He understood. He raised the nit-picking point that, as I have only been in office for seven days, there arent all that many triumphs yet. Perfectly true. But there will be.

I also gave him an idea for a good press story: I told him that I had had to make my own lunch today. I asked him if he knew. It appeared that he hadnt been informed of this. So I told him all about it. How theres no cook or housekeeper for the flat upstairs, how Annie has her own job, we cant afford staff, and that it looked as though Id be washing the dishes and washing my socks.

He was a bit slow on the uptake. He couldnt see that there was a good press story in all this. I explained that he could do one along the lines of Jim Hackers not stuck up. He can identify with the problems of ordinary people. That sort of thing.

Malcolm wanted to think about it. We dont want you to seem too ordinary, Prime Minister, even though you are.

Did he mean that the way it sounded? I dont think so, because he continued: What I mean is, that sort of publicity can be counter-productive. You remember when Jimmy Carter was attacked by a rabbit?

I did vaguely remember. He looked a bit of a fool. Also there was that photo of him out jogging, looking as though he was on the point of total collapse. He probably thought it was a good idea to be photographed taking exercise -- but it made the voters think that he was not long for this world. Lost him a lot of support. Maybe Malcolms right to be cautious.

Malcolm amplified his point of view. Perhaps its better that we build you up a bit -- photos of you doing the washing might make you look a bit wet.

I sent him out and Bernard brought Humphrey in. I told him Id been thinking.

Good, he said encouragingly.

Ive been Prime Minister for a week now, I said.

And a very good Prime Minister you are too, if I may say so.

I was pleased. Its always nice to have the approval of ones colleagues, especially if they are as hard-bitten as Humphrey. I told him that I wasnt fishing for compliments. But it has been going well, and Im glad he recognised it.

However, we immediately uncovered our first mistake, or rather their first mistake, and a pretty serious mistake it is too. I remarked, casually, that its nice to be able to reward ones old allies. Was Ron Jones pleased about his peerage? I enquired.

Oh yes, said Bernard. He said his members would be delighted.

I couldnt think what Bernard meant. Members?

The Members of his Union. The National Federation of

I suddenly saw what had happened. I was livid. Not him! I yelled. I meant our backbencher. I wanted to offer the peerage to Ron Jones, not Ron Jones.

Ah, said Bernard. A rather inadequate response, I thought.

We all sat and stared at each other. There was no going back on it now. Bernard tried to make the best of it. If its any consolation to you, Prime Minister, I gather he was awfully pleased.

I bet he was! Pleased -- and amazed! I asked Humphrey what we could do about Ron Joness peerage -- could we give him one too? Humphrey thought not. With respect, Prime Minister, we cant send two Lord Ron Jones to the Upper House -- it'll look like a job lot.

But Ive promised him an honour of some sort. We scratched our heads for a bit. Then Humphrey had an idea. As Ron isnt remotely interested in television, hasnt even got a TV set, were going to make him a Governor of the BBC.

Then we passed on to important matters. I explained to Humphrey that we need a cook-housekeeper in the flat upstairs.

He suggested that I advertise. He was missing the point. I explained that we need a government cook-housekeeper.

Humphrey, as I expected after my talk with Bernard, was not entirely helpful. He said that it could be difficult to get a government cook-housekeeper as Number Ten is a private home which just happens to be in a government building.

I pointed out that I happen to live in it. And therefore -- surprise, surprise! -- happen to eat in it too. It is not unreasonable to want someone to cook my lunch.

No. but its not possible, said Humphrey categorically.

Ive never heard anything so ridiculous. Humphrey was asking me to accept that I have the power to blow up the world but not to ask for scrambled eggs. [It was not in dispute that Hacker had the power to ask for scrambled eggs Ed.]

I explored this nonsense a little further, taking it to its logical conclusion. Suppose I invited the German Ambassador to lunch? I asked.

That would be all right, reflected Humphrey. Official engagement. Government hospitality will gladly provide five courses, with three wines and brandy. No problem.

So what Humphrey was saying was that the German Ambassadors lunch is government business, but my lunch isnt. And not just the German Ambassadors, of course -- any ambassadors.

So, there and then I told Bernard to get the diary out. Then I ordered him to arrange for me to have lunch with the German Ambassador on Monday, with the French Ambassador on Tuesday, and on Wednesday the American Ambassador. Then, not forgetting the Commonwealth, on Thursday I would lunch with the New Zealand High Commissioner. Bernard, how many countries are there in the United Nations?

He knew the answer, of course. One hundred and fifty-eight.

Good, I beamed at Humphrey. Thatll keep me in lunches for about six months. Then well go round again.

Bernard was hurriedly leafing through the diary. Prime Minister, youre not free for lunches with ambassadors every day. Sometimes you will have other official lunches.

Good news, I replied. So much the better. We can just use ambassadors to fill up the blank spaces.

Humphrey was looking worried, and remarked that the Foreign and Commonwealth Office might have views on this matter. [This would undoubtedly have been the case. It has always been said that one Prime Ministers lunch with an ambassador destroys two years of patient diplomacy. The Foreign Office would have been unlikely to react favourably to such lunches Ed.]

I didnt much care what the Foreign Office would say. Its quite absurd that theres no one to cater for me and my family.

Humphrey couldnt see why. But then he wouldnt, would he? He gets his lunch in the Cabinet mess too. Prime Minister, its the way things have been done for two and a half centuries.

Is that the clinching argument? I demanded.

It has been for two and a half centuries.

Bernard, bless his heart, intervened in his usual pedantic and obsessive fashion. Uh with respect, Sir Humphrey, he began disrespectfully, It cant have been the clinching argument for two and a half centuries, because half a century ago it had only been the clinching argument for two centuries, and a century ago only for one and a half centuries, and one and a half Humphrey was staring malevolently at him and he ground to a halt. But Bernards logic was both as impeccable and irrelevant as always.

I stepped in hurriedly, to distract Humphrey and direct his wrath away from my loyal Private Secretary. Humphrey, I am not convinced. I want a cook and I want you to see that its paid for.

Humphrey was stony-faced. Stubbornly he turned to me. Then let me put it like this. How would you like the press to announce that your first act as Prime Minister was to give yourself an effective salary increase of eight to ten thousand pounds a year?

I hadnt thought of that. But I couldnt see why we should tell them. Nobody would ever know.

Humphrey read my thoughts. We must tell them, by the way. We have no alternative. The Prime Ministers salary and expenses have to be published.

Isnt there any way we can not refer to it? I asked hopefully.

Open Government, Prime Minister. Freedom of Information. We should always tell the press, freely and frankly, anything that they can easily find out some other way.

I simply do not believe that there is no way to solve this problem. But I had to let it drop for today. Humphreys position is that ever since Number Ten was first used as the PMs official residence, two hundred and fifty years ago, there has been no solution to this problem. And therefore, according to Civil Service reasoning, there never will be.

Humphrey changed the subject. Prime Minister, you said you had been thinking.

Yes, Humphrey, I replied. We have agreed that things have been going well ever since Ive been Prime Minister. So I have been asking myself: How do I ensure that this run of success continues?

Humphrey gazed at me hopefully. Have you considered masterly inactivity?

Ridiculous. But I was patient with him. No, Humphrey, a Prime Minister should be firm.

Indeed! he agreed. How about firm masterly inactivity?

I could afford to be nice -- after all, Im in the driving seat now. No, I smiled, but I shall be firm.

Good, said Sir Humphrey.

And decisive, I went on.

Absolutely, agreed Sir Humphrey.

And imaginative, I added provocatively.

Im not so sure about imaginative. I bet hes not!

And above all, I finished up, I must offer leadership.

Leadership. He was at his most encouraging. Leadership, above all.

And as Im the Prime Minister I have the power to do so, dont I?

Indeed, Prime Minister, you are the Prime Minister, and wherever you lead we shall obediently follow.

So I told him my new policy. My Grand Design. Ive decided to cancel Trident, spend the 15 billion on conventional forces and the ET, bringing in conscription, and thus solve our defence, balance of payments, education and unemployment problems at a stroke.

He gaped at me. I glanced at Bernard, who was watching his old boss with considerable interest.

I waited for Humphreys response. But answer came there none. Not at first, anyway. He seemed absolutely poleaxed. I gave him a few moments to pull himself together and then, as I was getting bored with waiting, I told him to say something.

I er where did this idea come from? Not a very flattering question. But I reminded him that Id been thinking.

You cant do that! he said with desperation.

At first I thought he was telling me that I cant think. Or mustnt think. But he went on to say that what I was proposing was completely revolutionary, an unprecedented innovation.

So the gloves were off! He meant that I could not pursue my policy. Well, in my opinion it is not up to him to say.

He clearly thinks it is. Prime Minister, you cant simply reorganise the entire defence of the realm, just like that!

My answer was simple. Im the Prime Minister. Besides, he had said he would follow me. He had agreed that I should be decisive. He had agreed that I should offer leadership. So what was he complaining about? [Presumably Sir Humphrey wanted Hacker to be decisive only if he took decisions of which Sir Humphrey approved. And leadership was only welcome if it went in the approved direction Ed.] Furthermore, I added, I have the power.

He didnt like that one bit. Yes -- but only within the law and the constitution and the constraints of administrative precedent, constitution and the constraints of administrative precedent, budgetary feasibility and Cabinet government. What about your Cabinet colleagues, what do they think?

I was obliged to admit that I hadnt told them yet. But I know theyll love it. Theyll love anything that cuts unemployment. Half of them would even welcome inflation on those grounds. And I know that the Cabinet will be only too happy to have an extra 15 billion of Trident cash available for other public spending. Anyway, Im the Prime Minister, what does it matter what they think?

I appoint the Cabinet, I said simply.

Humphrey smiled coldly. Im sure you dont want to disappoint them.

Very droll, as he used to say so patronisingly to me. I didnt laugh. I didnt say anything. I just waited for him to capitulate. Unfortunately he didnt say anything either.

Humphrey, youre very silent.

Youve given me a lot to be silent about.

You mean, you think we should keep Trident?

He could only answer that one way. It is not for me to say, Prime Minister. Quite right. Hes only a civil servant.

Fine, I agreed magnanimously, thats agreed then.

Humphrey couldnt let it go. But since you ask my opinion

I was enjoying myself. Go on then.

Yes, he said grimly, I do think we should keep it.

I told him I couldnt see the sense in it. Humphrey, groping for my reasoning, asked if I was therefore going to buy Cruise missiles instead.

I told him that I intended that the UK should buy no more nuclear weapons.

He blanched. But Prime Minister -- you're not a secret unilateralist, are you?

I explained that I was nothing of the sort, that we still have Polaris, and that I have no intention of getting rid of that.

He relaxed a little. At least (in his view) I was not a security risk, just a loony. He tried to tell me Polaris is not good enough, that its a ramshackle old system, whereas Trident is superb -- faster, more warheads, independently targeted. According to Humphrey, Trident is almost impossible to intercept whereas the Soviets might easily develop a multi-layered ballistic missile defence system that can intercept Polaris.

By when? I asked.

In strategic terms, any day now.

I can spot an evasive answer at fifty paces. [The more so since Hacker was himself a master of the evasive answer Ed.] I asked him by what year, precisely, this might happen.

Well 2020. I smiled. But thats sooner than you think, he added hastily.

And youre saying that such a missile defence system could intercept all 192 Polaris missiles?

Not all, no. But virtually all -- ninety-seven per cent.

I took out my pocket calculator and did a few quick sums. I looked up at him. That would still leave five Polaris bombs which could get through the defences.

Humphrey was triumphant. Precisely -- a mere five.

Enough, I reminded him gently, to obliterate Moscow, Leningrad and Minsk.

Yes, he sneered, but thats about all.

I wasnt sure I was understanding him correctly. I would have thought that thats enough to make the Russians stop and think.

Humphreys enthusiasm for Trident knows no bounds. But dont you see, Prime Minister -- with Trident we could obliterate the whole of Eastern Europe!

I dont want to obliterate the whole of Eastern Europe. I told him so. He nodded impatiently. He knew that. He thought I was missing the point. It has to be an effective deterrent, Prime Minster.

But its a bluff, I told him, I probably wouldnt use it.

They dont know that you probably wouldnt use it, he argued.

They probably do, I said.

He was forced to agree. Yes they probably know that you probably wouldnt. But they cant certainly know.

Hes right about that. But they dont have to certainly know. They probably certainly know that I probably wouldnt, I said.

Yes, he agreed, but even though they probably certainly know that you probably wouldnt, they dont certainly know that although you probably wouldnt, there is no probability that you certainly would.

Bernard was taking careful minutes. Its lucky he does shorthand and was able to reconstruct this conversation for me in writing by the end of the day.

But Humphrey could see that he was making no headway with his deterrent argument. So he made one attempt to persuade me to keep Trident, this time by flattering me and playing on my vanity. I cant imagine why he thought that would have any effect!

Look, Prime Minister, it all boils down to one simple issue. You are Prime Minister, Prime Minister of Great Britain. Dont you believe that Britain should have the best?

Of course.

Very well. He took that as a cue to rhapsodise. If you walked into a nuclear-missile showroom you would buy Trident -- it's lovely, its elegant, its beautiful, it is -- quite simply -- the best. And Britain should have the best. In the world of the nuclear missile it is the Savile Row suit, the Rolls-Royce Corniche, the Chteau Lafite 1945. It is the nuclear missile Harrods would sell you! What more can I say?

Only, I replied calmly, that it costs 15 billion and we dont need it.

Humphrey shook his head sadly. In his view I had completely missed the point. You could say that about anything at Harrods, he replied reasonably.

January 30th

Tonight we had a reception at Number Ten. Six-thirty to eight. My first party since I became Prime Minister, though many of the guests were hangovers from the previous regime. [And a few had hangovers from the previous regime Ed.] As we were members of the same party, it didnt matter much.

I wasnt looking forward to it much, after a long and trying day. But, as so often happens, something truly unexpected emerged from a chance conversation. Among the guests was General Howard, who had showed me over the MOD a week or so ago. I buttonholed him. I told him that I had to sound him out on something, and that he was not going to like it.

Tell me the worst, Prime Minister, he said stiffly.

So I did. I said that even though it would doubtless come as a severe blow to the services and would be most unpopular, I intended to cancel Trident.

He muttered something that I only half heard. Now hold on, I said, dont jump on it too quickly, its no use arguing, I And I stopped. I realised what Id half heard. What did you say? I asked, in case I was fantasizing.

Good idea. Terse and to the point, as always. I wasnt sure I understood him correctly.

You mean, youre in favour? Of cancelling Trident?

Of course.

For the second time in just over a week, all my preconceptions about defence were stood on their head.

I stood there, gazing up at this imposing, sandy-haired, beetle-browed, six-foot four giant. Why are you in favour?

We dont need it, he replied briefly. Its a complete waste of money. Totally unnecessary.

I could hardly believe my ears. The most senior army officer in the country agrees with me that Trident is a complete waste of money. I told him that I hoped to keep Polaris, keep the American bases, and strengthen our conventional forces.

Youre right.

I wondered if he were a tame eccentric. Does the whole Defence Staff agree?

He shook his head. No. The Navy want to keep it. Its launched from their submarines. Take away Trident and theyve hardly got a role left.

So theyll resist it?

Yes, but the Navy resist everything. They nearly lost us World War I by resisting convoys.

And the RAF? I asked.

Well, he replied dismissively, you can ask them. If youre interested in the opinions of garage mechanics. But Im afraid theyd want Trident. Only they want it in the form of a missile launched from the air, like an Exocet.

Suddenly it was all making sense to me. Why had I ever thought the Services would have a joint view on the matter?

General Howard continued to explain the RAF mentality as he sees it. They want the Bomb to be carried around in an aeroplane, you see. All theyre really interested in is flying around dropping things on people. Not that theyre any good at it -- I mean, they couldnt even close the runway at Port Stanley. Theyd probably never even find Moscow. If they did, theyd probably miss.

The problem is clear. How do I get the policy past the MOD if only the army is in favour of it? I put this to the General and he had a ready-made solution. The Chief of Defence Staff job is shortly becoming vacant. Technically its the Navys turn. But its your decision. If you appoint a soldier

Delicately, he let his sentence remain unfinished. I already know that he is the most senior soldier. So if I appoint him, Ill have the Chief of Defence Staff on my side. I dont know whether thatll be enough, or how the Navy will respond if I overlook their man, but its obviously something I have to consider in due course.

[Sir Humphrey Appleby also had a few words with General Howard at the reception at 10 Downing Street that evening. And their conversation, unlike General Howards conversation with the Prime Minister, apparently changed the course of events. Sir Humphreys recollections of that conversation are to be found in his private papers Ed.]

The General seemed unusually relaxed after a short talk with the Prime Minister, which I had been observing. When in due course I spoke to him, he remarked that he was pleased to have come across a Prime Minister with a bit of sense.

I asked which country was so blessed with such a leader. I knew, of course, that he was referring to Hacker, and my guess was that Hacker had not put him fully in the picture.

I was right, of course. The PM had spoken to General Howard about cancelling Trident, but not about reintroducing conscription. When I mentioned all the details the General was horrified, as I knew he would be.

Hacker wants conscription because it helps unemployment and therefore wins votes. The army does not want conscription, and has never wanted it. They are very proud of their lite, professional army. It is tough, disciplined, possibly the best in the world. The Chiefs of Staff do not want a conscripted mob of punks, freaks, junkies and riff-raff, a quarter of a million hooligans on its hands with nothing to do except peel potatoes at Aldershot. The generals are afraid that this would turn it into an ordinary army. [Like the one that won World Wars I and II Ed.]

They are also worried about the new equal-opportunity legislation. In America it is well known that the NATO commanders dont know if the troops being posted to them are men or women. Not until they arrive. Sometimes not even then.

In view of the potential conscription General Howard felt that it would be better to keep Trident, with all its faults. He urged me to find some method of stopping the Prime Minister from pursuing this unfortunate policy. I explained that, unfortunately, Prime Ministers cannot be stopped. But they can be slowed down. In fact, they almost invariably are -- after a few months most Prime Ministers have more or less ground to a halt.

My idea is to have a quiet word with the American Ambassador. General Howard approved.

[Hackers diary continues Ed.]

January 31st

Today there was good news and bad news. The bad news came first.

In my morning meeting with Humphrey, Bernard and Malcolm we went over the final preparations for my American visit. Malcolm is to make sure that the BBC News and ITN get really good positions on the White House lawn, so that they can get a close two-shot of me and the President.

Ive also told him to ensure that there are good photo opportunities inside the White House as well. Shots of me and the President alone together.

Ive given him a list of all the photo ideas that Ive had: coverage of the start of the talks on the second day, coverage of the President saying goodbye to me, hopefully grasping my elbow with his left hand, the way he did with the West German Chancellor, it looked frightfully chummy.

I wanted him to arrange all of this with our Embassy, but Malcolm felt that it could be difficult. I must say, I dont know what we have all these Embassies for. Any time we need anything important for Britain [i.e. for Hacker Ed.] they always make trouble.

Its not that Im concerned with political advantage or vote winning, or anything like that. Its good for Britain to be seen by the rest of the world as an equal partner of the United States, thats all.

Humphrey was unwilling to discuss the publicity aspects any further. I wondered why. Instead, he showed me the Cabinet agenda.

You didnt need to be Hercule Poirot to see that the agenda had been tampered with. The discussion of the cancellation of Trident was conspicuous by its absence. I questioned Humphrey about this -- after all, as Cabinet Secretary its his job to draw it up.

We were indeed going to discuss Trident, Prime Minister, but I thought perhaps it might be wiser to leave it a little longer. Go into it thoroughly, closer scrutiny, think through the implications, produce some papers, have some inter-departmental discussions, make contingency plans. We are discussing the defence of the realm.

I cant believe that he still thinks these old devices will fool me. I challenged him, and he protested innocence. No, indeed, Prime Minister, but the Cabinet must have all the facts.

I grinned. Thats a novel idea.

He was not amused. Important decisions take time, Prime Minister.

I could see immediately what he was playing at: delaying tactics, the oldest trick in the book. The longer you leave things, the harder it is to get them off the ground.

But then came the bad news. It was a real bombshell. Apparently Humphrey has learned from the American Ambassador -- informally -- that the Americans would be very unhappy if we cancelled Trident unless we ordered another of their nuclear missiles instead.

At first I was defiant about it. After all, I have to think of whats best for Britain. But it seems they claim to have two reasons for their disquiet: the first is that they feel they need our partnership and do not want to carry the nuclear burden alone. This is perfectly reasonable, but as we would still have Polaris they wouldnt be doing so. So the second reason is the real one: the little matter of losing billions of dollars of business and tens of thousands of jobs in the American aerospace industry.

The question is what -- if anything -- I can do about this American opposition to my Grand Design. I told Humphrey that I have no intention of changing my policy. The Americans will have to learn to live with it.

As you wish, Prime Minister, he said, but I thought if we kept your Trident proposal secret until after your American visit, it might save some embarrassment.

I replied sharply that I didnt agree. If there has to be some rough talking, I might has well have it out with the American President when we meet.

He shook his head sadly. Ah, well, thats the point. As you know, the agenda of your meeting must be agreed in advance. You cant just go all the way there for a chat.

Why not?

Well you might not think of anything to say. And, if your Trident proposal were put to the Americans in advance, I understand there would be a slight change of plan.

What change of plan?

You would not be met by the President. You would be entertained by the Vice-President.

I was thunderstruck. The Vice-President? I could hardly believe my ears. I thought he wasnt serious. But he was!

Its absurd. Its ludicrous. Its a total insult. Even Botswana was met by the President. [Botswana had not just cancelled an order for Trident Ed.]

Humphrey tried to put it as nicely as he could. Im sure theyd do it gracefully, Prime Minister. Hed have a diplomatic toothache, like Krushchevs. Or theyd explain that the President had catarrh, or bruised his thumb or something. Fallen asleep, perhaps.

Humphrey knew as well as I that the whole point of the visit to the States was the PR value of being seen meeting the President. I asked him what choices we had. He advised me that in practice I have no choice at all. And that if I want to be entertained by the President I must leave Trident off the agenda.

This is a terrible blow. I have to raise it with the United States sometime. When better than while Im there? But what must be, must be.

There remained the question of whether or not I should raise the Trident question in Cabinet. Humphrey advised me to leave it until my return, in case the discussion leaked to the US Ambassador. He could be right. Clearly someone has been leaking to him already on this subject. I wonder who.

Anyway, Humphrey, I said miserably, a new Prime Minister must show that he has arrived, show that theres a new mind and a firm hand in Number Ten. I must make my mark.

And then Humphrey revealed the good news. It seems that I have accomplished something that none of my predecessors ever accomplished. A cook, no less! Seconded from the Cabinet Office canteen, to do our lunch in the flat when required. Except for weekends and bank holidays, of course.

This was gratifying. A place in the history books. I think that this shows that I have started the way I mean to go on. I am in charge, and the Civil Service can clearly see that there is a new mind and a firm hand in Number Ten.

I told Humphrey that, as far as Tridents concerned, I am not changing my policy and I am not changing my mind. In due course I shall lose it. [Hacker presumably meant that he would lose Trident, not his mind Ed.] But in the meantime I see no harm in postponing the Trident discussion till I return from America, and I gave Humphrey my firm decision to leave Trident off the agenda for tomorrow.

He took it like a lamb. Yes Prime Minister, he replied deferentially.