for cross-party support again and got some nice notes in my pigeon-hole later. But really, was there any point to it at all?
THURSDAY 25 MARCH 1993
Gerald’s committee have produced their report. It’s a compromise, but none the worse for that. They want a press ombudsman, empowered to impose fines, demand corrections etc.; a complaints hotline; a protection of privacy bill; and a ‘privacy zone’ to safeguard people like my war widows or the parents of my ‘mercenary’.
Lunch with Tim Sainsbury 272 who is languid, owlish and amusing. He reveals that Heseltine’s package to help the pits is going to cost £500 million. ‘These rebellious backbenchers are very expensive people to keep happy.’ I’ve gone to tell him what the business people of Chester are looking for from the DTI, but there’s clearly not much point. I think Tim feels they’ve got all they can expect from government: ‘Low inflation, deregulation, a flexible labour market – what more do they want?’
Later, on my way through the members’ cloakroom, DD of the SS stops me. ‘A word in your ear.’ We huddle in a corner by the shoe-shine machine. ‘There’s something going round about you having financial difficulties.’
‘What, me?’
‘Yup. Business in trouble, that sort of thing. Anything in it?’
I am completely nonplussed. I can feel the blood draining away. ‘No, no, of course not.’
‘Just thought I’d mention it. It’s only a rumour. It’s going round the secretaries’ network. You know what they’re like, jabbering women. Not to worry.’ And he was off. And I’m now left, utterly thrown, wondering what on earth it’s all about.
THURSDAY 1 APRIL 1993
There’s a scratchy atmosphere in the Tea Room. When they’re not grumbling about the Chancellor and VAT on fuel, they’re muttering about John Patten’s 273 classroom tests. They like the principle of testing; they don’t like the high-handed Patten manner. Rightly or wrongly, when the PM walks in, the grumbling stops. I think there’s a feeling the poor man needs a break. Let him eat his toasted teacake in peace.
I congratulated him on Questions. ‘Yes, John Smith was a bit all over the place.’ He patted the back of my hand. ‘How’s Chester?’
‘Fine, thank you. I’m doing
Question Time
tonight.’
He brightened. ‘Good, good. What do you think will come up? The train strike, I hope. Now this is what you need to say…’
He put it beautifully. I’ve noted it. I’ll get it in. I’m well briefed, but ridiculously nervous all the same. Rachel [Whetstone] came over from Central Office and ran me through the questions she expects will come up. She says I can rely on her predictions: she always gets at least five out of seven right.
LATER
She got seven out of seven right. I think I did okay. No obvious gaffes. I played it straight down the line. It was nothing special, but I was perfectly happy with it, until the producer came up afterwards and said, ‘You were very
reasonable
.’ Clearly, they wanted me to be ridiculous – or outrageous. I toed the government line, I didn’t produce any fireworks and I don’t think I’ll be asked again. (I think I also blotted my copybook by asking one of the production team what sort of rate David Dimbleby is on. I had to sign a piece of paper accepting a fee of £50. That’s their standard apparently. I said, ‘It’s monstrous, you get four guests on the show for a total of £200. This is BBC1 prime time. We should be paid properly. What’s Mr Dimbleby on – a thousand, two thousand? Look, I’ll do it for a quarter of whatever he’s getting.’ They were not amused. They take themselves – and Mr Dimbleby –
very
seriously.)
PALM SUNDAY, 4 APRIL 1993
No loud hosannas for the government as we approach our first anniversary. The Sunday papers can’t recall another administration that has become so mired so quickly. Apparently, we won’t be fielding senior ministers to talk up our year’s
THURSDAY 25 MARCH 1993
Gerald’s committee have produced their report. It’s a compromise, but none the worse for that. They want a press ombudsman, empowered to impose fines, demand corrections etc.; a complaints hotline; a protection of privacy bill; and a ‘privacy zone’ to safeguard people like my war widows or the parents of my ‘mercenary’.
Lunch with Tim Sainsbury 272 who is languid, owlish and amusing. He reveals that Heseltine’s package to help the pits is going to cost £500 million. ‘These rebellious backbenchers are very expensive people to keep happy.’ I’ve gone to tell him what the business people of Chester are looking for from the DTI, but there’s clearly not much point. I think Tim feels they’ve got all they can expect from government: ‘Low inflation, deregulation, a flexible labour market – what more do they want?’
Later, on my way through the members’ cloakroom, DD of the SS stops me. ‘A word in your ear.’ We huddle in a corner by the shoe-shine machine. ‘There’s something going round about you having financial difficulties.’
‘What, me?’
‘Yup. Business in trouble, that sort of thing. Anything in it?’
I am completely nonplussed. I can feel the blood draining away. ‘No, no, of course not.’
‘Just thought I’d mention it. It’s only a rumour. It’s going round the secretaries’ network. You know what they’re like, jabbering women. Not to worry.’ And he was off. And I’m now left, utterly thrown, wondering what on earth it’s all about.
THURSDAY 1 APRIL 1993
There’s a scratchy atmosphere in the Tea Room. When they’re not grumbling about the Chancellor and VAT on fuel, they’re muttering about John Patten’s 273 classroom tests. They like the principle of testing; they don’t like the high-handed Patten manner. Rightly or wrongly, when the PM walks in, the grumbling stops. I think there’s a feeling the poor man needs a break. Let him eat his toasted teacake in peace.
I congratulated him on Questions. ‘Yes, John Smith was a bit all over the place.’ He patted the back of my hand. ‘How’s Chester?’
‘Fine, thank you. I’m doing
Question Time
tonight.’
He brightened. ‘Good, good. What do you think will come up? The train strike, I hope. Now this is what you need to say…’
He put it beautifully. I’ve noted it. I’ll get it in. I’m well briefed, but ridiculously nervous all the same. Rachel [Whetstone] came over from Central Office and ran me through the questions she expects will come up. She says I can rely on her predictions: she always gets at least five out of seven right.
LATER
She got seven out of seven right. I think I did okay. No obvious gaffes. I played it straight down the line. It was nothing special, but I was perfectly happy with it, until the producer came up afterwards and said, ‘You were very
reasonable
.’ Clearly, they wanted me to be ridiculous – or outrageous. I toed the government line, I didn’t produce any fireworks and I don’t think I’ll be asked again. (I think I also blotted my copybook by asking one of the production team what sort of rate David Dimbleby is on. I had to sign a piece of paper accepting a fee of £50. That’s their standard apparently. I said, ‘It’s monstrous, you get four guests on the show for a total of £200. This is BBC1 prime time. We should be paid properly. What’s Mr Dimbleby on – a thousand, two thousand? Look, I’ll do it for a quarter of whatever he’s getting.’ They were not amused. They take themselves – and Mr Dimbleby –
very
seriously.)
PALM SUNDAY, 4 APRIL 1993
No loud hosannas for the government as we approach our first anniversary. The Sunday papers can’t recall another administration that has become so mired so quickly. Apparently, we won’t be fielding senior ministers to talk up our year’s
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