achievements. According to Norman Fowler, ‘it’s going to be a low-key birthday’; we’re producing a four-page pamphlet simply called
A Year’s Work
(mostly about the Citizen’s Charter I imagine!); Tony Newton (a lovely man but a mortician on the box) will be fielded if there are requests for a Cabinet minister, otherwise we’re ‘leaving it to David Amess’. I love David and, yes, it was Basildon that showed the world we’d turned the tide, but, but, but – we can’t
seriously
be putting him forward as the Voice of the Conservatives One Year On, can we?
The 150th Grand National turned into a farce, with two false starts and the race declared void. Can’t Mr Major get anything right?
(Yes – he can! Gin 274 has just called to congratulate me on
Question Time
. And she also heard bits of the PM’s big speech on Friday. ‘Daub, 275 Mr Major used several of your phrases. Did you give them to him or was he watching you on Thursday? Isn’t it wonderful he’s using your lines? You must be so proud.’ I’m ashamed to say I didn’t disabuse her.)
GOOD FRIDAY, 9 APRIL 1993
A deeply unpleasant thirty-six hours. I am writing this in our bedroom, at the back of the house. We’re being staked out by the
Sunday Express
. There’s a reporter and a photographer parked outside. They’ve been there for several hours. We’re not answering the door or the telephone. Until they go, we’re staying put. To see if they’re still there, every hour or so I crawl across the spare bedroom floor and peek out of the bottom of the window. It’s quite funny really.
Early on Wednesday evening I got a call at Westminster from an
Express
reporter. He said he wanted to talk to me about my interest in small businesses following my remarks last week on
Question Time
. Since I had absolutely no recollection of discussing any aspect of small businesses on
Question Time
, I knew at once something was up. I told the reporter I was just going to a meeting and suggested he call back at a more convenient time.
When I got home Michèle told me that the reporter had been on to our accountants enquiring about Complete Editions and the state of the business. Naturally theaccountants told them they never commented on clients’ affairs. Yesterday morning I was driven to Birmingham and back – a ludicrous five hours in the car to contribute five minutes to Anne and Nick’s show on the death of Alfred Butts, inventor of Scrabble. (Anne’s husband is the producer and I went having
squeezed
a fee of £200 out of him.) 276 While I was away the
Express
telephoned again. In the early evening I went over to Sky TV for another Scrabble interview and while I was out the reporter turned up at the house. He told Michèle there were ‘allegations’ about Complete Editions and ‘facts’ he wanted to check.
By the time I got back he’d gone. I telephoned Derek Sloane at Allen & Overy and, on his advice, we prepared a note to give to the reporter in the event that he turned up again: ‘I have spoken to Gyles who I am sure you would not expect to respond to anonymous allegations … Our accountants are … Our solicitors are…’
This morning, first thing, the reporter rang the doorbell. Michèle opened the door and the reporter immediately placed his foot inside the door. He was holding a tape recorder. Michèle gave him the note, bent down, picked up his leg and forcibly moved his foot outside the door. She closed the door and double locked it. And here we are, holed up inside. And there they are, camped on our doorstep.
Why are we handling it this way? Mr Mellor would be marshalling his family for a photocall at the garden gate. Mary Archer would be serving them mugs of piping hot coffee and digestive biscuits. We are lying low,
hiding
in our own home. Why? Because this story hasn’t got legs, it won’t stand up. Complete Editions is in good shape and, now Michèle is running it, doing better than ever. (Michèle’s business philosophy:
A Year’s Work
(mostly about the Citizen’s Charter I imagine!); Tony Newton (a lovely man but a mortician on the box) will be fielded if there are requests for a Cabinet minister, otherwise we’re ‘leaving it to David Amess’. I love David and, yes, it was Basildon that showed the world we’d turned the tide, but, but, but – we can’t
seriously
be putting him forward as the Voice of the Conservatives One Year On, can we?
The 150th Grand National turned into a farce, with two false starts and the race declared void. Can’t Mr Major get anything right?
(Yes – he can! Gin 274 has just called to congratulate me on
Question Time
. And she also heard bits of the PM’s big speech on Friday. ‘Daub, 275 Mr Major used several of your phrases. Did you give them to him or was he watching you on Thursday? Isn’t it wonderful he’s using your lines? You must be so proud.’ I’m ashamed to say I didn’t disabuse her.)
GOOD FRIDAY, 9 APRIL 1993
A deeply unpleasant thirty-six hours. I am writing this in our bedroom, at the back of the house. We’re being staked out by the
Sunday Express
. There’s a reporter and a photographer parked outside. They’ve been there for several hours. We’re not answering the door or the telephone. Until they go, we’re staying put. To see if they’re still there, every hour or so I crawl across the spare bedroom floor and peek out of the bottom of the window. It’s quite funny really.
Early on Wednesday evening I got a call at Westminster from an
Express
reporter. He said he wanted to talk to me about my interest in small businesses following my remarks last week on
Question Time
. Since I had absolutely no recollection of discussing any aspect of small businesses on
Question Time
, I knew at once something was up. I told the reporter I was just going to a meeting and suggested he call back at a more convenient time.
When I got home Michèle told me that the reporter had been on to our accountants enquiring about Complete Editions and the state of the business. Naturally theaccountants told them they never commented on clients’ affairs. Yesterday morning I was driven to Birmingham and back – a ludicrous five hours in the car to contribute five minutes to Anne and Nick’s show on the death of Alfred Butts, inventor of Scrabble. (Anne’s husband is the producer and I went having
squeezed
a fee of £200 out of him.) 276 While I was away the
Express
telephoned again. In the early evening I went over to Sky TV for another Scrabble interview and while I was out the reporter turned up at the house. He told Michèle there were ‘allegations’ about Complete Editions and ‘facts’ he wanted to check.
By the time I got back he’d gone. I telephoned Derek Sloane at Allen & Overy and, on his advice, we prepared a note to give to the reporter in the event that he turned up again: ‘I have spoken to Gyles who I am sure you would not expect to respond to anonymous allegations … Our accountants are … Our solicitors are…’
This morning, first thing, the reporter rang the doorbell. Michèle opened the door and the reporter immediately placed his foot inside the door. He was holding a tape recorder. Michèle gave him the note, bent down, picked up his leg and forcibly moved his foot outside the door. She closed the door and double locked it. And here we are, holed up inside. And there they are, camped on our doorstep.
Why are we handling it this way? Mr Mellor would be marshalling his family for a photocall at the garden gate. Mary Archer would be serving them mugs of piping hot coffee and digestive biscuits. We are lying low,
hiding
in our own home. Why? Because this story hasn’t got legs, it won’t stand up. Complete Editions is in good shape and, now Michèle is running it, doing better than ever. (Michèle’s business philosophy:
Similar Books
