Court Jester
In ‘White Wine in Paper Cups’ describing the aftermath of a Bruce Springsteen concert we left the Leader of the Labour Party, announcing that he was a failure. We were in a pub. Neil had joined us after the concert. At what must have been Wimbledon time, we had just come from what may have been the most glamorous afternoon of my life, seated, in the Royal Box, next to Chris Evert and Boris Becker (who had the odd habit of standing up when others sat down and vice versa, and was more strawberry blond rather than ginger). Chris Evert had asked me during Springsteen encores how long the concert was going to go on and I had said, disguising my awe – at her and her boyfriend from Planet Hunk (a skier), my unlikely neighbours for the afternoon - ‘I think for some time.’ It had been all winners that late June day, including the dark headed German, whose name I forget, who won Wimbledon just the once. Neil’s ‘failure’ outburst in the pub seemed to need a response, though why from me, I can’t now say – toadying? - and for the only time I remember in among ‘ordinary conversation’ I made what amounted to a speech in reply which firmly pointed out his strengths. Later, one of his aides who was present and was more used to this kind of self-flagellation (Neil’s that is) told me that this was a loyalty test and I had passed. As I had known Neil for a decade it was all a bit odd, but perhaps throws a sidelight on the insecurity of Leaders in private life.
Let’s elaborate on those strengths (and some of the weaknesses). In the early days of his Leadership I had been on holiday with them to Corfu, where on the last night, he had invited all and sundry who had made the stay so enjoyable to a party, which needed a lot of preparation on his part. The guests included the young lad who ran the drinks stall on the beach we used, who arrived with his mother, about as awed as me with the gods of Wimbledon. Neil is gracious, generous, kind. I once ricked my ankle jogging on the beach in Anglesey where we spent one Easter and he tended me with bandages and the well-chosen remark, ‘Well, it was a sporting injury,’ when I was feeling particularly stupid at being a drag on the rest of the party. On that same break, where he had just acquired a new car – at £27k I seem to remember – he took me out for a spin. Glenys warned me about his trick with what were heated front seats and as my bottom warmed up, I said, ‘Do you want to turn the controls off?’ He liked practical jokes, and the night he was elected Leader in Brighton, wore a revolving (did it also illuminate?) bow tie to the party at the Grand. Some guests were too impressed to be in his company to notice. Back with cars, he always drove too fast – a weakness, though maybe congenital if you aspire to run a major political party – and once on the M11 when I warned him he was speeding (did he want to be pulled in?) he said, ‘Oh, people keep an eye on me,’ which brought to mind plain clothes firearm officers on motorway bridges. He never elaborated, though I noticed once when he had Salmon Rushdie (under the Fatwah) for a meal I was asked - without knowing who the main guest was - to give my car registration number and to arrive at the dinner early. The Kinnocks lived then on a corner in Ealing, and I looked round in vain for the unmarked police car. When we were all seated, there was what sounded like an invasion and Rushdie arrived, with about half a dozen security guards, who, of course, needed feeding as well, Downton fashion, in the kitchen... Which reminds me, we had had two minders in Greece. Seated at one of those big outdoor tables for lunch, pleasantly brown by then, I had my tee shirt off, next to one of these muscle bound heavies. Glenys said, looking at me and the minders, ‘Oh, it’s like those Charles Atlas adverts. Before and after.’ Neil rolled his eyes. ‘You see what I have to put up with all the time,’ he said.
£27k cars with Cosworth engines, and high end Greek holidays aside, they were/are a cheerfully ordinary couple. He cleaned his brogues every night. She ironed his shirts. He watered the geraniums in their little garden. The kids went to the local comprehensive. They were conservative in their attitudes. He once said to me, wisely: ‘You’re too fond of the by-ways of life.’ It wasn’t difficult, therefore, to present himself to the Electorate (as someone once put it) as a sort of rugger playing bank manager, albeit one crossing the country in a helicopter (the ’92 Election) – brisk, vigorous, purposeful. But it was a poor approximation of the much more turbulent and interesting real man. What was most lacking in his later Leader’s persona was the humour. He was – seriously - funny, but felt he couldn’t show that in public, whom – he felt - might not take him seriously. When the Election was over, defeated, he hosted a Radio 2 show, and appeared on ‘Have I Got News For You.’ The snob in me disapproved of this and told Glenys so. She said, ‘He has to do these things. He’d go mad otherwise. It’s been bottled up for years.’ People accused him of a lack of self-control as Leader. I’d argue he should have let rip. But he was ahead in the polls for several years in the run up to ’92 as that dark suited ‘reassuring’ (bit boring) bank manager. The PR strategy seemed to be working. But I expect he would have been destroyed by the Press one way or another. No win.
He was Welsh. He was left wing, though tacked right. A grammar school boy – a background we had in common, and – both of us - the single child of parents who died young, he once said to me he admired my ‘aplomb.’ I had to look it up. What he meant, I think, was I had gone to Cambridge, had a certain ease, adaptability which he lacked. He never understood Tories. He was puzzled when I said I read John Buchan or Harold Macmillan’s magnificent War Diaries: ‘What are you reading those for?’ It was a weakness that Anthony Charles Lynton Blair made up for, later, in spades. And, at his best, he was a great orator: ‘The first Kinnock for a thousand generations …’ The ‘Be Afraid’ speech. And that attack on Miltant at the 1985 Conference: ‘the grotesque spectacle of a Labour council… A Labour council…’ . I asked Glenys if he had it planned. She said he had an idea something was ‘going to happen.’ He never (in the early days, at least) made the same speech twice, disapproved of Hattersley for this. And had a wickedly endearing fly-swatting method of dismissing political ‘friends’ and rivals. I’d say, ‘But you like so and so, don’t you?’ Yes, but he suffers from terrible piles.’ Or, ‘Oh, we get on, but he’s got breath as bad as De Gaulle’s.’ (Where he got the detail about De Gaulle’s breath from – Macmillan doesn’t mention it - I don’t know).
My ‘use’ to him – if we apply utilitarian motives to friendships – was as court jester. After that early Greek holiday, Glenys said, ‘We didn’t realise you could be so funny.’ I don’t think she meant my pigeon chest. I wasn’t a journalist, didn’t leak, was gay but ‘safe,’ available for Sunday lunch (‘He’s in a terrible mood. Do you want to come round?’) and we got as close as two opposites probably could. He knew I near worshipped his wife (he did too), and she liked me and approved of me – which helped. Later, in the early Nineties, with Alastair Campbell around (a more natural soul mate for him) and his brother-in-law coming to live in London, I wasn’t so intimate. I remember Mandelson looking round at a New Year party, which the previous year had included some of my gay friends, saying, ‘No pretty boys this year, Stephen.’ It was the December of ’91, before the Election, and the guest list was deliberately limited: no hostages to fortune. Things were getting serious and Neil was less fun. Near ten years is a long time to be Leader in waiting, and the strain was beginning to show. I also wanted some distance. I was a writer and I was scared my independence would be compromised with invitations to Downing Street and Chequers. Well, fat chance. Instead of Chequers, the Christmas after the Election found me in Camden, in the rain, lost, on my way to a journalist friend’s Christmas lunch. I asked some teenage girls the way to Marquis Square, my venue. ‘Find your own fucking way,’ was the response.
We’ve seen one another in the years since – in Brussels and London, particularly at anniversaries. At my sixtieth, in a restaurant in Hoxton, I asked Glenys about Helle, her Danish daughter in law: ‘Oh, she’ll be Prime Minister before long,’ she said. You don’t often have conversations like that and I’m pleased and amused I once had them. I was the observer – I have a collage prepared and framed as a present by Glenys of me at a Greek feast standing by a pillar watching the rest of the party, slightly separate, watchful. There are seven shots from different angles and Glenys titled it: ‘The Seven Pillars of Wisdom.’ He’s right in the middle of jollities, the participant. I’ve not used the word ‘brave’ in this summary – but that’s what he was. Occasionally foolhardy – but brave to take on that Party and so nearly succeed. But I expect, in his own mind, he’s a ‘failure’ - as he once said.
22/8/2015
Let’s elaborate on those strengths (and some of the weaknesses). In the early days of his Leadership I had been on holiday with them to Corfu, where on the last night, he had invited all and sundry who had made the stay so enjoyable to a party, which needed a lot of preparation on his part. The guests included the young lad who ran the drinks stall on the beach we used, who arrived with his mother, about as awed as me with the gods of Wimbledon. Neil is gracious, generous, kind. I once ricked my ankle jogging on the beach in Anglesey where we spent one Easter and he tended me with bandages and the well-chosen remark, ‘Well, it was a sporting injury,’ when I was feeling particularly stupid at being a drag on the rest of the party. On that same break, where he had just acquired a new car – at £27k I seem to remember – he took me out for a spin. Glenys warned me about his trick with what were heated front seats and as my bottom warmed up, I said, ‘Do you want to turn the controls off?’ He liked practical jokes, and the night he was elected Leader in Brighton, wore a revolving (did it also illuminate?) bow tie to the party at the Grand. Some guests were too impressed to be in his company to notice. Back with cars, he always drove too fast – a weakness, though maybe congenital if you aspire to run a major political party – and once on the M11 when I warned him he was speeding (did he want to be pulled in?) he said, ‘Oh, people keep an eye on me,’ which brought to mind plain clothes firearm officers on motorway bridges. He never elaborated, though I noticed once when he had Salmon Rushdie (under the Fatwah) for a meal I was asked - without knowing who the main guest was - to give my car registration number and to arrive at the dinner early. The Kinnocks lived then on a corner in Ealing, and I looked round in vain for the unmarked police car. When we were all seated, there was what sounded like an invasion and Rushdie arrived, with about half a dozen security guards, who, of course, needed feeding as well, Downton fashion, in the kitchen... Which reminds me, we had had two minders in Greece. Seated at one of those big outdoor tables for lunch, pleasantly brown by then, I had my tee shirt off, next to one of these muscle bound heavies. Glenys said, looking at me and the minders, ‘Oh, it’s like those Charles Atlas adverts. Before and after.’ Neil rolled his eyes. ‘You see what I have to put up with all the time,’ he said.
£27k cars with Cosworth engines, and high end Greek holidays aside, they were/are a cheerfully ordinary couple. He cleaned his brogues every night. She ironed his shirts. He watered the geraniums in their little garden. The kids went to the local comprehensive. They were conservative in their attitudes. He once said to me, wisely: ‘You’re too fond of the by-ways of life.’ It wasn’t difficult, therefore, to present himself to the Electorate (as someone once put it) as a sort of rugger playing bank manager, albeit one crossing the country in a helicopter (the ’92 Election) – brisk, vigorous, purposeful. But it was a poor approximation of the much more turbulent and interesting real man. What was most lacking in his later Leader’s persona was the humour. He was – seriously - funny, but felt he couldn’t show that in public, whom – he felt - might not take him seriously. When the Election was over, defeated, he hosted a Radio 2 show, and appeared on ‘Have I Got News For You.’ The snob in me disapproved of this and told Glenys so. She said, ‘He has to do these things. He’d go mad otherwise. It’s been bottled up for years.’ People accused him of a lack of self-control as Leader. I’d argue he should have let rip. But he was ahead in the polls for several years in the run up to ’92 as that dark suited ‘reassuring’ (bit boring) bank manager. The PR strategy seemed to be working. But I expect he would have been destroyed by the Press one way or another. No win.
He was Welsh. He was left wing, though tacked right. A grammar school boy – a background we had in common, and – both of us - the single child of parents who died young, he once said to me he admired my ‘aplomb.’ I had to look it up. What he meant, I think, was I had gone to Cambridge, had a certain ease, adaptability which he lacked. He never understood Tories. He was puzzled when I said I read John Buchan or Harold Macmillan’s magnificent War Diaries: ‘What are you reading those for?’ It was a weakness that Anthony Charles Lynton Blair made up for, later, in spades. And, at his best, he was a great orator: ‘The first Kinnock for a thousand generations …’ The ‘Be Afraid’ speech. And that attack on Miltant at the 1985 Conference: ‘the grotesque spectacle of a Labour council… A Labour council…’ . I asked Glenys if he had it planned. She said he had an idea something was ‘going to happen.’ He never (in the early days, at least) made the same speech twice, disapproved of Hattersley for this. And had a wickedly endearing fly-swatting method of dismissing political ‘friends’ and rivals. I’d say, ‘But you like so and so, don’t you?’ Yes, but he suffers from terrible piles.’ Or, ‘Oh, we get on, but he’s got breath as bad as De Gaulle’s.’ (Where he got the detail about De Gaulle’s breath from – Macmillan doesn’t mention it - I don’t know).
My ‘use’ to him – if we apply utilitarian motives to friendships – was as court jester. After that early Greek holiday, Glenys said, ‘We didn’t realise you could be so funny.’ I don’t think she meant my pigeon chest. I wasn’t a journalist, didn’t leak, was gay but ‘safe,’ available for Sunday lunch (‘He’s in a terrible mood. Do you want to come round?’) and we got as close as two opposites probably could. He knew I near worshipped his wife (he did too), and she liked me and approved of me – which helped. Later, in the early Nineties, with Alastair Campbell around (a more natural soul mate for him) and his brother-in-law coming to live in London, I wasn’t so intimate. I remember Mandelson looking round at a New Year party, which the previous year had included some of my gay friends, saying, ‘No pretty boys this year, Stephen.’ It was the December of ’91, before the Election, and the guest list was deliberately limited: no hostages to fortune. Things were getting serious and Neil was less fun. Near ten years is a long time to be Leader in waiting, and the strain was beginning to show. I also wanted some distance. I was a writer and I was scared my independence would be compromised with invitations to Downing Street and Chequers. Well, fat chance. Instead of Chequers, the Christmas after the Election found me in Camden, in the rain, lost, on my way to a journalist friend’s Christmas lunch. I asked some teenage girls the way to Marquis Square, my venue. ‘Find your own fucking way,’ was the response.
We’ve seen one another in the years since – in Brussels and London, particularly at anniversaries. At my sixtieth, in a restaurant in Hoxton, I asked Glenys about Helle, her Danish daughter in law: ‘Oh, she’ll be Prime Minister before long,’ she said. You don’t often have conversations like that and I’m pleased and amused I once had them. I was the observer – I have a collage prepared and framed as a present by Glenys of me at a Greek feast standing by a pillar watching the rest of the party, slightly separate, watchful. There are seven shots from different angles and Glenys titled it: ‘The Seven Pillars of Wisdom.’ He’s right in the middle of jollities, the participant. I’ve not used the word ‘brave’ in this summary – but that’s what he was. Occasionally foolhardy – but brave to take on that Party and so nearly succeed. But I expect, in his own mind, he’s a ‘failure’ - as he once said.
22/8/2015