The Complete Yes Minister

that in front of other people. I mean, I’ve got a pretty good sense of humour, but there is a limit.

She went on to tell me that Central House² wanted me to see some programme on television. On BBC2.

I had already remembered the wretched programme, and made a note not to watch.

‘Oh Lord,’ I said. ‘Maureen Watkins MP. One of our backbenchers – not my favourite lady, a rampaging feminist, I don’t think I’ll bother.’

In the nick of time I noticed Cathy making a note. I had to explain that my remark was ‘off the record’, a concept that she seemed to have some difficulty with. It reminded me how lucky we are to have those well-trained lobby correspondents to deal with most of the time.

Anyway, she crossed it out. But to my surprise she spoke up in defence of Maureen Watkins.

‘I like her,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think that women are still exploited? All of my friends in 4B think that they are exploited at work and at home and that it’s still a world designed by men and run by men for the convenience of men.’

I was slightly surprised by this little speech. It didn’t sound entirely . . . home-grown, if you know what I mean. Cathy must have realised, because she had the grace to add: ‘You know – like she says.’

I must say, I’m getting a bit fed up with all this feminist crap. Nowadays, if you so much as compliment a woman on her appearance, you’re told you’re a sexist. This dreadful lesbian lobby is getting everywhere.

So I decided to argue the point with young Cathy. ‘Surely it’s not like that any longer,’ I said with a warm smile. ‘Anyway, she doesn’t carry any weight in the House, thank goodness.’

‘Not in the House, perhaps,’ interjected Annie. ‘It’s full of men.’

I thanked my dear wife for her helpful comment, renewed my smile in Cathy’s direction, and asked her if there was anything else she wanted to know.

‘Just one last question,’ she said. ‘As a Cabinet Minister with all this power, what have you actually achieved?’

I was pleased to answer that question. It seemed an easy one. ‘Achieved?’ I repeated reflectively. ‘Well, all sorts of things. Membership of the Privy Council, membership of the party policy committee . . .’

She interrupted. It seemed that she wanted to make the question more specific. What, she wanted to know, had I actually done that makes life better for other people.

Well, of course, I was completely nonplussed. Children ask the oddest questions. Right out of left field, as our American allies would say. Certainly no one had ever asked me such a question before.

‘Makes life better?’ I repeated.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘For other people?’ I thought hard, but absolutely nothing sprang to mind. I tried to think as I spoke. ‘There must be a number of things. I mean, that’s what one’s whole job is about, eighteen hours a day, seven days a week . . .’

Cathy interrupted me as I made the mistake of momentarily drawing breath. She has a future with the BBC, that kid! ‘Could you just give me one or two examples, though? Otherwise my article might be a bit boring.’

‘Examples. Yes, of course I can,’ I said, and found that I couldn’t.

Her pencil was poised expectantly above her lined exercise book. I realised that some explanation was called for.

‘Well,’ I began, ‘you see, it’s difficult to know where to start. So much of government is collective decisions, all of us together, the best minds in the country hammering it out.’

She seemed dissatisfied with my explanation.

‘Yes,’ she said doubtfully, ‘but what is it you’ll look back on afterwards and say “I did that”? You know, like a writer can look at his books.’

Persistent little blighter.

I started to explain the facts of political life. ‘Yes, well, politics is a complex business, Cathy.’ I was careful to use her name again. ‘Lots of people have to have their say. Things take time. Rome wasn’t built in a day.’

As I looked at her face, I could see an air of disappointment written across it. [In view of the insight that Hacker’s frequently mixed metaphors give us into the clouded state of his mind, we have retained them unless clarity is threatened – Ed.] I began to feel slightly disappointed with myself. I realised that I could not give a proper answer to her question. I also began to feel more than a little irritated that this wretched child should have produced these feelings of inadequacy in me. Enough was enough. It was time to bring the interview to an end.

I pointed out that time was flying, and that I still had to do my boxes. I hustled her out, emphasising how much I’d enjoyed our little talk, and reminding her that she had agreed to let me approve the article before it was printed.

I returned and sat down heavily in my favourite fireside armchair. I was feeling very brought down.

‘Bright kid,’ commented Annie.

‘That’s the last time I ever give an interview to a school magazine,’ I responded. ‘She asked me some very difficult questions.’

‘They weren’t difficult,’ said Annie firmly. ‘Just innocent. She was assuming that there is some moral basis to your activities.’

I was puzzled. ‘But there is,’ I replied.