The Complete Yes Minister

yesterday. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said, and produced the file with a fine flourish. ‘Notwithstanding the provisions of subsection 3 blah blah blah . . . administrative procedures blah blah blah . . . shall fall within the purview of the Minister for Administrative Affairs.’ I sat back and watched.

Sir Humphrey was stumped. ‘Yes, but . . . why do you want to do this?’ he asked.

‘It saves Her Majesty a pointless journey. And there are three marginal Scottish by-elections coming up. We’ll hold them as soon as the visit is over.’

He suddenly went rather cool. ‘Minister, we do not hold Head of Government visits for party political reasons, but for reasons of State.’

He had a point there. I’d slipped up a bit, but I managed to justify it okay. ‘But my plan really shows that Scotland is an equal partner in the United Kingdom. She is Queen of Scotland too. And Scotland is full of marginal constit . . .’ I stopped myself just in time, I think, ‘. . . depressed areas.’

But Sir Humphrey was clearly hostile to the whole brilliant notion. ‘I hardly think, Minister,’ he sneered, clambering onto his highest horse and looking down his patrician nose at me, ‘I hardly think we can exploit our Sovereign by involving her in, if you will forgive the phrase, a squalid vote-grubbing exercise.’

I don’t think there’s anything squalid about grubbing for votes. I’m a democrat and proud of it and that’s what democracy is all about! But I could see that I had to think up a better reason (for Civil Service consumption, at least) or else this excellent plan would be blocked somehow. So I asked Humphrey why the President of Buranda was coming to Britain.

‘For an exchange of views on matters of mutual interest,’ was the reply. Why does this man insist on speaking in the language of official communiques? Or can’t he help it?

‘Now tell me why he’s coming,’ I asked with exaggerated patience. I was prepared to keep asking until I got the real answer.

‘He’s here to place a huge order with the British Government for offshore drilling equipment.’

Perfect! I went in for the kill. ‘And where can he see all our offshore equipment? Aberdeen, Clydeside.’

Sir Humphrey tried to argue. ‘Yes, but . . .’

‘How many oil rigs have you got in Haslemere, Humphrey?’ He wasn’t pleased by this question.

‘But the administrative problems . . .’ he began.

I interrupted grandly: ‘Administrative problems are what this whole Department was created to solve. I’m sure you can do it, Humphrey.’

‘But Scotland’s so remote.’ He was whining and complaining now. I knew I’d got him on the run. ‘Not all that remote,’ I said, and pointed to the map of the UK hanging on the wall. ‘It’s that pink bit, about two feet above Potters Bar.’

Humphrey was not amused – ‘Very droll, Minister,’ he said. But even that did not crush me.

‘It is going to be Scotland,’ I said with finality. ‘That is my policy decision. That’s what I’m here for, right Bernard?’

Bernard didn’t want to take sides against Humphrey, or against me. He was stuck. ‘Um . . .’ he said.

I dismissed Humphrey, and told him to get on with making the arrangements. He stalked out of my office. Bernard’s eyes remained glued to the floor.

Bernard is my Private Secretary and, as such, is apparently supposed to be on my side. On the other hand, his future lies with the Department which means that he has to be on Humphrey’s side. I don’t see how he can possibly be on both sides. Yet, apparently, only if he succeeds in this task that is, by definition, impossible, will he continue his rapid rise to the top. It’s all very puzzling. I must try and find out if I can trust him.

November 13th

Had a little chat with Bernard on our way back from Cardiff, where I addressed a conference of Municipal Treasurers and Chief Executives.

Bernard warned me that Humphrey’s next move, over this Scottish business, would be to set up an interdepartmental committee to investigate and report.

I regard the interdepartmental committee as the last refuge of a desperate bureaucrat. When you can’t find any argument against something you don’t want, you set up an interdepartmental committee to strangle it. Slowly. I said so to Bernard. He agreed.

‘It’s for the same reason that politicians set up Royal Commissions,’ said Bernard. I began to see why he’s a high-flyer.

I decided to ask Bernard what Humphrey really had against the idea.

‘The point is,’ Bernard explained, ‘once they’re all in Scotland the whole visit will fall within the purview of the Secretary of State for Scotland.’

I remarked that Humphrey should be pleased by this. Less work.

Bernard put me right on that immediately. Apparently the problem is that Sir Humphrey likes to go to the Palace, all dressed up in his white tie and tails and medals. But in Scotland the whole thing will be on a much smaller scale. Not so many receptions and dinners. Not so many for Sir Humphrey, anyway, only for the Perm. Sec. at the Scottish Office. Sir Humphrey might not even be invited to the return dinner, as the Burandan Consulate in Edinburgh is probably exceedingly small.

I had never given the ceremonial aspect of all this any thought at all. But according to Bernard all the glitter is frightfully important to Permanent Secretaries. I asked Bernard if Humphrey had lots of medals to wear.

‘Quite a few,’ Bernard told me. ‘Of course he got his K a long time ago. He’s a KCB. But there are rumours that he might get his G in the next Honours list.’¹