The Complete Yes Minister

He paused. Then he seemed to make a proposal. ‘On the other hand, if implementing failure standards were not quite so urgent . . .’

‘Do you mean,’ I asked casually, ‘you could stop the broadcast?’

He was guarded. ‘Minister, we cannot censor the BBC. But . . . I happen to be having lunch tomorrow with the BBC’s Director of Policy, perhaps you’d care to join us?’

I couldn’t see any point, if we can’t censor them. I said so, rather disconsolately.

But Sir Humphrey’s reply has given me grounds for hope. ‘No Minister, but we can always try to persuade them to withdraw programmes voluntarily once they realise that transmission is not in the public interest.’

‘It’s not in my interest,’ I replied firmly, ‘and I represent the public. So it can’t be in the public interest.’

Humphrey looked intrigued. ‘That’s a novel approach,’ he said. ‘We’ve not tried that on them before.’

I think that he has more respect for my ideas than he likes to show.

March 31st

A very successful lunch today with Humphrey and Francis Aubrey, the BBC’s Director of Policy, a man with a permanently anxious expression on his face. As well he might have.

It started badly though. As soon as I broached the subject he stated his position firmly. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Hacker, but the BBC cannot give in to government pressure.’ His black bushy eyebrows bristled sternly.

‘Well, let’s leave that on one side, shall we?’ said Sir Humphrey smoothly.

I thought Humphrey was supposed to be on my side.

‘No really,’ I began, ‘I must insist . . .’

But he silenced me, rather rudely I thought. ‘Let’s leave that on one side,’ he repeated. ‘Please, Minister.’

I had no option really. But I later realised that I had underestimated my Permanent Secretary.

He turned to Mr Aubrey and said: ‘Frank, can I raise something else? There is considerable disquiet about the BBC’s hostility to the Government.’

Aubrey laughed off the idea. ‘That’s absurd.’

‘Well, is it?’ asked Humphrey. And he leaned across to the empty chair beside him and opened up an enormous briefcase. Not his usual slimline leather job with gold engraved initials, but a big fat bulging leather bag, so heavy that his driver had carried it into the club for us.

I’d been preoccupied and worried, and I’d scarcely noticed it. If I had thought about it I suppose I’d have assumed it contained some documents with such a high security clearance that Humphrey had to take them with him everywhere he went.

In the event, it turned out that it contained a number of files that he intended to show the man from the Beeb.

‘We have been documenting instances of bias in BBC current affairs.’ He handed over a file with Bias written across it in a felt pen in large red letters. Francis Aubrey put down his knife and fork and was about to open it when Humphrey handed over a second file, with the words Favourable News Stories Not Reported By The BBC. Then he handed over one file after another, pointing out their contents.

Excessive Publicity For Other Countries’ Case Against Britain – ‘Especially our Common Market enemies. Er, partners, I mean,’ explained Humphrey. Jokes Against The Prime Minister. Unnecessary Publicity for Anti-government Demonstrations. And finally, one huge file, much fatter than the others, which he heaved across the table, marked, Ministers’ Programme Suggestions Not Accepted.

Francis Aubrey was clearly shaken by this mass of incriminating allegations and evidence. ‘But . . . I’m . . . but I’m sure we’ve got answers to all these.’ He sounded more firm than he looked.

‘Of course the BBC’s got answers,’ I told him. ‘It’s always got answers. Silly ones, but it’s always got them.’

Humphrey was taking a cooler line. ‘Of course the BBC has explanations,’ he said soothingly. ‘But I just thought I ought towarn you that questions are being asked.’

‘What sort of questions?’ Mr Aubrey was looking even more worried.

‘Well,’ said Humphrey thoughtfully, ‘for example, if Parliament were to be televised, whether it shouldn’t be entrusted to ITV.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ he exploded.

‘And,’ continued Humphrey in the same quiet and thoughtful vein, ‘whether the BBC administration has really made the cuts in jobs and premises that we have endured in government. Should a Select Committee be appointed to scrutinise all BBC expenditure?’

Francis Aubrey started to panic. ‘That would be an intolerable intrusion.’ Resorting to pomposity to hide his thoroughly understandable fears.

I was enjoying myself thoroughly by this time.

‘Of course,’ said Sir Humphrey agreeably. ‘And then there’s the extraordinary matter of the boxes at Ascot, Wimbledon, Lord’s, Covent Garden, the Proms . . .’

I pricked up my ears. This was news to me.

Francis said, ‘Ah yes, but these are a technical requirement. For production and engineering staff, you know.’