‘Yes?’ enquired Humphrey politely.
‘There can be absolutely no question,’ Francis Aubrey stated firmly and categorically, ‘of the BBC ever giving in to government pressure.’
I think it will be all right now.
This afternoon Sir Humphrey popped in to see me. He had just received a message that the BBC had decided to drop my interview with Ludovic Kennedy. Apparently they feel it is the responsible course. Of course they do.
I thanked Humphrey, and offered him a sherry. As I thought about the events of the last few days a new thought occurred to me.
‘You know,’ I said, ‘it seems to me that, somehow, I was trapped into saying those things that would embarrass the PM.’
‘Surely not,’ said Humphrey.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I think I was dropped right in it.’
Humphrey derided this as a ridiculous thought, and asked how I could even think it. I asked him why it was ridiculous to think that Ludo tried to trap me.
‘Who?’ he asked.
‘Ludo. Ludovic Kennedy.’
Humphrey suddenly changed his tune. ‘Oh,
We both agreed that everyone who works for the media is deceitful, and you can’t trust them an inch. But, now I think about it, why was he so surprised that I was talking about Ludo? Who did he
Still, he has got me out of a frightful hole. And it was quite clear what the
‘It must be admitted,’ I was forced to concede, ‘that local councillors – on the whole – are sensible, responsible people, and they’re democratically elected. Central government has to be very careful before it starts telling them how to do their job.’
‘And the failure standards?’
‘I think they can manage without them, don’t you think?’
‘Yes Minister.’
And he smiled contentedly.
But I don’t intend to let the matter drop for good. I shall return to it, after a decent interval. After all, we had a little unspoken agreement, an unwritten
1 Senior Citizens.
2 OAPs.
17
The Moral Dimension
I am writing this entry, not in my London flat or in my constituency house, but in the first-class compartment of a British Airways flight to the oil sheikhdom of Qumran.
We have been en route to the Persian gulf for about four and a half hours, and we should be landing in about forty-five minutes.
I’m very excited. I’ve never flown first-class before, and it’s quite different. They give you free champagne all the way and a decent meal instead of the usual monosodium glutamate plus colouring.
Also, it’s nice being a VIP – special lounge, on the plane last, general red-carpet treatment.
We’re going there to ratify the contract for one of the biggest export orders Britain has ever obtained in the Middle East.
But when I say ‘we’ I don’t just mean me and Bernard and Humphrey. In fact, I asked for an assurance in advance that we couldn’t be accused of wasting a lot of government money on the trip. Humphrey assured me that we were taking the smallest possible delegation. ‘Pared to the bone’ was the phrase he used, I distinctly remember. But now I realise that there may have been some ulterior motive in keeping me in the VIP lounge till the last possible minute.
When I actually got onto the plane I was aghast. It is
I immediately challenged Humphrey about the extravagance of chartering an aircraft. He looked at me as though I were mad, and said that it would be infinitely more expensive for all of us to go on a scheduled flight.
I’m perfectly sure that’s true. My argument is with the size of the party. ‘Who are all these people?’ I asked.
‘Our little delegation.’
‘But you just said the delegation has been pared to the bone.’
He insisted that it was. I asked him, again, to tell me who they all are. And he told me. There’s a small delegation from the FCO because, although it’s a DAA mission, the FCO doesn’t like any of us to go abroad except under their supervision. I can’t really understand that, foreign policy is not at issue on this trip, all we are doing is ratifying a contract that has already been fully negotiated between the Government of Qumran and British Electronic Systems Ltd.
