The Complete Yes Minister

Cannons to the left of him.

Into the Valley of Death rode Mr Hacker.’

I can’t think what he was talking about. I’m getting very worried indeed.

[It appears that Sir Humphrey Appleby met Sir Desmond Glaze-brook for lunch at a club in Pall Mall on the same day as Hacker’s broadcast. Most unusually, Sir Humphrey kept no notes and made no memos as a result of that meeting. This omission – which broke the habit and training of a lifetime in Whitehall – indicates that Sir Humphrey was profoundly frightened that the matter discussed at this meeting should ever become public knowledge.

Fortunately, however, a letter came to light many years later, sent by Sir Desmond on 5 March, the next day, to his wife who was wintering in Barbados – Ed.]

59 Cadogan Square

London SW1

Dearest Snookums [Lady Glazebrook – Ed.]

Hope you’re having a lovely hols, getting nice and brown and not forcing down too much rum punch.

Things are going quite well here. I made a little progress towards getting a couple of good quangos for my retirement, at lunch yesterday with old Humphrey Appleby, Perm. Sec. at the DAA. [QUANGO – an acronym for Quasi-Autonomous Non-Governmental Organisation – Ed.]

He’s got a bit of a problem at work. He’s got into bed with some idiot whiz-kid financier called Bradley, on a building project in Solihull. It seems that the whiz-kid has taken the money and run, leaving old Humphrey holding the bag. Anyway, I couldn’t follow all the details because I’d had rather too much of the claret but, to cut a long story short, as Bradley can’t pay his bills Humphrey wants our bank to take over the contract. He promised me that HMG would turn it all into a successful and profitable venture and all that bullshit. Whoever heard of the government being involved in a successful and profitable venture? Does he think I was born yesterday?

Naturally, I’d be perfectly happy to help good old Humph. out of a jam – it can’t cost me anything, of course, since I’m retiring next year. But I told him that it’s up to the Board and it could go either way. He swallowed that, I think, or pretended to anyway. I naturally chose that moment to remark that I was hoping to hear news of the new Ministry Co-Partnership Commission. I’m after the Chairmanship – ?8000 a year part-time – just the thing to boost my meagre pension, don’t you think, Snookums?

To my astonishment he told me that my name was on a shortlist for a couple of quangos. Shortlist, mark you! Bloody insult. Quangos can’t suddenly be in short supply, no government ever cuts quangos without instantly replacing them with others. [At this time there were about 8000 paid appointments within the gift of Ministers to Quangos, at a cost to the taxpayer of ?5 million per year – Ed.]

Humphrey, of course, pretended it was difficult to find me a quango, rather as I’d pretended that it was difficult for the bank to find his money.

He went through the most extraordinary routine. He mentioned the Advisory Committee of Dental Establishments, and asked if I knew anything about teeth. I pointed out that I was a banker. As I knew nothing about teeth, he then ruled out the Milk Marketing Board. Can’t quite see the connection myself.

He offered the Dumping at Sea Representations Panel, asking if I lived near the sea. I asked if Knightsbridge was near enough – but apparently not. So it seems I’m out of the running for the Clyde River Purification Board too.

Then, with every bit of the meal, Humphrey had a new idea. Rump steak suggested to him the Meat Marketing Board; but I don’t know a damn thing about meat. The fact that I eat it is not quite a close enough connection. So the Meat and Livestock Commission was ruled out too. I’d ordered Dover Sole, it reminded H. of the White Fish Authority. And, as the veg. arrived, he suggested the Potato Marketing Board, the Governors of the National Vegetable Research Station, the National Biological Standards Board, or the Arable Crops and Forage Board.

With the wine he suggested the Food and Drink Training Board. When I asked for mustard he mentioned the Food Additives and Contaminants Committee, and when we saw a Steak Diane being flambeed at the next table he offered the Fire Services Examination Board, the British Safety Council, and the St John’s Ambulance.

Of course, all of this was to make his point that he too was demanding a quid pro quo. But it was rather humiliating because after all this he asked me rather querulously: if I knew nothing about any of these quangos, what did I know about? I was forced to explain that there was nothing I knew about particularly – after all, I’m a banker. It’s not required.

Then he asked me if there were any minority groups that I could represent. I suggested bankers. We are definitely in a minority. He didn’t seem to think that was the answer.

He explained to me that the ideal quango appointee is a black, Welsh, disabled woman trades unionist. He asked me if I knew one of them, but I don’t.

I remarked that women are not a minority group and nor are trades unionists. Humphrey agreed, but explained that they share the same paranoia which is, after all, the distinguishing feature of any minority group.

So at the end of this whole rigmarole he was basically saying that my quango chances boil down to his Ministry’s Industry Co-Partnership Commission, the Chairmanship of which is within the gift of his Minister.

It sounds ideal, actually. There’s lots of papers but Old Humph. made it quite clear that it’s not awfully necessary to read them; that, in fact he’d be delighted if I didn’t bother so that I wouldn’t have too much to say at the monthly meetings.

So it looks like we’ll be scratching each other’s backs. I’ll have a word with my board, he’ll have a word with his Minister, and I’ll see you on the beach next week.

Your loving

Desi-pooh.