The Complete Yes Minister

Today, Sunday, has been spent going through my boxes and mugging up on my PQs [Parliamentary Questions – Ed.] for tomorrow.

I take PQs very seriously, as do all Ministers with any sense. Although the voters are mainly aware of a Minister’s activities through the newspapers and television, his real power and influence still stems from the House of Commons. A Minister cannot afford to make an idiot of himself in the House, and will not last long if he doesn’t learn to perform there adequately.

One day a month this ghastly event takes place. PQs are the modern equivalent of throwing the Christians to the lions, or the medieval ordeal by combat. One day a month I’m on First Order, and some other Minister from some other Department is on Second Order. Another day, vice versa. [There’s also Third Order but no one knows what it’s there for because it’s never been reached – Ed.]

The Sundays and Mondays before I’m on First Order are absolute bloody anguish. I should think they’re anguish for the civil servants too. Bernard has an Assistant Private Secretary employed full-time on getting answers together for all possible supplementaries. Legions of civil servants sit around Whitehall exercising their feverish imaginations, trying to foretell what possible supplementaries could be coming from the backbenchers. Usually, of course, I can guess the political implications of a PQ better than my civil servants.

Then, when the gruesome moment arrives you stand up in the House, which is usually packed as it’s just after lunch and PQs are considered good clean fun because there’s always a chance that a Minister will humiliate himself.

Still, I’m reasonably relaxed this evening, secure in the knowledge that, as always, I am thoroughly prepared for Question Time tomorrow. One thing I’m proud of is that, no matter how Sir Humphrey makes rings round me in administrative matters,² I have always prided myself on my masterful control over the House.

March 15th

I can hardly believe it. PQs today were a disaster! A totally unforeseen catastrophe. Although I did manage to snatch a sort of Pyrrhic victory from the jaws of defeat. I came in bright and early and went over all the possible supplementaries – I thought! – and spent lunchtime being tested by Bernard.

The first question was from Jim Lawford of Birmingham South-West who had asked me about the government’s pledge to reduce the number of administrators in the Health Service.

I gave the prepared reply, which was a little self-congratulatory – to the civil servants who wrote it, of course, not to me!

[We have found the relevant exchange in Hansard, and reprint it below – Ed.]

Somebody had leaked this wretched paper to Lawford. He was waving it about with a kind of wild glee, his fat face shining with excitement. Everyone was shouting for an answer. Humphrey – or somebody – had been up to his old tricks again, disguising an increase in the numbers of administrative and secretarial staff simply by calling them by some other name. But a rose by any other name is still a rose, as Wordsworth said. [In fact, Shakespeare said ‘A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.’ But Hacker was an ex-journalist and Polytechnic Lecturer – Ed.] This looked like it was going to be a real political stink. And a stink by any other name is still a stink. [Or a stink by any other name would smell as bad? – Ed.] Had it stayed secret, it would have been seen as a brilliant manoeuvre to pass off an increase of staff by 7% as a decrease of 11.3% – but when leaked, it suddenly comes into the category of a shabby deception. What’s more, an unsuccessful shabby deception – quite the worst kind!

I stalled rather well in the circumstances:

Thank God one of my own backbenchers came to my rescue. Gerry Chandler asked me if I could reassure my friends that the enquiries would not be carried out by my own Department but by an independent investigator who would command the respect of the House. I was forced to say that I was happy to give that assurance.

So I just about satisfied the House on that one. However, I shall have to have a very serious talk about the whole matter with Humphrey and Bernard tomorrow. I don’t mind the deception, but allowing me to look ridiculous at Question Time is simply not on!

It’s not even in their interest – I wasn’t able to defend the Department, was I?

March 16th

This morning started none too well, either.

Roy [Hacker’s driver, and like all drivers, one of the best-informed men in Whitehall – Ed.] picked me up as usual, at about 8.30. I asked him to drive me to the Ministry, as I was to spend all morning on Health Service administration.

He started needling me right away.

‘Chap just been talking about that on the radio,’ he said casually. ‘Saying the trouble with the health and education and transport services is that all the top people in government go to private hospitals and send their kids to private schools . . .’

I laughed it off, though I sounded a little mirthless, I fear. ‘Very good. Comedy programme, was it?’

This egalitarian stuff, though daft, is always a little dangerous if it’s not watched very carefully.

‘And they go to work in chauffeur-driven cars,’ added my chauffeur.

I didn’t deign to reply. So he persisted.

‘Don’t you think there’s something in it? I mean, if you and Sir Humphrey Appleby went to work on a number 27 . . .’

I interrupted him. ‘Quite impracticable,’ I explained firmly. ‘We work long enough hours as it is, without spending an extra hour a day waiting at the bus stop.’

‘Yes,’ said Roy. ‘You’d have to make the bus service much more efficient, wouldn’t you?’

‘We certainly would,’ I said, trying to dismiss the subject quickly.