The Complete Yes Minister

‘Yes,’ said Roy. ‘That’s what he was saying, see?’ The man should be a television interviewer.

‘Same with the Health Service,’ Roy continued inexorably. ‘You a member of BUPA, sir?’

It was none of his bloody business. But I didn’t say so. Instead, I smiled sweetly and asked if there was anything on the radio.

‘Yesterday in Parliament, I think sir,’ he replied, reaching for the switch.

‘No, no, no, don’t bother, don’t bother,’ I shrieked casually, but too late. He switched it on, and I was forced to listen to myself.

Roy listened with great interest. After it got to Second Order he switched it off. There was a bit of an awkward silence.

‘I got away with it, didn’t I?’ I asked hopefully.

Roy chuckled. ‘You were lucky they didn’t ask you about that new St Edward’s Hospital,’ he said jovially.

‘Why?’

‘Well . . .’ he smacked his lips. ‘They finished building it fifteen months ago – and it’s still got no patients.’

‘I suppose,’ I said, ‘the DHSS haven’t got enough money to staff it.’

‘Oh, it’s got staff,’ said Roy. ‘Five hundred administrators. Just no patients.’

Could this be true? It hardly seemed possible.

‘Who told you this?’ I asked cautiously.

‘The lip.’

‘The lip?’

[The slang word used by drivers to describe he who knows the most – Ed.]

‘My mate Charlie,’ he explained. ‘He knows all right. He’s the driver for the Secretary of State for Health.’

When I got to the office I summoned Humphrey at once. I told him straight out that I was appalled by yesterday’s debate.

‘So am I, Minister,’ Humphrey said. I was slightly surprised to find him agreeing so vehemently.

‘The stupidity of it . . . the incompetence,’ I continued.

‘I agree,’ said Humphrey. ‘I can’t think what came over you.’

I blinked at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘To concede a full independent enquiry . . .’

So that was it. I stopped him dead in his tracks. ‘Humphrey!’ I said magisterially. ‘That is not what I am talking about.’

Sir Humphrey looked puzzled. ‘But you mentioned stupidity and incompetence.’

‘Yours, Humphrey!’ I roared. ‘Yours!’

Now it seemed to be his turn to be astounded. ‘Mine, Minister?’ He was incredulous.

‘Yes. Yours. How could you drop me in it like that?’

To be fair, he personally hadn’t dropped me in it. But his precious Department had. Humphrey, however, seemed disinclined to apologise.

‘A small omission from the brief. We can’t foresee everything.’ Then his face resumed an expression of pure horror. ‘But to concede a full independent enquiry . . .’

I’d had enough of this. ‘I didn’t particularly want an enquiry either,’ I pointed out. ‘But if you’re drowning and somebody throws you a rope, you grab it.’

‘It was not a rope,’ replied Sir Humphrey. ‘It was a noose. You should have stood up for the Department – that is what you are here for.’

That may be what Humphrey thinks I’m here for. As a matter of fact, it’s nice to know he thinks I’m here for something. But I knew that if I didn’t stop him he would give me a little lecture on Ministerial Responsibility.

The Doctrine of Ministerial Responsibility is a handy little device conceived by the Civil Service for dropping the Minister in it while enabling the mandarins to keep their noses clean. It means, in practice, that the Civil Service runs everything and takes all the decisions, but when something goes wrong then it’s the Minister who takes the blame.

‘No, Humphrey, it won’t do,’ I interjected firmly before he could go any further. ‘I prepared myself thoroughly for Question Time yesterday. I mugged up all the Questions and literally dozens of supplementaries. I was up half Sunday night, I skipped lunch yesterday, I was thoroughly prepared.’ I decided to say it again. ‘Thoroughly prepared!’ I said. ‘But nowhere in my brief was there the slightest indication that you’d been juggling the figures so that I would be giving misleading replies to the House.’

‘Minister,’ said Humphrey in his most injured tones, ‘you said you wanted the administration figures reduced, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed.

‘So we reduced them.’