The Complete Yes Minister

‘I think it means “outstanding” . . . in one way or another,’ he explained.

That’s okay, if that’s what it means, but it seems a little too generous for Private Eye. I must remember to look it up sometime.

Humphrey arrived, was shown the piece, and actually had the temerity to laugh at the bugger joke.

‘Is this true?’ I demanded.

‘Oh absolutely not, Minister,’ he replied firmly. I was relieved for a moment, until he went on, ‘It’s only one of their little jokes. I don’t think that anyone actually supposes that you are a bu . . . I mean . . . that is . . .’

I exploded. ‘Humphrey, I’m not talking about that tasteless little joke. I’m asking you if the gist of this story is true – was I once under surveillance and am I now responsible for the bugging equipment?’

‘Surely . . .’ said Humphrey evasively, and how well I recognise the tactics by now! ‘Surely you don’t believe what you read in that squalid little rag?’

[‘Squalid little rag’ was clearly Whitehall general slang usage for Private Eye at about this time – Ed.]

I asked him again. Was it accurate?

Sir Humphrey again declined to give a straight answer. ‘I don’t think we should take it too seriously, Minister,’ he replied suavely.

I saw red. I told him that I regard this as an outrageous and intolerable intrusion into my privacy. If he didn’t see anything wrong with it, I certainly did. And I propose to take it very seriously indeed. I reminded Humphrey that the article stated that I, a free citizen, and furthermore an MP, have been under total surveillance. Surveillance is an attack on democracy. I asked Humphrey if he was aware that it contravenes the European Convention on Human Rights.

He remained calm. ‘Surveillance,’ he said, ‘is an indispensable weapon in the battle against organised crime.’

I was incredulous. That’s no reason for bugging me, a politician. ‘Humphrey,’ I asked, ‘are you describing politicians as organised crime?’

He smiled. ‘Well . . . disorganised crime too,’ he joked. I was not amused. He realised that he was going too far, and hastily started to repair the damage. ‘No, seriously, Minister . . .’

I cut him short. I reminded Humphrey of my own track record, one which made this situation particularly awkward for me.

‘While I was editor of Reform I wrote a leader criticising this kind of intrusion. Furthermore, I started a nationwide petition against bureaucratic busybodies snooping and phone-tapping. And now I learn,’ I continued angrily, ‘– from Private Eye, please note, and not from you – that I, of all people, am in charge of the whole technical side of it.’ It was all profoundly embarrassing.

Sir Humphrey merely nodded.

I asked the inevitable question.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this?’

‘Because,’ came the inevitable answer, ‘you didn’t ask.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘thank God for the free press. Thank God for at least one brave, open and fearless journal in this country.’

Bernard started to remind me that I had previously described it differently, but I stopped him. However, I took the opportunity to explain to him that he really must sharpen up his political antennae. He needs to learn to adjust more flexibly to a developing situation.

He took my point, I think – I hope!

The next question inevitably raised by these revelations concerns the tapes and/or transcripts that must have been made of my bugged conversations. Where are they?

‘I imagine,’ said Humphrey carelessly, as if it didn’t really matter all that much, ‘that they must have been put into a report.’

‘And who got those reports?’ I wanted to know.

‘I imagine that the Home Secretary gets . . . got them.’ He corrected himself quickly. But not quickly enough.

‘Gets them?’ I shrieked. ‘You mean it’s still going on?’

He tried to pacify me, but without success. ‘No, Minister, not you, not now. Now he will be getting reports on current members of Her Majesty’s Opposition.’

The mechanics were still unclear to me. ‘Who gives these reports to the Home Secretary?’ I demanded.

He shrugged. ‘MI5, presumably.’

‘You seem very calm about all this.’

He smiled. He was really getting right up my nose, the complacent . . . [expletive deleted – Ed.]

I certainly wasn’t calm about it. I threw one of my real fits. I denounced the whole business. ‘It is horrifying,’ I insisted. ‘A British citizen – in my case, a distinguished British citizen – one who has dedicated his life to the service of his fellow countrymen . . . and all the time those gloating, faceless bureaucrats are listening to his every word. All his private calls. His rows with his wife. His shouting matches with his daughter. His private arrangements with his accountant.’ Perhaps I’d gone too far – maybe the room was bugged! ‘Not that I have anything I’d be ashamed to reveal, my life is an open book.’