The Complete Yes Minister

Humphrey then appeared to make a positive suggestion. ‘Minister,’ he volunteered, ‘I think that, to be on the safe side, you need a big personal success.’

Great, I thought! Yes indeed.

‘A triumph, in fact,’ said Humphrey.

‘Like what?’ I asked.

‘I mean,’ said Humphrey, ‘some great personal publicity for a great personal and political achievement.’

I was getting rather excited. I waited expectantly. But suddenly Humphrey fell silent.

‘Well . . .’ I repeated, ‘what have you in mind?’

‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to think of something.’

That was a great help!

I asked what the purpose would be of this hypothetical triumph. He told me that Sir Arnold indicated that the PM would be unable to move me downwards if I had a triumph before the reshuffle.

That’s obvious. What’s even more worrying is the implication that there was no possibility of the PM moving me upwards.

I mentioned this. Humphrey replied that, alas! one must be a realist. I don’t think he realised just how insulting he was being.

I told Humphrey I’d take Brussels, and brought the meeting to a close. I decided I’d call Brussels tonight and accept the post, and thus avoid the humiliation of being demoted in the Cabinet by pre-empting the PM.

I told Humphrey he could go, and instructed Bernard to bring me details of the European Word Processing standardisation plans, to which I would now be fully committed.

Then Humphrey had an idea.

He stood up, excitedly.

‘Wait a minute,’ he said, ‘I have an idea. Supposing you were to ignore the EEC and publish your own plan for word-processing equipment, and place huge contracts with British manufacturers, immediately, today, tomorrow, well before Monday, thus ensuring more jobs in Britain, more investment, more export orders . . .’

He looked at me.

I tried to readjust my thoughts. Weren’t we back at square one? This is what I’d been about to do before we got the directive from Brussels a couple of weeks ago. And Humphrey had told me that we had to comply with a Brussels directive.

‘It’s not a directive,’ he now explained. ‘It hasn’t been ratified by the Conference. It’s a request.’

I wondered, aloud, if we could really stab our partners in the back, and spit in their faces.

Bernard intervened. ‘You can’t stab anyone in the back while you spit in their face.’ I suppose he was trying to be helpful.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised that Humphrey’s scheme had a touch of real genius about it. Defying Brussels would be very popular in the country. It would be a big story. And it would prove that I had elbows.

I told Humphrey that it was a good idea.

‘You’ll do it?’ he asked.

I didn’t want to be rushed. ‘Let me think about it,’ I said. ‘After all, it would mean giving up . . .’ I didn’t know how to put it.

‘The trough?’ he offered.

‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ I replied coldly, though actually it was what I meant.

He knew it was anyway, because he said: ‘When it comes to it, Minister, one must put one’s country first.’

On the whole, I suppose I agree with that.

July 23rd

My repudiation of the EEC request had indeed proved to be a big story. A triumph, in fact. Especially as I accompanied it with a rather jingoistic anti-Brussels speech. The popular press loved it, but I’m afraid that I’ve irrevocably burned my boats – I don’t think I’ll be offered a Commissionership again in a hurry.

Let’s hope it does the trick.

July 26th

The reshuffle was announced today. Fred was indeed kicked upstairs, Basil Corbett went to Employment, and I stayed where I am – at the DAA.

Humphrey popped in first thing, and told me how delighted he was that I was staying.

‘I know I probably shouldn’t say this, but I personally would have been deeply sorry to lose you.’ He told me that he meant it most sincerely.

‘Yes,’ I said benignly, ‘we’ve grown quite fond of each other really, haven’t we, like a terrorist and a hostage.’

He nodded.

‘Which of you is the terrorist?’ asked Bernard.

‘He is,’ Humphrey and I said in unison, each pointing at the other.

Then we all laughed.

‘By the way,’ I asked, ‘who would have had my job if I’d gone to Brussels?’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Humphrey.

But Bernard said: ‘Didn’t you tell me it was to be Basil Corbett, Sir Humphrey?’

A bucket of cold water had been thrown over our temporary spirit of bonhomie. Humphrey looked more embarrassed than I’ve ever seen him. No wonder he would have been so sorry to lose me.

I looked at him for confirmation.

‘Basil Corbett?’ I asked.

‘Yes Minister,’ said Sir Humphrey. And he blushed.

¹ A left-wing politician prominent in the 1970s and the early 1980s, a peer’s son educated at Westminster and Oxford, chiefly remembered for his lisp, his staring eyes, and his earnest attempts to disguise his privileged background by drinking mugs of tea in workers’ co-operatives.

² In conversation with the Editors.

³ Basil Corbett.

⁴ Hacker’s driver.

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