The Complete Yes Minister

All in all, I think we do pretty well! [It was in this bullish mood that Hacker had agreed that day to give an interview to Cathy Webb, a fourth-former in one of the comprehensive schools in Hacker’s constituency¹ – Ed.]

However, my enthusiastic feelings about my first year in office were, I must admit, a little shaken after I was interviewed at teatime by a precocious schoolgirl for the school magazine.

She began by asking me how I had reached my present eminent position. I summarised my political career so far, culminating, I said, with carefully calculated modesty, ‘with the moment when the Prime Minister saw fit, for whatever reason, to invite one to join the Cabinet and, well, here one is.’ I didn’t want to seem conceited. In my experience the young have a nose for that sort of thing.

She asked me if it isn’t a terrific responsibility. I explained to her that if one chooses, as I have chosen, to dedicate one’s life to public service, the service of others, then responsibility is one of those things one has to accept.

Cathy was full of admiration, I could see it in her eyes. ‘But all that power . . .’ she murmured.

‘I know, I know,’ I replied, attempting the casual air of a man who is used to it. ‘Frightening, in a way. But actually, Cathy . . .’ (I was careful to use her name, of course, because it showed I did not consider myself above my constituents, even schoolchildren – future voters, after all) ‘. . . this power actually makes one rather humble!’

Annie hurried in and interrupted me. The phone had been ringing elsewhere in the house.

‘Bernard just rang, oh Humble One,’ she said. I wish she wouldn’t send me up like that in front of other people. I mean, I’ve got a pretty good sense of humour, but there is a limit.

She went on to tell me that Central House² wanted me to see some programme on television. On BBC2.

I had already remembered the wretched programme, and made a note not to watch.

‘Oh Lord,’ I said. ‘Maureen Watkins MP. One of our backbenchers – not my favourite lady, a rampaging feminist, I don’t think I’ll bother.’

In the nick of time I noticed Cathy making a note. I had to explain that my remark was ‘off the record’, a concept that she seemed to have some difficulty with. It reminded me how lucky we are to have those well-trained lobby correspondents to deal with most of the time.

Anyway, she crossed it out. But to my surprise she spoke up in defence of Maureen Watkins.

‘I like her,’ she said. ‘Don’t you think that women are still exploited? All of my friends in 4B think that they are exploited at work and at home and that it’s still a world designed by men and run by men for the convenience of men.’

I was slightly surprised by this little speech. It didn’t sound entirely . . . home-grown, if you know what I mean. Cathy must have realised, because she had the grace to add: ‘You know – like she says.’

I must say, I’m getting a bit fed up with all this feminist crap. Nowadays, if you so much as compliment a woman on her appearance, you’re told you’re a sexist. This dreadful lesbian lobby is getting everywhere.

So I decided to argue the point with young Cathy. ‘Surely it’s not like that any longer,’ I said with a warm smile. ‘Anyway, she doesn’t carry any weight in the House, thank goodness.’

‘Not in the House, perhaps,’ interjected Annie. ‘It’s full of men.’

I thanked my dear wife for her helpful comment, renewed my smile in Cathy’s direction, and asked her if there was anything else she wanted to know.

‘Just one last question,’ she said. ‘As a Cabinet Minister with all this power, what have you actually achieved?’

I was pleased to answer that question. It seemed an easy one. ‘Achieved?’ I repeated reflectively. ‘Well, all sorts of things. Membership of the Privy Council, membership of the party policy committee . . .’

She interrupted. It seemed that she wanted to make the question more specific. What, she wanted to know, had I actually done that makes life better for other people.

Well, of course, I was completely nonplussed. Children ask the oddest questions. Right out of left field, as our American allies would say. Certainly no one had ever asked me such a question before.

‘Makes life better?’ I repeated.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘For other people?’ I thought hard, but absolutely nothing sprang to mind. I tried to think as I spoke. ‘There must be a number of things. I mean, that’s what one’s whole job is about, eighteen hours a day, seven days a week . . .’

Cathy interrupted me as I made the mistake of momentarily drawing breath. She has a future with the BBC, that kid! ‘Could you just give me one or two examples, though? Otherwise my article might be a bit boring.’

‘Examples. Yes, of course I can,’ I said, and found that I couldn’t.