The Complete Yes Minister

He asked me if I wouldn’t be holding discussions with the unions first.

I continued to dig my own grave. ‘We’ll go through the usual charade of consultation first,’ I said, blithely unaware of the impending catastrophe, ‘but you know what trades unionists are like. Just bloody-minded, and as thick as two short planks.’ How could I have spoken like this to a total stranger?

‘All of them?’ he asked politely.

I was surprised by this question. I thought he should know, after all, he had to negotiate with them. ‘Pretty well,’ I said. ‘All they’re interested in is poaching members from each other or getting themselves on the telly – and they can never keep their big mouths shut.’

I remember quite clearly every word that I spoke. Each one is branded on my heart. Furthermore, it’s all written down in front of me – in an interview that Watson gave to the Standard as soon as he left my office.

Then the man asked me about drivers and transport service staff, specifically. ‘They’ll be the first to go,’ I said. ‘We’re wasting a fortune on cars and drivers. And they’re all on the fiddle anyway.’

It was at this moment that Watson revealed that he was not Mr Brough’s deputy, but was in fact the General Secretary of the Civil Service Transport and Associated Government Workers. And he had come to my office to check that there was no truth in the rumours about redundancies for his members!

Oh my God! . . .

December 24th

Yesterday and today there has been an acute shortage of Christmas cheer.

All the Civil Service drivers are on strike. I arrived yesterday morning, having read all about the strike in the press. All the papers quoted Ron Watson quoting me: ‘Of course there’s going to be redundancies. Lots.’

I asked Bernard how he could have let this happen.

‘CBE, Minister,’ he replied, unhappily.

I wasn’t sure what he meant. Could I have been awarded the CBE? – or could he?

He explained. ‘Can’t Be Everywhere’. Another idiotic Civil Service abbreviation. ‘In normal circumstances . . .’ he petered out. After all, we both knew how this tragedy had occurred.

Bernard reminded me of all my appointments for today. An office Christmas party, some meetings – nothing of any consequence. I spent the day dodging the press. I wanted to discuss the situation with Sir Humphrey, but apparently he was unavailable all day.

Annie and I were invited to the French Embassy’s Christmas party, at 8 p.m. I asked Bernard to get me my car – and then realised, as I spoke, that there were no drivers. I told him to call Annie, to get her to bring our car in to collect me.

Bernard had already thought of that, but apparently our car had been giving trouble all day and Annie wanted to take it to the garage. I got hold of her and told her the garage would wait – the car would get us from Whitehall to Kensington okay.

Annie came for me, we set off in our evening clothes.

Yet again I was wrong and the bloody car broke down in Knightsbridge. In the rush hour. In the pouring rain. I tried to fix it. I was wearing my dinner jacket. I asked Annie for the umbrella, she said I had it. I knew she had it. We shouted at each other, she got out and slammed her door and walked away, and I was left with the car blocking all of Harrods’ Christmas rush hour traffic with horns blaring and drivers yelling abuse at me.

I got to the French Embassy an hour and a half late, soaked to the skin and covered in oil. I had three or four glasses of champagne right away – well, who wouldn’t in the circumstances? I needed them!

When I left, not drunk exactly, but a bit the worse for wear, I must admit, I dropped my keys in the gutter beside the car. Then they fell down a grating, so I had to lie down to try and reach them, and some bastard from the press was there.

This morning I had a frightful hangover. I felt tired and sick. The press had really gone to town over my alleged drunkenness. They really are unbelievably irresponsible nowadays.

Another paper’s headline was HACKER TIRED AND EMOTIONAL AFTER EMBASSY RECEPTION.

Sir Humphrey read it aloud, and remarked that it was slightly better, perhaps, than the first.

‘Better?’ I asked.

‘Well . . . different, anyway,’ said Sir Humphrey.

I asked if anyone had said anything beyond ‘tired and emotional’. Bernard informed me that William Hickey said I was ‘overwrought’. I didn’t mind that quite so much, until Sir Humphrey added – for clarification – ‘overwrought as a newt, actually’.

By now I felt that it could not get any worse. But I was wrong. Bernard produced today’s lead story from the Daily Telegraph, which, astonishingly and horrifyingly, claimed that I was recruiting extra staff to the DAA.

I demanded an explanation from Sir Humphrey. And he had one ready, of course.

‘Minister, you asked for these extra people. You demanded a complete study, a survey, facts and figures. These measures cannot be taken by non-people. If you create more work, more people have to be employed to do it. It’s common sense.’