The Complete Yes Minister

This was becoming impossible. They all seem to expect me to be in two places at once. I told them to find some way of getting me from Swansea to Newcastle — train, car, helicopter, I didn’t care how — and I would fulfil both engagements. ‘And now,’ I announced, ‘I’m going home — that’s final!’

‘Finally final?’ asked Bernard.

His intentions are equally obscure.

As I left, Bernard gave Roy, my driver, four red boxes and asked me to be sure to do them tonight because of all the Committee papers for tomorrow and letters that have to go off before the weekend.

‘And if you’re a good boy,’ said Frank in a rather poor imitation of Bernard’s accent, ‘your nanny will give you a sweetie.’

I really don’t have to put up with all this aggravation from Frank. I’m stuck with these damn permanent officials, but Frank is only there at my express invitation. I may have to remind him of this, very soon.

When I got home Annie was packing. ‘Leaving me at last?’ I enquired jovially. She reminded me that it is our anniversary tomorrow and we have arranged to go to Paris.

I was appalled!

I tried to explain to her about the trips to Swansea and Newcastle. She feels that she doesn’t want to spend her anniversary in Swansea and Newcastle, particularly not at a lunch for Municipal Treasurers at the Vehicle Licensing Centre. I can see her point. She told me to cancel my meetings, I said I couldn’t, so she said she’d go to Paris without me.

So I phoned Bernard. I told him it was my wife’s wedding anniversary — Annie said, ‘yours too’ — and mine too. Bernard made some silly joke about a coincidence. I told him I was going to Paris tomorrow, instead, and that it was final and that I knew I’d said it was final before but now this was really final — I told him he’d have to sort everything out. Then he talked for three minutes and when I rang off I was still going to Swansea and Newcastle tomorrow.

Those civil servants can talk you in or out of anything. I just don’t seem to know my own mind any more.

Annie and I fumed in silence for a while, and finally I asked her the really important question of the day: had she seen me on my TV interview — (I’d been in London, she’d been down in the constituency).

‘I saw someone who looked like you.’

I asked her what that was supposed to mean. She didn’t answer.

‘Frank said that I’m just a Civil Service mouthpiece,’ I muttered resentfully.

Annie said, ‘Yes.’

I was shocked. ‘You mean… you agree?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You could have hired an actor to say it all for you. He’d have said it better. And while you’re at it, why not just sign your letters with a rubber stamp or get an Assistant Secretary to sign them — they write them anyway.’

I tried to remain dignified. ‘Assistant Secretaries do not write my letters,’ I said. ‘Under-Secretaries write them.’

‘I rest my case, m’lud,’ she said.

‘You think I’ve become a puppet too?’

‘I do. Maybe they should get Miss Piggy to do your job. At least she’s prettier.’

I must say I was feeling pretty hurt and defeated. I sighed and sat on the bed. I honestly felt near to tears. Is this how a Cabinet Minister usually feels, I wondered, or am I just an abysmal failure? I couldn’t see what was wrong, but something certainly was.

‘I don’t know what to do about it,’ I said quietly. ‘I’m just swamped by the volume of work. I’m so depressed.’

Annie suggested that, as we weren’t going to Paris after all, we might at least go for a quiet little candlelit dinner on the corner. I told her that I couldn’t, because Bernard had told me to work through three red boxes tonight.

Annie said something which changed my whole perception of my situation. She said, ‘What do you mean, “Bernard’s told me!”? When you edited Reform you were quite different — you went in, you told people what to do, demanded what you wanted, and you got it! What’s changed? You’re the same man — you’re just allowing them to walk all over you.’

And, suddenly, I saw that it was true. She’s right. That’s why Frank has been getting at me too. Either I get them by the throat or they’ll get me by the throat! It’s the law of the jungle, just like in the Cabinet.

‘How many articles did you blue-pencil and tear up in those days?’ she asked.

‘Dozens,’ I remembered.

‘And how many official papers have you torn up?’

‘None,’ I told her. ‘I’m not allowed to.’

She smiled reproachfully at me, and I realised that I still hadn’t broken out of this destructive pattern of behaviour.

‘Not allowed to?’ She held my hand. ‘Darling, you’re the Minister. You can do anything you like.’

She’s right. I am. I can. And, somehow, all my officials have house-trained me. I see it now. Honestly, I’m so grateful to Annie, she has such remarkable common sense. Well, they’re going to get quite a surprise. Suddenly, I can’t wait to get to the office. My New Year Resolution is: Take Charge.

January 11th

Today was better.

But only a little better. My attitude was fine, but unfortunately his didn’t seem to change all that much.