The Complete Yes Minister

This afternoon seemed to last an eternity. I think I’ve more or less got over the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, but it was one of the worst afternoons of my political life so far. However, I shall relate it from the start. Firstly, there was Jak’s cartoon in the Standard.

Then, on my return from cabinet Committee after lunch, Bernard and Humphrey edged into the office looking extremely anxious. I asked if anything was wrong.

For the next four minutes they appeared to speak in riddles.

‘Shall we say, a slight embarrassment,’ said Sir Humphrey.

‘How slight?’ I asked.

First he rambled on about not wishing to overstate the case or suggest that there was any cause for under alarm, but nevertheless… etc. etc. I told him to get on with it, he told me he had a confession to make, and I told him to make a clean breast of it.

‘Not the happiest of phrases, in the circumstances,’ he replied engimatically. I still hadn’t the foggiest idea what he was talking about, although it was soon to become only too clear.

But Humphrey couldn’t find a way to tell me the bad news. Extraordinary. First he said there was to be a twenty-four-hour protest vigil in Hayward’s Spinney, conducted by a girl student and her boyfriend. I could see no problem in two irresponsible layabouts trying — and failing — to attract attention to themselves.

And like an idiot, I said so. (If there’s one lesson I learned today it is not to shoot from the hip. Wait until you know the full facts before giving any response, if you don’t want to finish up looking like a proper Charlie.)

But I got an attack of verbal diarrhoea. ‘Nobody’s interested,’ I said. ‘Everyone’s fed up with these ghastly students. They’re just exhibitionists, you know.’

‘In this case,’ remarked Sir Humphrey, suddenly becoming less enigmatic, ‘they seem to have something to exhibit. It is to be a nude protest vigil.’

This did seem to present a problem. It would clearly attract considerable press interest, and could even get onto the front pages of the tabloids. Regrettably, however, Humphrey hadn’t given me the full picture, so I went on and on talking, making myself seem more idiotic every minute. ‘Really, I don’t know what gets into these students. Appalling. Quite shameless. And it’s their parents’ fault. Don’t bring them up properly, let them run wild and feed them all this trendy middle-class anti-establishment nonsense.’ Then I wittered on about the lack of authority nowadays, and how all this student anarchy is a shocking indictment of their parents’ lack of discipline.

At this point Humphrey was kind enough to reveal to me that the student’s name was Miss Hacker. For a moment I thought it was a coincidence. And then the penny dropped. I’ve never felt so foolish in my whole life. I’m sure (at least I think I’m sure) that Humphrey didn’t intend to make any humiliation as complete as possible. But he succeeded. And I’ll get him for it one day!

After I picked myself up off the floor, I expressed the hope that the press might not think it worth going all the way to Warwickshire. Even as I spoke I knew I was talking rubbish — for a story like this the press would go all the way to the South Pole.

Humphrey and Bernard just looked pityingly at me, and then showed me the letter.

I noted that Lucy was giving out the press release at five p.m. Very professional. Misses the evening papers, which not too many people read, and therefore makes all the dailies. She’s learned something from being a politician’s daughter.

Then Bernard said that he thought he’d better mention that Lucy was ringing up in ten minutes, from a call-box, for an answer.

I asked how we could kill the story. Silence from them both. ‘Advise me,’ I said.

‘What about a bit of parental authority and discipline?’ suggested Sir Humphrey. I told him not to be silly.

‘If you could make her listen to reason…’ volunteered Bernard.

I explained to him that she is a sociology student.

‘Oh I see,’ he said sadly.

Another long pause for thought. Then I suggested calling the police.

Humphrey shook his head, and composed the inevitable headline: MINISTER SETS POLICE ON NUDE DAUGHTER.

‘I’m not sure that completely kills the story, Minister,’ he said.

We sat in one of our tragic silences. Occasional sighs filled the room. Then Humphrey suddenly perked up. ‘What if…’ he said.

‘Yes?’ I said hopefully.

‘What if…’ he said again, ‘… I looked at the files?’

I’m ashamed to say that I completely lost my temper with him. ‘Bloody marvellous!’ I shouted. ‘Is that what you get over thirty thousand a year for? My daughter’s about to get herself all over the front page of the Sun and probably page three as well, and all you can think of is the files! Brilliant!’

He waited till I finished yelling. ‘Nevertheless…’ he said.

‘They’re all out there,’ said Bernard, quickly indicating the Private Office. Humphrey disappeared as fast as he could, before I could shout at him again.