The Complete Yes Minister

I didn’t beat about the bush. ‘Humphrey,’ I said, ‘is everything all right with the Solihull project?’

‘I believe the building works are proceeding quite satisfactorily, Minister,’ he replied smoothly.

I patiently explained that that was not quite what I meant. ‘What is going on?’ I asked.

‘Building is going on, Minister,’ he reported.

‘Yes,’ I said trying to keep my temper, ‘but… something is up, isn’t it?’

‘Yes indeed,’ he replied. At last I’m getting somewhere, I thought. I relaxed.

‘What is up?’ I said.

‘The first floor is up,’ said Sir Humphrey, ‘and the second is almost up.’

I began to show my annoyance. ‘Humphrey, please! I’m talking about the whole basis of the project.’

‘Ah,’ replied my Perm. Sec. gravely. ‘I see.’

‘What can you tell me about that?’

‘Well, as I understand it, Minister…’ here it comes, I thought, the truth at last, ‘… the basis is an aggregate of gravel and cement on six feet of best builder’s rubble.’

Does he take me for a complete fool?

‘Humphrey,’ I said sternly, ‘I think you know I am talking about the finance.’

So then he rabbited on about our contract with the construction company, and the usual stage payments, and all sorts of useless rubbish. I interrupted him.

‘What is it,’ I demanded, ‘that I don’t know?’

‘What do you mean, precisely?’ was his evasive reply.

In a state of mounting hysteria, I tried to explain. ‘I don’t know. It’s just that… there’s something I don’t know, and I don’t know because I can’t find the right question to ask you because I don’t know what to ask. What is it that I don’t know?’

Sir Humphrey feigned innocence.

‘Minister,’ he said, ‘I don’t know what you don’t know. It could be almost anything.’

‘But,’ I persisted, ‘you are keeping things from me, aren’t you?’

He nodded.

‘What?’ I was nearly at boiling point by now. He smiled patronisingly at me. It was quite intolerable. He explained that it is the Department’s duty to protect the Minister from the great tide of irrelevant information that beats against the walls of the Department day after day.

This was not the answer I was seeking. I stood up, and made one last attempt at explaining my problem — just in case he didn’t fully understand it. ‘Look Humphrey,’ I began, ‘there is something about the Solihull project that I know I don’t know, and I know you know. I know Bernard knows. Joe Morgan knows. For heaven’s sake, even my driver knows. It’s only poor old Joe Soap here who has to stand up and talk about it in front of the British people who hasn’t got a clue what’s going on.’

Humphrey just stared at me. He said nothing. So I tried to spell it out for him.

‘Humphrey,’ I said, resisting the temptation to tear out my hair. Or his hair. ‘Will you please answer one simple question?’

‘Certainly Minister,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know!’ I yelled. ‘You tell me and I’ll ask it!’

March 10th

Today seemed to last an eternity. Ruin stared me in the face.

It began with another meeting with Humphrey. The atmosphere was distinctly frosty — Frank Weisel was there too, wanting to discuss his new paper about quangos.

I wasn’t a bit interested in discussing quangos today, which seem to have no immediate relevance to my current problems, though it was full of stuff about ‘ending the scandal of ministerial patronage’ and ‘jobs for the boys’. Humphrey described it as ‘most imaginative’ which Frank interpreted as a sign of approval. Frank hasn’t yet learned that ‘original’ and ‘imaginative’ are two of Humphrey’s most damning criticisms.

Frank’s scheme was to hand over all quango appointments to a Select Committee of Parliament. ‘Get the best men for the jobs instead of old chums, party hacks, and you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours,’ he explained with his usual charm.

It seemed to me that it was a good plan, and I suggested we put it forward for legislation.

‘It’s certainly a novel proposal,’ remarked Humphrey. ‘Novel’ — that’s the other killer!

But Humphrey went on to explain his view that there was no sense in upsetting the current system when it is working smoothly.

Smoothly? I’d never heard such nonsense. Only this morning I’d received a proposal for the Chairmanship of the new Industrial Co-partnership Commission, the latest quango. And whose name was being put up? Sir Desmond Glazebrook, of all people. ‘He’s never worked in industry,’ I said to Humphrey, ‘he’s never met a trades unionist, and he’s said a whole lot of nasty things about this government — is this the kind of suggestion a smoothly working system comes up with?’

‘But he would be an excellent Chairman,’ said Sir Humphrey.

‘He’s an ignorant buffoon,’ I explained carefully.

‘Nonetheless,’ said Sir Humphrey, ‘an excellent Chairman.’

I told Humphrey that I drew the line at Glazebrook. I absolutely refused to appoint him. Over my dead body, I declared.

There was silence in the office for some moments. Then Sir Humphrey said, ‘Minister, before you make your final decision I think there is something that you ought to see.’