Diary

19 January 2008

Anne McElvoy reflects on Peter Hain's predicament and the joys of a long bath.

Thrift being a January thing, I vow to avoid overpriced taxis (you hear me on that Ken?) and Oyster card my way to Westminster on the Circle Line. It’s the Russian roulette of travel: could take 12 minutes: could take half the day. But as my appointment time with the Minister for Drains ticks by, the surreal announcements on the state of the network occupy the mind: ‘There are severe delays on the Circle, Metropolitan, Hammersmith and City and the District Line — and some delays on the Piccadilly Line due to a passenger-related incident. All other services are running normally.’ In other words, if you want to get from Hainault to Epping Forest, lucky you.

As Peter Hain faces the consequences of another funding scandal (unlike Tube trains, there’s bound to be one along again soon), I am worried about how his mum is taking it. The Member for Neath and I once shared a platform in a debate on Afghanistan. Afterwards a small throng gathered round to agree or berate us accordingly. A fierce woman headed straight for Peter, congratulated him warmly, but pointedly ignored me standing alongside him. ‘That’s my mum,’ he explained as she swept off. ‘She remembers you interviewed me for The Spectator when I said we had the worst trains in Europe — and she’s never forgiven you for getting me into trouble.’ I fear Peter is in a bit more this time. Perhaps Hain mère could call another of the other fretful front-bench mothers for comfort. The Cabinet was recently enjoined to come clean about any youthful cannabis encounters in a collective mea culpa. One rising-star minister joined the confessional, assured by No. 10 that no reprisals would follow. Well not from Gordon anyway. The next day he found an abrupt text on his mobile: ‘Please call mum. Very upset.’

The tortured reinventions of Gordon continue to fascinate. Since the New Year, he has acquired an interview tick of prefacing answers, ‘If I may say so’ — of course you may, you’re the bloody Prime Minister — and adding that he is happy to have ‘a debate’ on this or that. That goes straight on my banned phrase list, since if we want to have a debate we will, thanks, whether Mr B likes it or not. A colleague coined a great description of those who suddenly acquire a thin layer of civility as they move up the corporate tree, ‘He’s been to Nice School,’ he would say as some Shrek in a suit attempted the transition. Gordon has just graduated from Nice School — but not yet summa cum laude.

Anne McElvoy Is Executive Editor Of The Evening Standard.