A Very British Diarist

Chris Mullin is a good egg and, what’s more has a pawky sense of humour. So I imagine his diaries, serialised in the Mail on Sunday this week, will be entertaining stuff. What strikes one above all – apart from the digs at Gordon Brown’s expense – is the sheer and ghastly tedium of being a government minister. It’s almost enough to make one think they deserve their generous expense accounts and lavish pension. Almost, I say.

But then the government reminds you of the extent of its ghastliness. Mullin describes one such event that in some sense seems to ilustrate the gruesome nature of modern politics in general and New Labour in particular:

Among my mail another piece of New Labour vulgarity: an invitation to have my photograph taken with Alistair Darling handing over a giant cheque to celebrate the fact that pensioners are about to start receiving their £100 winter fuel allowance. The missive goes on: ‘To make a real story for your local paper you are invited to bring along a pensioner.’ It gets worse: ‘Speed is essential. If you are bringing a pensioner, please warn them there is no time to talk to Alistair and no autographs.’ Yuk.

Yuk indeed. But there you have it: the voters, poor saps, are to mutely help spread government propaganda while the technocrats and timeservers ruling them refuse to even acknowledge their presence, let alone indulge them with a spot of friendly small talk or a hastily-scrawled signature. Then again, what sort of person thinks Alistair Darling could ever be in danger of being mobbed by throngs of screaming, knicker-throwing pensioners seeking his autograph? Still, better to be safe than sorry, I suppose.

Occasionally – in moments of weakness – one is tempted to feel sorry for these people. It can’t be much fun being hated by more than half the country after all. Then one remembers the contempt with which they have treated the public and it becomes obvious that they’ve been let off far too lightly. So far…