At the Oval, I reflected once again on John Major’s remarkable legacy as PM

Cricket. Aargh. My gorge rises at the very word. Days — months — years of schoolboy misery; long, wretched, empty afternoons of boredom, fear and wasted time. Which is no way to say thank-you to Sir John Major for inviting me to a remarkable book launch for what looks and sounds like rather good book: More Than a Game. But the truth is that I made my way to the John Major suite at the Oval in south London on Monday last week more out of affection for Sir John than for cricket.

I’m so glad I did. That busy, crowded room will fix itself in the memory as a sort of still-life of Majorism and his seven long years as prime minister from 1990 to 1997, a strange time in British politics. Sir John’s Oval party reminded me of everything I admired about him, and everything that bemused.

The room was full of chalk and cheese. A sprinkling of young suits; a gathering of old blazers; young bloods; old rogues; young Sloanes; High Tories; loyal Conservative workers; Cockneys; peers — and — ooh! there goes a Heseltine shaking his mane — look — quick — there — just behind that herd of sportsmen. And in the centre of it all this decent, quick-minded, thoughtful, original, slightly edgy man from south London: a total one-off, not an exemplar of any type.

The word I’m trying not to use for the book-launch is ‘eclectic’ because eclectic suggests the sort of mix that acquires a flavour and potency from its very diversity: ‘big tent’ — that sort of thing. ‘Eclectic’ is almost contrived: a quality one might consciously aim for in an anthology, a political party or a social gathering. When, on the other hand, the variety is almost haphazard, ‘eclectic’ is not the word.