The triumph of humility

‘John Smith is dead.’ These four blunt syllables, as elemental and atmospheric as the first line of a classic novel, form the opening of Chris Mullin’s new collection of diaries. This is a fascinating read, crammed with gossip, jokes, insights and anecdotes, not all of them political.

Mullin’s first disclosure is that the ‘decent interval’ between a leader’s death and the tussle to succeed him lasts about three seconds. The ‘Stop Blair Camp’ formed as soon as Smith was buried. They try to court Mullin and he brushes them off. ‘I’m in the Win the Next Election Camp.’ He considers backing John Prescott, but
‘I can’t bear the thought of another phoney-left leader. Give me an honest right-winger any day.’

Mullin’s esteem for Blair spills over into adoration after the 1997 landslide. ‘A superstar. One of the all-time greats.’ Blair is determined to stamp out division and he orders backbenchers to abandon the idea that their task is to make demands which the executive must deliver. ‘Your job is to explain,’ he says with dictatorial candour.

Cherie features only briefly in this volume. Mullin confirms that she loathed Humphrey, the Downing Street cat. ‘Give him a kick from me,’ she once airily ordered. He also records this oddity: one of Cherie’s colleagues, hearing her lamenting her poverty, encouraged her to think about the fat fees her husband would earn after leaving office. ‘But I married an idealist,’ she says, ‘When Tony retires he wants to go and teach in Africa.’

Mullin pours subtle but deadly scorn on Gordon Brown’s reputation. He repeats Robin Cook’s verdict that Brown was ‘intellectually lazy’ and he confirms all the mythic details of the former PM’s damaged psyche: shredded fingernails, obsession with spin, the arrogance and self-absorption.