Part Eleven of Tony Blair’s ‘Dictated’ Memoirs

December 12, 2011
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Adam Lovejoy writes from London: Today we present another instalment of our parody on Tony Blair’s memoirs that he had ‘dictated’ to his aides, before it became a book. This chapter in the original is called 9/11: Shoulder To Shoulder, whereas in our exciting ‘dictated version’ it’s called 9/11, And My Huge Respect For Islam. I have to tell you that initially we had our doubts about this part of the book, considering the nature of events described in it. But after glancing through the chapter in the book we decided we simply couldn’t leave it out. And we didn’t. So here goes:

It is amazing how quickly shock is absorbed and the natural rhythm of the human spirit reasserts itself…

Why are you all frowning? This is a very important chapter. I’ll be telling about my outstanding role in bringing the world together after 9/11. Not to mention that I’ll reveal my deep respect for Islam, the religion I’d have joined, if Christianity would not have been imposed on me when I was a baby.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, you all know what happened on that day. So you can insert a page or two, describing events, to warm up the readers for my appearance in the story. I was in Brighton that day, getting ready to address the TUC conference. I wasn’t in my best mood, I can tell you. I hated those bastards and they hated me back. We sort of rubbed along after fashion, and in a manner of speaking and up to the point…

What, why do you ask if English is my first language? I’m giving you a picture of my relations with the trade unions – in good plain English. You know, rubbing each other along after a fashion – what’s not clear about it? Leave it as I said it, I’m telling you.

I was getting ready to address those wankers – OK, OK, don’t use ‘wankers’, say friends – putting on my sincerity mask. I’ve learnt by then that you can’t be candid and exposed, even for a single moment. Even when I was sitting in my living room or on the shitter, I still felt that I couldn’t relax my guard…

You think it sounds absurd that I was always on my guard, pretending? Well, play with it and make it look that I was deeply committed to myself within myself, if you know what I mean. You don’t know what I mean? Then say something about me ‘being public property but with my own freehold on the inside.’ Be imaginative, you’re writing the memoirs of one of the greatest politicians ever.

Right, where was I? Oh yes, the TUC conference, as it happened, took part in mid September. I was sitting in the hotel, trying on my sincere expression, when Alastair Campbell rang and told me to switch on the box. You’d better see this, he said. I knew that he knew that I didn’t like to be distracted before major speeches, but I realised that there was something on the box that Alastair wanted me to see. I was sharp. So I sat there, looking at the screen, thinking it was some shitty blockbuster about terrorists attacking the World Trade Centre, yawning.

But then it hit me: it was CNN, for God’s sake, and CNN didn’t show feature films. It was for real.

Now pay attention, people: I will describe my feelings at that moment. I felt calm, as I always feel under pressure. I was calm despite being scared to death. I quickly figured that it was not just an accident, those two planes flying into the Twin Towers. I was no fool. And, to be honest, I basically expected something like this to happen, with all the nastiness that had existed in the world…

What, you think it sounds stupid? I did expect something nasty to happen, I’m telling you, I did. I’m a visionary and I often predict things that other people can’t see. Play with it, though. Make it look good in the book.

Anyway, I reckoned this was war, but not as we knew it. And here, people, we are coming to a point when I want to really voice my greatest respect for Islam, for reasons known only to me…

What, what do you mean everyone will figure out that I’m just covering my arse because of the Iraq war? It’s got nothing to do with Iraq. It’s all about my deep fascination with Islam, its history and culture.

What do you mean, it sucks? OK, OK, if you prefer to think that I’m covering my arse and sucking up to the Muslims, so be it. What I want to stress here is that Christianity started well initially, all soft and cuddly, but by the seventh century it became riven by divisions and schisms and Christians began to hound those who were not Christians. And then Islam came along and it was an attempt to develop a new principled and moral way forward for the world…

What do you mean I sound like Muslim? I’m nothing of the kind. I’m as Christian as they come. And I like the word ‘riven’, if I don’t know what it means. So keep it in.

Anyway, Islam was a welcome contrast to the state Christianity was in. Where Christian armies would butcher their enemies, Islam showed mercy. Where other religions suppressed others, Islam showed tolerance. Where priests and prelates often lived lives of debauchery and vice, followers of Islam seemed genuine disciples of devotion and discipline to God.

What do you mean, I’m reading this from a Muslim pamphlet? These are all my own thoughts. I’ll tell you something else: Islam was the greatest repository of civilised though all the way up to the European Renaissance.

Yes, you heard me right, the word is ‘repository’. I like this word and I intend to keep it in the text. And even though I might have overdone it with praise for Islam, but you have to understand me: I need to convince the Muslims that I’m their friend. I don’t want some fatwa to land on my table one day, before I reach that magical number, $1 billion, on my bank account.

What’s important people is to point out that the majority of Muslims condemn terrorists and their world view. But it sort of happens that a lot of them are afraid to denounce it. I am leaving this with you people. You figure out how to present this.

But back to me: the moment I stepped off the stage at the TUC, I immediately worked out a plan in my head of all the wonderful meeting we would have at Number 10 and how we’ll be photographed, sitting there, all serious like, and making tough decisions. The first thing we did then was to suspend all flights over London and put the police and the security people on red alert, whatever that meant. Red, green, yellow, I get confused, you know. I’ve never driven a car in my life, fearing accidents, so lights don’t really mean anything to me.

I remember after we had those meeting and the photo ops, I stared calling everyone and spoke to many world leaders, until finally I got through to George Bush who was hiding somewhere at the time. I saw my role in galvanising the maximum level of support. I was busy assembling as broad coalition as possible to support. That night I said in my broadcast from Number 10 that we needed a comprehensive and strategic action.

Here people you can insert part of my speech and point mention the phrase standing shoulder to shoulder with our American friends. Yes, shoulder to shoulder sounded great. Much better than buttock to buttock, as someone suggested then.

I had a hectic time then, travelling around and rallying support. And then I jetted off to the US. By then my established my position as world leader who was strongly articulating the need for comprehensive and strategic action was pretty well established. I wanted to make sure America felt embraced and supported, felt a real arm of solidarity stretched out towards them…

What, why the sceptical glances? I was in the middle of it all, I wanted America embraced. Leave this in. It’s important. And mention that I liked mayor Rudi Giuliani instantly – it was like, bang! – I liked him from that moment onwards. Nothing sexual, mind you. I just liked him. And I brought the message from the Queen with me and I read it out, with passion an feeling. And I said a few words to the press which were profound. Rudy absolutely loved it. He was a simple man, but he could tell when he saw a great politician in action.

And then I went to Washington to see George Bush. He was preternaturally calm that day…

What do you mean ‘preternaturally’ sounds stupid? It sounds sophisticated. Keep it in the book.

Anyway, we had dinner that evening. Two things came out of it: first, George was very happy to see me and feel the friendship of the British people that I radiated. Secondly, he was not drinking heavily that night. He was at peace. He knew he finally found a mission for himself, as before he’d had absolutely no idea how to fill his days in the White House. He was going crazy from boredom.

I recall when George did his usual banter with the lovely maitre d’ of the White House I asked him whether he was nervous about the speech he was going to make in Congress that night. And he said that he was not nervous as he had it written for him by the people who held the real power and he was just going to read it. No worries.

It was the first time that I had seen a speech in Congress and it was awesome. As I sat in the gallery with Laura Bush, George singled me out from the podium and nodded, as if telling me to watch myself and get Laura off my lap. And I nodded back to him, signalling that it was nothing sexual. Not at that moment, that is.

As I was sitting there, fondling Laura’s breast and looking down at the people downstairs, I had a stroke of genius. I realised how we would be dealing with the Taliban in Afghanistan. We would make a tactical manoeuvre and offer them a choice: yield up bin Laden and the terrorists, or be removed from power. I knew little about Afghanistan, but one thing I knew: if I would read out such an ultimatum to the Taleban, they’d be terrified as hell.

What do you mean it’s crap? I did come up with that brilliant plan. I was smack in the middle of things. I was the dude.

Anyway, I then flew to Brussels for the emergency European Council. I was the centre of attention there. I just came from the US of A and I was the only one who knew things. So once again I’d stolen the spotlight and basked in it thoroughly and deservingly.

It was a hectic time, I can tell you that. And I was in the middle of it all. And it was then that I first realised that if these terrorists ever get their hands on the WMD trinity – nuclear, chemical, biological weapons – we would all be done for. Don’t forget to put this in, as it would prepare the readers for when I’d lead the effort to oust Saddam.

And then we kicked the Taliban’s butt and they were out of Afghanistan. And I was smack in the middle of it all, giving orders and telling the military what to do.

Now, people, I want you to insert large chunks of my 2001 conference speech in this chapter. I want it to be two or even three pages at least. It was a visionary speech and many people learnt it by heart at the time but may have forgotten it a bit by now.

Now how are we going to end this chapter? You know what, I think that you should tell about my brief visit to Afghanistan in January 2002 where I got the red carpet treatment and first met President Karzai. He introduced me to his cabinet and they told me about their aspirations and hoping to become rich and having all those off shore bank accounts, like Western politicians have. I knew this would take time. But how long and how hard it would be, I didn’t know.

And on this profound thought we can end the chapter.

– End –

Part Ten Of Tony Blair’s ‘Dictated’ Memoirs

December 11, 2011
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Adam Lovejoy writes from London: It’s that time again, people. We present another instalment of Tony Blair’s ‘dictated’ version of his memoirs. In the original this chapter is called Managing Crises, but it goes under the title, Managing Britain: Me And The Ordinaries, in our imaginary version:

I left for a holiday at the end of July with the focus on public service reform. I came back at the end of August and found naturally that the focus had shifted to the thought that an election could be anticipated in May 2001; this was the run-up…

What, you think it’s a boring opening for a chapter? Look, like all great politicians of my time I’m allowed to be boring. So this opening stays. In fact, I want the whole opening paragraph to be in the same seriously boring style, proving that I can be very serious. Are we’re agreed on that? Good.

Anyway, most simple people in the party were obsessed with winning the second term, to go into the record books as the first ever Labour government to cling to power for two terms in a row. But not me, oh no. I was not interested in little things like winning. I was thinking about fundamental change. The first term proved that we could govern. Now it was time to inflict the real damage on the nation…

What, what’s wrong now? Oh, you don’t want me to reveal that we were planning to damage Britain? OK, let’s just say then that I was sure that the basic thrust – yes, ‘thrust’ is a nice steely word, just like ‘throbbing’ – of my boundless lust for modernisation was correct. We needed to modernise everything, every little thing. It was the 21st century and we had to renew ourselves as a nation.

I came back after a long and good holiday rested, but also fidgety and anxious…

What, what do you mean I sound like a bloody peasant. Why can’t I say ‘long and good holiday’? Sounds OK to me. I want you to keep this.

Anyway, I had to think of a way to win the election. It was not going to be easy, you know. A lot of people had realised by then that we were just a bunch of bullshitters…

What, you think I’m being too candid? OK, you’re probably right this time. Then come up with something profound, like that I was planning to win it big and that I knew by then that the second term would be a lot tougher, more challenging and less popular than the first one. Or something along these lines.

But now we come to the really juicy bit: when I sorted out the crisis in Sierra Leone. I always dreamt of meeting a man called Leone, by the way. I imagined a big black guy, with an enormous…

Yes, yes, I’m getting a bit carried away, I know. Well, the thing that happened was that some of our soldiers were kidnapped in Sierra Leone by the local savages. And we knew where they were kept. And I had to decide whether to send in the SAS or not. And since I was a little boy I always dreamt of sending the SAS to their deaths…

What do you mean it sounds idiotic? OK, just say that I said: OK, let’s do it. And we got all of them back, but one SAS soldier was killed.

And here, people, I want you to describe in detail how sorry I felt for that soldier. Tell how I wondered around the flat, sucking a lollypop, imagining how that soldier looked and what he felt going on that mission. Make it emotional and show me caring for every serviceman deeply.

Right, what else, what else happened then? Ah, yes, with the elections in the offing – nice word that, ‘offing’ – I decided to go on a regional tour to see what the masses were up to. In modern politics you have to pretend to be living the life the ordinary person leads, when of course you can’t because like all great people you’re busy doing great things. Still, you need to pretend to be ordinary or they’ll accuse you of being out of touch…

This is profound, what I’m telling you now, people. You keep this in the book and don’t you dare lose it.

And mention that I’d used to go to cafes, fish and chips shops, striptease joints – what, striptease joints no good? OK leave them out – and other places that I’d never go to in other times and my people would give me cash, because prime ministers don’t carry cash, and I’d pretend to be a regular bloke. It was all pretence, mind you, this regular bloke thing because before I went to all those joints armed detectives would swoop in and kick the shit out of everyone there, to be on the safe side…

What, too graphic for you? OK, make it that they checked all those places. And mention that hilarious time when me and Gordon bought ourselves ice cream and ate it in front of the cameras – to make us look ordinary. And it was crazy because there we were, the greatest Prime Minister ever and his Chancellor, eating ice cream. I wet myself laughing and Gordon pooped, I think, and had to change his diaper…

What, I shouldn’t mention that Gordon wore diapers? OK, if you’re so touchy about it.

And here’s another great story from that same day: I remember how I wondered round the park, where we ate ice cream with Gordy, and my detectives were throwing their weight around, harassing people for training purposes, and some working class woman said, ogling me as if I was a piece of meat, which I was, I suppose: ‘You look hot, I’d do you.’ And I said something really funny to her, like: ‘You can have an orgasm anytime you like in New Labour Britain.’ And then she actually had one – and then we talked about politics for a while.

What, what do you mean it all sounds stupid? I want my readers to know that I’m the man of the people and that I can communicate with the ordinaries. Make it all flowery, but keep the gist of the story I told you.

What else, what else? Oh, yes, when I was meeting the ordinaries, I always looked up the prices on meat and butter and contraceptives beforehand, so that I could look like I knew what ordinary boring life was all about. The thing is, people, that ordinaries don’t really want to know that their prime minster leads a shitty life like they do. They want to know that he could lead a shitty life like they do and, even more importantly, they want to know that their PM, as I liked to call myself, feels like them and could get along with them, ordinaries.

What, what do you mean it’s the worst bullshit you’ve ever heard in your life? It’s profound, you know. It shows I’m on the same wavelength as the ordinaries. You keep that in.

And I’ll tell you something even more profound: getting along with the ordinaries has nothing to do with class or background. You can be a sophisticated genius like me and still get along with them fine. And you can be some shitty miner and be hopeless at it. It’s about character and about being authentic. I was always authentic. I’d wake up in the morning and run to the mirror to see whether I was authentic. Authenticity was my middle name. And I’ll tell you something else that’s important for a politician: if you don’t look like a bloke that people want to get pissed in a pub with, then getting elected would be a problem.

What, what do mean it all sounds stupid? Why is it stupid? It’s profound. I’ll tell something: George Bush was authentic and look where it got him: started two wars and got more than a million people wacked. And Bill Clinton was good with people. He’d sometimes be fascinated with weirdoes, just because he wanted to learn something from the. And weirdoes like that sort of thing. And most voters are weirdoes. So there.

Anyway, when I used to meet the ordinaries I would always learn something from them. And I’d check whether my people at Number 10 were bullshitting me or anything. And I often found out that I was given bullshit in huge chunks my people. And it made me feel happy. Because it showed they cared.

What, what do you mean it’s stupid? You keep it, hear me. Polish it a bit, but keep it.

And then came the fuel protests. And this is when I showed everyone what I was made of. I’ll tell you something people that you probably never knew. When the fuel protests started the press was revelling in them. And you know what I figured out then? That if it were the Tories the papers wouldn’t have given such a hard time. Yes, that’s how it was, people.

But let me tell you how I sorted out things then: I summoned some oil people and the cops for a meeting. I was really scared, to be honest, as I usually was when I had no idea what to say or do. And it happened a lot. So I got all my strength together and told one of the policeman what he was going to do about the fuel protests? And he sort of pretended not to understand and said: Are you talking to me? And I said, I want you to stop these protests. And he like brightened and understood. And off they all went and we had a crisis meeting of the Cabinet and decided to give the protesters a hard time.

We made all sorts of statements then statements and the trade union sided with us and condemned their own people. But the media was still not happy. There were two things I’ve learnt then. First, that there was no point to get steamed up about hacks because they are shits anyway. And, second – this is very important, people – I figured that life would always be different for a Labour leader compared to a Tory leader. Yes, that was how tough my life was. And I want you to end this subchapter in this chapter and make it look as if I sorted the fuel protesters all by myself. Against the odds.

Now, where was I? Oh yes: The fallout from the fuel protests meant we went into the party conference at the end of September in a slightly chastened mood…

What, you think it’s boring for an opener. I don’t think so.

We were behind the Tories in the polls. And here, people, I suggest you write a couple of pages about opinion polls and say things like that opinion polls matter and they don’t matter at the same time and that I sometimes cast a nervous eye over the polls, but still remained indifferent to them.

And when we had had an unfortunate run in with the pensioners. I don’t like pensioners myself. They’re old and wrinkly and pathetic and demand things when they should be dying. Although my mother-in-law was a nice old bird and she kept me informed what Cherie was up to when I was away and she told me what the pensioners thought about me. It was not nice, I can tell you.

Anyway, in the summer of 1999 we messed up big time. We raised the pensions that year in line with inflation and it amounted to 75 pence a week. Not so little, if you think that pensioners don’t really need that much, but still not looking good on paper. And I was the only one in the party decent enough to apologise to the old people. The others didn’t want to do that, especially Gordon who was a mean bastard…

What, you think I shouldn’t call Gordon a mean bastard. Well, he was, but you can leave it out.

What else, what else? Oh yes, we had a bit of a problem with most of the party not really knowing what New Labour was all about? The thing is that New Labour was created by a tightly knit group of conspirators…

What, I can’t call us conspirators? OK, just say it was a tightly knit group then and that everything rested on my shoulders to make New Labour a big thing. I remember I was thinking at the time: you have to drive and keep driving, Tony. But I have not yet properly matured and hardened then, like a good cheese. I was smelly and stinky, but not hard enough. You can mention here that Cherie was of great support, but we only met at night for wild sex, so I need more people at work who would share my commitment to New Labour.

Then came the floods, and I was absolutely great at dealing with them. Then there was the Hatfield rail crash, and I was smack in the middle of it all, leading an examination of what to do with the railroads and looking great on TV. Then Milosevic fell, which was all due to me, and Donald Dewar, the First Minister of Scotland, kicked the bucket all of a sudden. I didn’t know him at all but I felt shattered.

The big thing at the time was fox hunting. It was huge. I knew nothing about it and had no idea that it was part of our rural present. I want you, people, to write five pages about fox hunting and make me look as if I don’t really want the ban but sort of couldn’t do anything about it. Give a hint that it was a Tory sport, but only a hint.

And then there was the Peter Mandelson’s second resignation from the government. It was all very silly and he did nothing wrong but he had to go. I missed him desperately in cabinet between 2001 and 2005.

And then there was foot-and-mouth disease and I was smack in the middle of it all. You can devote four to five pages easy to it and show me in the best possible light because I really helped to avert a disaster then.

How I want to end this chapter? Well, put it this way: If not for me foot-and-mouth would have wiped out the British nation. Play around with it and make me look good.

(to be continued)

Part 8....still looking for part

‘The awakening from Opposition to government lies in the tough nature of decision-making…’

Yes, people, don’t look so surprised. I awoke on foreign policy abruptly. You know how it is: bam, you hit your head and you’re suddenly awake.

What, you think it sounds stupid? Well, I don’t think so, and if I don’t think so, it goes into the book.

Anyway, when Kosovo emerged as an issue the jagged edge of foreign policy and decision-making was immediate and painful in effect…

Why are you frowning? You think ‘jagged edge of foreign policy’ sounds stupid. I don’t think so. I like it, so it stays.

Now, what I want you to do, people, is fill three or four pages with my deep thoughts on international policy. Say something like ‘foreign and domestic policy interact and overlap’. Say also that if anyone would have told me before I went into 10 Downing Street that I’d be starting four freaking wars, I’d have told him: are you pulling my pubes or what? And you can add about my deep conviction that foreign and domestic policy interact because we’ve gone global and global challenges need global solutions. That’s sounds really profound. Boy, I’m good.

What else, what else? Oh yes, tell how the whole Kosovo thing developed and how it taught me a lot of things, about government, about leadership, about myself. And say it changed my own attitude to foreign policy. And add some stuff how I travelled everywhere and persuaded everyone that I knew what I was doing.

And that is where my relationship with Bill Clinton comes in. I began to engage Bill over the possibility of military action in Kosovo, not just by air, but, if necessary, through the use of ground forces. By then we’d become close. We were mates and modernisers. We were both cool and young looking. We were easy going but when you reached right down, you know, to the underwear, there was a lot of granite there. Yes, we were two tough dudes and we had balls made of granite.

What do you mean it sounds stupid about the granite? We were tough. Keep it in.

Bill was – what’s the word here – yes, the most formidable politician I had ever encountered. And he was also a brilliant thinker with a clear and thought through political philosophy and programme. He could sometimes sit there and think for hours, saliva slightly dripping, thinking hard, rubbing his crotch. I’m not kidding you, people, he was a tinker.

We looked different, yes. I was younger and better looking, but Bill was the boss, the political master. He had it all. His superb intellect was often hidden by his manner, but he had incredible analytical ability, was genially interested in policy debate and constantly on the lookout for new idea.

What, what do you mean why I’m reading from my notes? So what if pencilled a few ideas about Bill in advance. He was one of the greatest politicians ever. So you keep all that stuff, you hear me? Even if you think it sounds stupid.

Where was I? Oh yes, Bill was quick-witted. I remember I visited him in 1996 before our election and he allowed me to stay in the Oval Office with him longer than any other Labour leader before me. I’m not kidding you: we overrun our schedule.

And Bill was very resilient. Yes, imagine what he had had to go through with that entire impeachment thing. How could he, how did he, survive it? But he did and left office with an approval rating of over 60 per cent…

What do you mean the yanks were idiots to let him get away with it? Bill was great. Let me tell you something about him: when he was ‘not telling the truth’ about that woman, he did it not to embarrass his family. And the prosecutors overplayed their hand. Yes.

What do you mean I sound like Clinton’s apologists? So what? The guy was great. He was cool under fire, I can tell you that. By sheer happenstance…

Why don’t like the word ‘happenstance’? It’s a good juicy word and shows my sophistication and intelligence. Who else talks like that? No, no, keep that word in there. Anyway, by sheer happenstance I was with Bill when the whole affair broke. The first time, in February 1998, the main revelation from Monica Lewinsky appeared, and I was in the White House. We had to do a press conference and we were standing there, chatting like great guys do. He was a great guy, a good president, and above all he was a friend. And I am excessively loyal to friends.

At that press conference we were supposed to talk about WMDs and Saddam. But the media was for some reason interested mostly in Monica. As if it was some big deal.

And then there was a time when we were doing a press conference on progressive politics and a fresh revelation broke about the tapes of the Starr interview. And instead of progressive politics it was-to-wall Monica.

And now comes the exclusive stuff about Bill and Hillary: people often asked me about their relationship. You know, were they swingers and everything? Most folks thought theirs was a marriage of political partnership. And I used to say to these people: You know what I think about it? I think they love each other. That’s the real revelation. They loved each other. Period.

What, what do you mean I forgot about Kosovo? Who gives a shit about Kosovo if I can praise Bill endlessly. Oh, you say this chapter would be called ‘Kosovo’. Ok, let’s talk about Kosovo, if you’re so freaking upset about it, as my illegitimate son likes to say.

Wow, why all the questions? I was just joking about Leo being illegitimate. Chill out, people. Can’t you handle a joke properly.

Anyway, in early 1999 I basically figured out what we needed to do to succeed. I realised – quite brilliantly actually – that everything depended on my relationship with Bill. If he could be persuaded, we had a chance. If not, the Europeans on their own would never act. The bloody idiots…

What, you think I can’t call them idiots. OK, just say they wouldn’t have acted without Bill.

Eventually Bill and I agreed to take military action through NATO, in a series of air strike. I was in a really bloodthirsty mood then and wanted the ground troops to go in as well. About 150,000 of them. But as everyone was making the air strikes a condition of any involvement, I had to settle for ait strikes in the hope of pushing through the idea of a ground invasion later.

Now folks, we’re coming to a dramatic twist in this chapter. It’s me taking on Milosevic and getting everyone behind me. The thing is that air strikes were not really bringing us anything. Sure, refugees were flowing in every direction, but Milosevic was still there. So then I summoned my people, Alistair, Jonathan and others, and told him that I was feeling adventurous and was ready to go for broke and demand more bloodletting. I wanted a ground invasion bad. What’s a war without ground troops?

Anyway, there I was pushing all the buttons imaginable and flying between capitals, getting the ground invasion together. But I failed. Because no one had the same foresight as I had. But let no one be confused about one thing: Kosovo had not diminished my appetite for interventions. Yes, that’s the sort of guy I was. And that’s where Sierra Leone comes in…

What, what do you mean this chapter is about Kosovo? Sierra Leona was one of my greatest achievements.

Anyway, to be brief about it, by the 1990s Sierra Leona was going to the dogs and I saved it. Make it flowery on one page and throw a few names into it who helped win that war..

Here’s some gripping stuff for you, people. During the Kosovo conflict I addressed the Economic Club of Chicago, a sort of mini secret world government, and I set out my Doctrine of International Community. And the whole point of it was that intervention anywhere was justified if I thought the regimes there sucked and it was in my interests to bring them down. The implications were of course gigantic. I basically rejected the narrow view of narrow national interest and set a policy of intervention in the context of the impact of globalization…

What, what do mean it sounds like typical bullshit? A lot of things I say are bullshit, so what? Anyway, I want you to include a big piece from my speech to show how cool and in touch with my own self I was.

The only problem was my foreign policy didn’t cut much ice with the British public. In fact, throughout 1999 and around Kosovo we were losing support and it was time to come up with some plan to revive out fortunes. And it was then that it hit me: let’s give devolved powers to Scotland, Ireland and Wales, I thought. That would get these folks on my side. I was never a passionate devolutionist. But at that time I needed some good distraction, so I went for it.

What, it sounds opportunistic, you say? OK, make it sound sophisticated and caring like.

How I want to end the chapter? Why don’t you tell how Shaun Woodward defected from the Tories to us? He approached Cherie first, for some strange reason, although a lot of blokes were interested in her at the time. She was getting bigger then, and people like Shaun liked their women big. Anyway, I thought he was a decent sort of bloke, so I gave him the OK.

No, no, not to do it with Cherie! No, I gave him the OK to join Labour. You may also mention that by that time I was thinking of having a facelift and maybe a sex change…

What, doesn’t sound right? OK, then mention the need for radical reforms and my frustration within me and around me beginning to mount. Or something along these lines.

(to be continued)

9

Storm wrote:

Part 8....still looking for part

‘The awakening from Opposition to government lies in the tough nature of decision-making…’

Yes, people, don’t look so surprised. I awoke on foreign policy abruptly. You know how it is: bam, you hit your head and you’re suddenly awake.

What, you think it sounds stupid? Well, I don’t think so, and if I don’t think so, it goes into the book.

Anyway, when Kosovo emerged as an issue the jagged edge of foreign policy and decision-making was immediate and painful in effect…

Why are you frowning? You think ‘jagged edge of foreign policy’ sounds stupid. I don’t think so. I like it, so it stays.

Now, what I want you to do, people, is fill three or four pages with my deep thoughts on international policy. Say something like ‘foreign and domestic policy interact and overlap’. Say also that if anyone would have told me before I went into 10 Downing Street that I’d be starting four freaking wars, I’d have told him: are you pulling my pubes or what? And you can add about my deep conviction that foreign and domestic policy interact because we’ve gone global and global challenges need global solutions. That’s sounds really profound. Boy, I’m good.

What else, what else? Oh yes, tell how the whole Kosovo thing developed and how it taught me a lot of things, about government, about leadership, about myself. And say it changed my own attitude to foreign policy. And add some stuff how I travelled everywhere and persuaded everyone that I knew what I was doing.

And that is where my relationship with Bill Clinton comes in. I began to engage Bill over the possibility of military action in Kosovo, not just by air, but, if necessary, through the use of ground forces. By then we’d become close. We were mates and modernisers. We were both cool and young looking. We were easy going but when you reached right down, you know, to the underwear, there was a lot of granite there. Yes, we were two tough dudes and we had balls made of granite.

What do you mean it sounds stupid about the granite? We were tough. Keep it in.

Bill was – what’s the word here – yes, the most formidable politician I had ever encountered. And he was also a brilliant thinker with a clear and thought through political philosophy and programme. He could sometimes sit there and think for hours, saliva slightly dripping, thinking hard, rubbing his crotch. I’m not kidding you, people, he was a tinker.

We looked different, yes. I was younger and better looking, but Bill was the boss, the political master. He had it all. His superb intellect was often hidden by his manner, but he had incredible analytical ability, was genially interested in policy debate and constantly on the lookout for new idea.

What, what do you mean why I’m reading from my notes? So what if pencilled a few ideas about Bill in advance. He was one of the greatest politicians ever. So you keep all that stuff, you hear me? Even if you think it sounds stupid.

Where was I? Oh yes, Bill was quick-witted. I remember I visited him in 1996 before our election and he allowed me to stay in the Oval Office with him longer than any other Labour leader before me. I’m not kidding you: we overrun our schedule.

And Bill was very resilient. Yes, imagine what he had had to go through with that entire impeachment thing. How could he, how did he, survive it? But he did and left office with an approval rating of over 60 per cent…

What do you mean the yanks were idiots to let him get away with it? Bill was great. Let me tell you something about him: when he was ‘not telling the truth’ about that woman, he did it not to embarrass his family. And the prosecutors overplayed their hand. Yes.

What do you mean I sound like Clinton’s apologists? So what? The guy was great. He was cool under fire, I can tell you that. By sheer happenstance…

Why don’t like the word ‘happenstance’? It’s a good juicy word and shows my sophistication and intelligence. Who else talks like that? No, no, keep that word in there. Anyway, by sheer happenstance I was with Bill when the whole affair broke. The first time, in February 1998, the main revelation from Monica Lewinsky appeared, and I was in the White House. We had to do a press conference and we were standing there, chatting like great guys do. He was a great guy, a good president, and above all he was a friend. And I am excessively loyal to friends.

At that press conference we were supposed to talk about WMDs and Saddam. But the media was for some reason interested mostly in Monica. As if it was some big deal.

And then there was a time when we were doing a press conference on progressive politics and a fresh revelation broke about the tapes of the Starr interview. And instead of progressive politics it was-to-wall Monica.

And now comes the exclusive stuff about Bill and Hillary: people often asked me about their relationship. You know, were they swingers and everything? Most folks thought theirs was a marriage of political partnership. And I used to say to these people: You know what I think about it? I think they love each other. That’s the real revelation. They loved each other. Period.

What, what do you mean I forgot about Kosovo? Who gives a shit about Kosovo if I can praise Bill endlessly. Oh, you say this chapter would be called ‘Kosovo’. Ok, let’s talk about Kosovo, if you’re so freaking upset about it, as my illegitimate son likes to say.

Wow, why all the questions? I was just joking about Leo being illegitimate. Chill out, people. Can’t you handle a joke properly.

Anyway, in early 1999 I basically figured out what we needed to do to succeed. I realised – quite brilliantly actually – that everything depended on my relationship with Bill. If he could be persuaded, we had a chance. If not, the Europeans on their own would never act. The bloody idiots…

What, you think I can’t call them idiots. OK, just say they wouldn’t have acted without Bill.

Eventually Bill and I agreed to take military action through NATO, in a series of air strike. I was in a really bloodthirsty mood then and wanted the ground troops to go in as well. About 150,000 of them. But as everyone was making the air strikes a condition of any involvement, I had to settle for ait strikes in the hope of pushing through the idea of a ground invasion later.

Now folks, we’re coming to a dramatic twist in this chapter. It’s me taking on Milosevic and getting everyone behind me. The thing is that air strikes were not really bringing us anything. Sure, refugees were flowing in every direction, but Milosevic was still there. So then I summoned my people, Alistair, Jonathan and others, and told him that I was feeling adventurous and was ready to go for broke and demand more bloodletting. I wanted a ground invasion bad. What’s a war without ground troops?

Anyway, there I was pushing all the buttons imaginable and flying between capitals, getting the ground invasion together. But I failed. Because no one had the same foresight as I had. But let no one be confused about one thing: Kosovo had not diminished my appetite for interventions. Yes, that’s the sort of guy I was. And that’s where Sierra Leone comes in…

What, what do you mean this chapter is about Kosovo? Sierra Leona was one of my greatest achievements.

Anyway, to be brief about it, by the 1990s Sierra Leona was going to the dogs and I saved it. Make it flowery on one page and throw a few names into it who helped win that war..

Here’s some gripping stuff for you, people. During the Kosovo conflict I addressed the Economic Club of Chicago, a sort of mini secret world government, and I set out my Doctrine of International Community. And the whole point of it was that intervention anywhere was justified if I thought the regimes there sucked and it was in my interests to bring them down. The implications were of course gigantic. I basically rejected the narrow view of narrow national interest and set a policy of intervention in the context of the impact of globalization…

What, what do mean it sounds like typical bullshit? A lot of things I say are bullshit, so what? Anyway, I want you to include a big piece from my speech to show how cool and in touch with my own self I was.

The only problem was my foreign policy didn’t cut much ice with the British public. In fact, throughout 1999 and around Kosovo we were losing support and it was time to come up with some plan to revive out fortunes. And it was then that it hit me: let’s give devolved powers to Scotland, Ireland and Wales, I thought. That would get these folks on my side. I was never a passionate devolutionist. But at that time I needed some good distraction, so I went for it.

What, it sounds opportunistic, you say? OK, make it sound sophisticated and caring like.

How I want to end the chapter? Why don’t you tell how Shaun Woodward defected from the Tories to us? He approached Cherie first, for some strange reason, although a lot of blokes were interested in her at the time. She was getting bigger then, and people like Shaun liked their women big. Anyway, I thought he was a decent sort of bloke, so I gave him the OK.

No, no, not to do it with Cherie! No, I gave him the OK to join Labour. You may also mention that by that time I was thinking of having a facelift and maybe a sex change…

What, doesn’t sound right? OK, then mention the need for radical reforms and my frustration within me and around me beginning to mount. Or something along these lines.

(to be continued)

9

Part 9

Chapter 9 in the original book is called Forces Of Conservatism, but goes under the title Partying The Night Away With The Queen. And Other Awesome Stuff in our fantasy version. Enjoy:

Right people, ready when you are. Here goes: The ‘forces of conservatism speech’ at the party conference in September 1999 has marked the sharpening of the analysis and a hardening of the soul…

What do you mean it’s bullshit? It’s profound, it’s deep, it’s meaningful, it’s got a powerful message there. I don’t want to hear any objections. That’s how the chapter should start.

Anyway, the thing was that when we started to reform public services, welfare and law and order and education, it occurred to me that there were a lot of conservatives with a small ‘c’ in the public services who were opposed to us. Nasty little shits they were, and they didn’t want to reform.

Why, why can’t I call them ‘shits’? I hate conservatives, I just hate them! OK, OK, you win. Leave ‘shits’ out.

Where was I? Oh yes, we cancelled all the spending controls that the Tories had left us and started really blowing money away like there was no tomorrow…

What, what’s wrong now? You think I shouldn’t be saying these things? But we did spend like mad. What’s wrong with that? OK, OK, soften it a bit then. But I want you to mention that we found out to our surprise that money alone didn’t change anything because the forces of conservatism were causing us problems. And don’t forget to put in that by the end of 1999 I began to wonder how we could – what’s the word I’m looking here? – oh yes, ‘propel the whole question of reforms faster’.

What do you mean the word ‘propel’ is no good. It’s a meaty word, with a lot of vibe in it.

Anyway, two things happened that year: the Dome and the Millennium bug. You can mention my meeting with Bill Gates, by the way, for no particular reason, except to show me hanging out with serious people, and describe how David Miliband made a total fool of himself by wrongly predicting that the millennium bug would wipe out the world, which it didn’t, thank you very much.

You can tell some hilarious things about the Dome, on three or four pages, putting me in the centre of it all, naturally. But the main thing is to mention that I was scared shitless on 31 December 1999, the day when the Queen and Prince Philip joined Cherrie and myself in the Dome to celebrate the New Millennium. The thing is, I suddenly figured out that if any of the acrobats, who were flying in the air above us, would fall on the monarch, she’d be dead. And guess what would have happened then? I’d get bad headlines the next day and we’d be a republic. Ha, ha, ha! Nice little joke, that, eh?

No, you don’t think so? But I’m not kidding, people. I was really scared that Her Maj would be squashed by the acrobats. OK, OK, make it smoother if you want but keep the gist of the story intact.

And don’t forget to mention how I held hands with the Queen and we sang, together with Cherie and Prince Philip. But make it look as if I found it all a bit tacky and beyond me. In the evening when we got back home Cherie said to me that it was all fun and I told her that it was a good thing that such occasions came only once in a thousand years. Yes, that would be a great ending to the sub-chapter in this chapter.

Now people, pay attention: the next five or six pages will have to be devoted to the NHS and other public services and to how we reformed them and I was smack in the middle of it all, with my foresight and vision and all that. I want to come across as a man on a mission, who is always busy, meeting and talking to people and making important decisions. I trust you’ll find some page fillers and include the list of names I’ve provided you with to praise them and all that. Sprinkle them around, OK? And don’t forget to mention how Mo Mowlam would come in, take her wig off, slump on the couch, belch and say that she’d rather be shagging someone than talking about some government stuff. Mo was one sophisticated woman, I can tell you that.

Oh yes, and you need to insert a couple of paragraphs praising David Frost. I promised him. Say something balanced, like that he was he was by far and away the best interviewer around on TV. And you can add that had an extraordinary talent to… to… Oh I don’t know, say anything you want. The thing is that I gave an interview to David about my plans for the NHS and he absolutely loved it. And I loved it. And we were both very happy.

Moving on: we’ll have to mention the London mayoral election and say that even though why Ken Livingstone was not me preferred choice, he had still won it…

What do mean people hated me then and voted for him because he was stating as an independent? What are you implying? Oh, you’re implying that people hated me then already. Well, in any case, just say that I liked Ken a lot but he was confused and disorientated and didn’t understand what was good for him.

We also need to mention law and order and education in this chapter, so work around it and say something that would make me look good.

Now comes the important part. I want you to mention that the press was really hounding me in 1999. That disgusting paper, The Mail, was attacking me all the time. And you know why? Because they were tribal Tories and even if I said something that they basically agreed with, they’d still go after me because it was me who said it and not them.

What, what do you mean it sounds stupid? I’m telling you how it happened. So you’d better listen. I’ll tell you even more: The Mail eventually linked up with the Guardian and they both started to dislike me, the bastards.

What else, what else? Oh yes, Cherie shocked me profoundly in those days by telling me she was pregnant…

What, what do mean it sounds daft? Of course I realised that we were shagging like two rabbits, but it was still a shock. And people started asking silly questions like: Do prime ministers shag their wives? And Alastair was cynical about it, joking that he was the father. And my other children were mildly disgusted by the whole thing, as children do when their brothers and sisters are born.

The birth itself was weird, I can tell you that. I was in the corridor with all my bodyguards, horsing around like we always do, exposing ourselves to nurses and all that other guys’ stuff…

What, I can’t say this? OK, OK, just say I was in the corridor with them and Cherie was screaming and groaning, just keep us on our toes, and then we all went in and she gave birth at exactly the time we had agreed, 22.22. We thought it would bring or baby luck. Cherie was awesome, I tell you. She was 45 at the time.

The next day I came out of Downing Street to announce the birth of my son Leo, cunningly holding a mug of tea with the photo of my three previous kids on it. And everyone went apeshit and started saying that it was cheesy, and I agreed, but I was so proud that it didn’t really matter.

And then I took paternity leave for two weeks and basically did nothing but gaze at myself in the mirror. But before that I made that historic speech at the Women’s Institute and got booed off the podium. Those chicks just didn’t dig what I said to them. But my people were great about is and said that it was a wonderful speech. Pity about the audience of retards, they said.

And then there was that hilarious adventure with Euan, my sixteen-year-old son, who got drunk and ended up arrested. It was a crazy night, I can tell you that. I was alone at Number 10 that night, with Cherie and her mother and Leo pissing off to Portugal, and Alastair spending time somewhere pulling birds. I remember clearly how I suddenly thought: Where the hell is Euan? What’s he up to? I checked his room and he wasn’t there. I panicked and went downstairs and spoke to the policemen standing outside. I asked him to find Eaun for me. He went off into the night and brought my sorry-assed-looking son at around 1.30 am. It turned out he was arrested outside Leicester Square Tube station for underage drinking and being drunk in a public place.

I didn’t get any sleep that night. Euan insisted on coming to my bed – come on, why’s the surprised look, people, he was only sixteen. He then apologised and threw up. And I threw up as well, in solidarity with him. I always liked Euan, you know. Much more than my other son whose name always escapes me. But let me tell you something as a concerned parent: if the cops had had a spare cell that night in our area, I’d have preferred Euan to spend the night there, with some heavies, to learn his lesson well.

You’re asking how I want to end the chapter. I’ll tell you what. Let’s have a link with the next one, a bridge of thought, as I call it. Let’s say that when I was holidaying in Tuscany in the summer I was thinking about the future as I never in my wildest dreams could I have foreseen my next great challenges: the floods, the fuel protests and the foot-an-mouth disease. Yes, that would keep the readers gripped.

(to be continued)