Lenihan on his white elephant

Just when you thought that things couldn’t get worse. We’ve had paedophile priests protected by their bishops, rapists hailed as heroes and Roddy Collins coming back to bury manage Cork City. Now we see NAMA – the Batmobile of the finance minister – will be run by a selection of heavyweight idiots, most of whom were involved in getting us into the economic mire that we’re in. Here are seven of the illustrious appointees, no doubt on salaries and expenses commensurate with their abilities.

Arthur Frank Daly: Chairman of the Revenue Commissioners from March 2002 to March 2008. He was formerly Accountant General of Revenue and Head of Strategic and Business Planning. Obviously the strategy and planning involved aping the policy of Nero and fiddling while the economy burned.

Eilish Finan: the former Chief Financial Officer of AIG Global Investments. Would this be the same AIG that US taxpayers had to bail out to the tune of about $185m? Should be used to pissing our money up against the wall then.

Michael Connolly: a former member of the Bank of Ireland senior management team and member of Financial Services Ombudsman Council. So, double the experience of being part of a completely useless and fucked up organisation. Welcome to (more of) our money.

Peter Stewart: Managing Director of O’Donovan Stewart & Company – firm of chartered accountants and a Fellow of the Institute of Chartered Accountants in Ireland. Director of a broad range of companies including a bank and an investment intermediary company regulated by the Central Bank of Ireland. The key word in the last sentence is ‘regulated’.

Brian McEnery: senior partner in Horwath Bastow Charleton specialising in corporate finance and Corporate Recovery – and has experience in dealing with the Corporate Enforcement and ODCE aspects of insolvency cases. National adviser to the INHO (Irish Nursing Home Organisation) – should be used to fleecing looking after old peoples money.

Willie Soffe: Chairman of the Dublin Transportation Office and former County Manager of Fingal County Council. Isn’t it great that we can get around Dublin so easily now?

Stephen Seelig: Advisor in the IMF’s Monetary and Capital Markets Department. The bloke who said, “The drafting of the determination of ‘long-term economic value of bank assets’ is masterful. It is both sufficiently specific and sufficiently vague to allow appropriate flexibility. I hope you can retain this language.” This bloke has a bright future, unlike our economy.

I spent a very pleasant hour during the evening watching an old episode of the classic BBC comedy series, Yes Minister. The series was, as I quickly remembered, a true classic: wonderful acting by Paul Eddington and Nigel Hawthorne, genuinely funny themes, and underneath it all some quite serious analysis of how the political system (in this case of the UK) works. The basic themes of the show were that professional politics is almost all vanity and no substance, that civil servants determine actual political events, and that they arrange these to suit their wholly conservative instincts.

But despite what one might think of as a rather cynical outlook on the corridors of power, the series actually showed the affectionate view that its writers had of politics and politicians. There is almost a sense of conspiracy between the writers and the viewer, promoting the idea that the real work of government is done incrementally and rationally, and that the unpredictable big ideas embraced occasionally by politicians are destabilising and foolish.

Political comedy and satire, when done in a subtle manner, can have a profound impact on the practise of government. Yes Minister opened up many eyes to the consequences of the bureaucratisation of government and the ultimate impossibility of accountability when the elite are so pre-occupied with managing information and news.

Good political satire is sadly missing right now. And that is a serious issue, because democracy works better when subjected to criticism by knowing looks rather than always just loud hectoring. The leading actors of Yes Minister are unfortunately both now dead; but maybe an idea for a new political comedy is being pursued somewhere. Certainly, it is worth the effort.

“Have an offal christmas and a wurst new year” was the greeting in a christmas card sent by Jonathan Lynn and Antony Jay’s Jim Hacker, Minister of Administrive Affairs to Maurice, the EEC Agricultural Commissioner in Brussels. The message was an allusion to moves towards standardisation of the euro sausage and, as a consequence, to rename the British sausage an “Emulsified high-fat offal tube”. The Christmas card was the first step in a series of events which led to Hacker being promoted to the office of Prime Minister.

At statsbudsjetter ofte har en trang til å tillegge kommuner nye oppgaver samtidig som inntektene til kommunene strupes, er et velkjent fenomen i mange demokratier i dag. Kanskje man kan kalle det en ny form av “The Road to Serfdom”? Eller, som Yes Minister så fint kaller det: “The minefield of local government, its a graveyard…”

I always thought Yes Minister is by far one of the most entertaining and edifying comedies ever produced. As it turns out, though unwittingly, the authors of the series also stumbled upon the reason why democracy can lead only to an accelerating inflationary trajectory.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/tvandradio/6617356/Why-Yes-Minister-is-as-true-as-ever.html

Significant excerpts:

“We [the authors] had to get down to basics, to the classic actors’ studio question: “What’s my motivation?” There are two answers: the expressed, publicly acceptable motivation, and the real motivation. The minister’s declared motivation is to serve the voters, to satisfy their hopes and aspirations, at whatever personal sacrifice. His real motivation is to get promoted, to get re-elected, to burnish his own and the government’s image.

The civil servant’s declared motivation is to carry out the wishes of the government efficiently, economically and impartially, working conscientiously and tirelessly to turn ministers’ policies into just, beneficial and workable laws. Their real motivation is to raise their personal status, to enhance the importance of their department, to avoid blame, to gain credit, to minimise work, to resist change, and to retire with an index-linked pension, a knighthood and the chairmanship of a couple of quangos and a seat on the board of a blue-chip company.

It seems that this wider divergence between appearance and reality is not just a British – or even Western-democratic – phenomenon. Gogol wrote The Government Inspector in the 1830s and it exploits this joke – in local rather than national government – in exactly the same way, to the delight of modern audiences.

Secrecy is the key: secrecy, which required concealment, deception and dissimulation. It is not helpful to take a moral view about this, because it is in the nature of all institutions.“

[...]

“There is a permanent conflict between public institutions and democracy. Democracy requires information and control; institutions require secrecy and independence. Jefferson wrote in 1788: “The natural progress of things is for liberty to yield and government to gain ground” and that, in an increasingly institutionalised and globalised world, is happening in just about every country.

The attempts of government to pretend that its only purpose is to carry out the will of the people it serves create a treasure trove of comic opportunities.“

The authors probably have not fathomed the immoral truth they have stumbled upon wishing only to see the humorous side of the tragedy that is the political process.

Regrettably, once government becomes the largest actor in the economy, it takes on a life of its own and like all life forms, self preservation becomes the priority regardless of any presumed obligations and duties it may claim to hold as self evident.

http://mwhodges.home.att.net/piechart.htm

Civil Service Briefs?

When is a brief not a brief? When it is over 200 pages long and has to be bound in a folder. We have a senior manager going to Brussels for a meeting on Friday. It’s the first time that she has attended one of these so its important that she knows what to expect and what she is expected to say. Therefore we are doing a brief. However, my manager, BoardingSchoolBoy, has decided that she needs to know everything that has gone on at these meetings for the past few years and every document that has been distributed in the past six months. He is, helpfully, giving her a guide of which pages to read but is insisting that we give her every single document.

I’ve just had an argument that we should just synopsise (and I mean synopsise, two paragraphs at most) the important documents and give a couple of speaking points. After all, the main point of these types of meetings is for people to network and for our senior management to put forward and argue Ireland’s position in relation to important trade matters. But no, BSB has two staff photocopying documents and putting them carefully into folders with lots of coloured tabs and an index. This is a complete waste of time, as I know our senior manager will not look at any of these and certainly won’t be bringing the folder with her. And we civil servants wonder why the public think that we sometimes waste public money.

The Brits have the full spectrum when it comes to TV series, some clearly belong in the dung heap, some are not crap and a few are even roses.  Yes Minister and its sequel Yes Prime Minister are roses by any other name.  Each series ran for only three seasons (very typical of the BBC) and were immensely popular in England as well as Europe.  Because it is English/European you will have the added benefit of coming off as very cosmopolitan when discussing it with friends.

The show is a satire of the bureaucratic civil service that typifies the workings of government.  The series has been described as a “closely observed portrayal of what goes on in the corridors of power [and] has given me hours of pure joy.”  Rt. Hon. Margaret Thatcher MP.   The three main characters Sir. Humphrey (head of the civil service), Bernhard (the minister’s private secretary) and Jim Hacker (the minister of administrative affairs) are trying to out maneuver each other in formulating and implementing clearly ridiculous government policies.  The supporting cast is equally as humorous as the “big three” in their involvement with the consistent tug-of-war between the civil service and the elected officials.done

Both series are worthy of watching and each deserve a rose.

I really am putting out these Yes P/Minister stories, aren’t I? This one is somewhat of a sequel to “A Taste for Delicacies”, though it’s not mandatory for one to have read it to understand this.
Again, it’s more playing with the inevitable bitter-sweetness of any relationship between them. I have serious doubts about ever writing fluff for them. Beckett and Mercer are fluffier than this…lord I’m not sure what that says but I’m sure it means something. I suppose it has to do with the fact that Mercer is immoral and Beckett is amoral whereas Humphrey is immoral and Bernard actually has morals. Damn those morals.

It was after the show when Bernard first became aware of it. Of the darted looks the older man gave him, hands on the door, holding it open.

The darted looks that soon turned peering, introspective even, and he knew that it was never a safe thing when Sir Humphrey was introspective, when he peered, when he gave one darted looks while playing gentlemen (a game Sir humphrey had perfected).

The ride was silent, the space between them wide enough to be impossible to cross. And part of him knew it would come to this. That it would always come to this, so long as they knew each other. So long as looks continued to be darted and the game continued to be played.

It was his turn now, after all. It had been his turn since the garden and Sir Humphrey had said he knew, he knew. Bernard had then understood what it took to make a Judas.

Sir Humphrey’s office had changed little since he had last been in it. Six months ago. Maybe more. Maybe less. He couldn’t remember. And the smell of herbal tea diffused through the house reminded him of Lady Appleby’s smile as she put the kettle on. He had been in the kitchen, two weeks or so ago though now it may have been a lifetime for what it was worth. Sorry, Sir Humphrey’s out, she had said. But she would tell him he had called. It was nice to see Humphrey making new friends. He had assured her that they had been friends for a while (though his tongue had wanted to stick at the word ‘friend’). She laugh an, “I’m sure” and offered him some coffee cake. It had been the best coffee cake he had ever had and he realized why they hadn’t divorced.

There was brandy again, not sherry. Bernard’s gaze caught Sir Humphrey’s and he was at a loss as to what to say. He wasn’t sure if he had ever known what to say. Words never were his forte, though he had tried to make them so. He had spent years hiding in them, using their history, their grammar, their details to ward off something. He wasn’t sure what, yet. But he reasoned that the something to do with Sir Humphrey’s eyes when they met his, had to do with Sir Humphrey’s hands when they brushed his fingers, cheek, thigh, lips, had to do with the setting sun and the rising moon, had to do with the rotation of the earth and that he had long forgotten how to sleep at night.

The silence was weighing in and words needed to be spoken, needed to be spoken like the two men needed to breath. The silence hurt, made every bone in him ache. Or was it the older man’s gaze? He couldn’t tell, didn’t want to be able to tell. To be able to tell would be to know and that would hurt entirely too much. He had long since envied ministers. At least their refuge was insured.

He felt his lips move as he said words, words that meant nothing to either of them. He mentioned the beautiful weather, the beautiful sun, the beautiful parlor, or was it a sitting room? The beautiful way that the dancers had moved, the beautiful evening, everything was beautiful, it didn’t matter in the specifics. Sir Humphrey had replied, demurely, coyly, curiously. Their eyes were no longer meeting. The coffee table between them would do.

A childhood memory floated by, they were in a hotel in Brussels, and they were siting up late, watching the world cup. Sir Humphrey had said something about enjoying sports but not understanding them and Bernard had replied that it was much the same with humans. And there had been that silence. That silence that was there now, even though they were speaking. Speaking in a foreign tongue that Bernard wished to erase. Weren’t they capable of speech?

A clink of glass as Sir Humphrey leaned forward, snifter neglected on the table, a warm hand was cupping his face, finger stroking just under his ear. Sir Humphrey’s eyes were dark with that thing Bernard couldn’t name, that thing he didn’t want to name.

“I think,” came the whisper against his skin. “Bernard,” a kiss followed the purr, just along his jaw. “That it will be all right.” Their lips met, softly.

“In the end,” he murmured.

“In the end.”

And the women, come and go, talking of Michelangelo.

Yet another Yes P/Minister short. There will be potentially one to two more after this as I transfer things over. Or maybe not, depends on how I feel.
This one, I believe, focuses primarily on Sir Humphrey, his musings on life, love, and laundry detergent. But mainly Bernard. I’m not as pleased as I could be with it, I find it very hard to get Sir Humphrey’s voice. He’s a strange mix of Mercer, Beckett, Prince Humperdink, and William of Baskerville. Trust me, it’s a hard combination to write. Oh with some of Humbert’s flare. No one reads Classics at Oxford without some of Humbert’s flare.

Humphrey did not like the situation one bit. It didn’t go along with how things were supposed to work. Everything in the world organized to a degree of amazing precision. From the sun rising in the east and setting in the west to the categorical imperative to the difference between the active and passive voices in the present indicative mood. Portō, portor, petitis, portābam . But this, this, did not compute. It did not add up, it did not work. And that was what he didn’t approve of.

Emotions only existed to do his mind’s bidding. If he wanted to feel sad he would tell himself to do so, happy, joyful, angry, sardonic and the like. All were arranged into boxes in his mind so he could open them when the situation called for it and promptly put them away afterwards. It saved him from those nasty emotional entanglements and dilemmas. Emotional entanglements and dilemmas were for lay people, not Cabinet Secretaries.

And yet a part of him wondered, perhaps there was something to be said for forming emotional attachments without weighing the pros and cons. Perhaps there was something to be said for this whirlwind approach. People seemed to be rather fond of it, if his wife’s yellow backed novels were anything to judge by. But, he reminded himself, the common people were hardly fully functioning and practical. Though thoughts of perhaps taking Bernard out to dinner, maybe a show, lingered. Wouldn’t hurt, would it?

No. This wouldn’t do. Even entertaining the idea was ludicrous. And the idea itself? Wasn’t so much an idea as a feeling, and he really hated when those got in the way of rational thought. Bernard would be a perfect civil service agent, one of the best, if only he controlled his feelings more. But then, that was why he liked him, wasn’t it? Not that he liked him. Liked him. A friend, or well, an associate he could share a civil word with. He certainly didn’t like him. Not like that. He was married after all. A bit silly to be going after chaps when one has a wife. Wasn’t it? And he did care for his wife, Humphrey reasoned. He felt the appropriate sort of attachment one should feel towards a person one cohabitates with on a regular basis with no prolonged dues of absence. But nothing more, really. Not that anything more was expected of course.

But he didn’t want to pull her into his lap like he did Bernard. He didn’t want to kiss her in the same way, wrap arms around her waist or push her over his desk– well, this was getting lewd. Yet he found he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. They were pleasing, the thoughts, the feelings, they were addicting almost. And yet, and yet he shouldn’t be thinking these things at all, or entertaining them in the slightest. So, he decided, he wouldn’t. He would rid himself of such desires, would rid himself of the emotions that conflicted with rational thought whenever the other man was around. He would work harder than before, distract himself with needless applications, reviews, queries, forms – anything to keep his mind focused and reasonable. And if it came down to it, he would remove himself somewhere. York, Leeds, Northern Ireland, Brussels even. Anything. Because this was not how things were supposed to work, this was not how the world was supposed to turn. Sir Arnold was wrong, he was not the least bit sound.

For the excellent series ‘Yes, Prime Minister’. A story concerning the complications between Sir Humphrey and Bernard. I’ve read perhaps the only other S.H./B. story out there and I felt it left out a great many things, such as the fact that they would never profess love to each other. Ever. Even if they did, for some unimaginable reason, fell in love with each other, they would never say it in so many words. And I don’t really see that happening, in any case. Granted the author of the other story is young, so I suppose exceptions must be made.

I’m not entirely happy with this (as is par for the course). I have Nabokov’s perfection streak without his patience or talent. I tried to capture Bernard’s moral dilemma since he is the one character with an actual conscience. Sir Humphrey is his usual “moral vacuum” self. I don’t think I captured their dynamic of unequal rank, though I’m going to put it down to the fact that both would be smart enough to try and keep work out of it. Also, it seems that by YPM Bernard has matured greatly and has become more adept as a civil servant and so I feel Sir Humphrey would treat him more of an equal, at least outside of work. But that could be my hopeful wishing.

Bernard was on his stomach, shirt off, lost in the hallway, or maybe on the floor by the bed, or maybe that was Sir Humphrey’s – he couldn’t remember. His eyes were closed and he could feel a warm mouth at the base of his neck, sucking gently as a hand thread through his hair. He could remember Sir Humphrey saying something about getting it over with, that perhaps it would stop once they had – Something about wanting it to stop, needing it to, Bernard had never seen him look the way he did. Sir Humphrey was never vulnerable. Even when looking vulnerable he wasn’t vulnerable. Bernard was sure of this.

A brush of fabric on his back and he knew it was his shirt on the floor by the bed, that the hallway was empty, and that Sir Humphrey was far too clothed but there was very little he could do about it. The hand in his hair was gone, suddenly on his hip and very warm, too warm almost. And the silence in the room was crushing, even as he was rolled over, their lips against each other again, fingers undoing the belt and cool air was on his thighs. There was the silence. Pressing as Sir Humphrey kissed along his jaw, pressing as he gasped softly his own fingers racking through hair before returning to the bed, knuckles as white as the sheets. The back of his mind was telling him that he really ought not to be doing this, that he really ought to stop Sir Humphrey, that he really ought to remind him that they work together, that they’re married, that they have careers, that they work for government, that -

“Stop thinking,” was mumbled against his neck, he could feel a hand cupping the back of his head.

“Sir Humphrey?”

“You’re thinking, Bernard,” the older man murmured as he pulled back. Their eyes met for the first time in the evening. “As much as I appreciate the effort, this is not the time for it.”

“Sir Humphrey,” he paused, aware that their chests were touching, that the older man’s thigh was between his, that the had four buttons undone and hanging loose so he could see down – “Is this right?”

“Your conscience bothering you again, Bernard?”

“Er, yes.” He tried to smile, he didn’t think t worked.

The air was still and Bernard looked away, pulling a face, waiting for the rebuttal he knew would come. A minute passed and he looked back to find Sir Humphrey watching him, expression unreadable.

“Sir Humphrey?” He whispered, afraid to move.

“No, Bernard,” the older man drawled, sitting back on Bernard’s hips.

“Sorry?”

“You’re going to have to figure that one out yourself.”

–

The day was crisp and Bernard could see the sun blurred by clouds, or perhaps it was the gauze from the curtains, or the sleep that clouded his eyes, or the haze that seemed to have settled over his mind. Eyes closed, fingers rubbing them, then the bridge of his nose, willing away the heavy drowsiness that seemed to be keeping him pressed into the warm sheets.

There were memories slipping through his mind, of lips on lips, of hands on hips then chest then hair and back again, of fabric on skin, rubbing, chaffing, of sounds that he could barely recall, barely understand yet had seemed so needed at the time. Of words. Words. Words that had to be said then that he so wished hadn’t been said. Or were the words just in his head? He hadn’t remembered his lips forming them, but then he had been so tired they might have. Good lord they might have.

Hand reaching out he felt the barely there impression, barely warm, and rolling over he found it still smelled of aftershave. A smell that was so distinctively different from what he was used to. So distinctively comforting. He was not pleased.

–

“Bernard, dear,” catching a yawn he hummed a reply into the phone. “Bernard, you didn’t pick up last night.”

“Oh, well, I was uh, busy.”

“At eleven?” Mara’s voice was questioning, unsure, and something his cousin said came back to him. He had been asked how marriage was, blissful he had replied, then his cousin laughed out a reply. Something about giving it three years. He couldn’t recall and he was fishing through his mind for an excuse. For the forgetfulness or why he was busy at eleven in the evening he wasn’t sure.

“There was a meeting, dinner meeting, interdepartmental, and it lasted longer than I thought it would.”

A sigh through the line and he glanced at the clock, lunch in fifteen.

“Well, I was calling to say mother is worse than I thought. I’m going to be in York a bit longer than I expected,” a pause, he replied with a sympathetic noise. Sir Humphrey was standing in the doorway and he suddenly needed to be off the phone. “I’m sorry Bernard, I hope you understand.”

“Of course, dear. I hope she improves.”

A reply, he registered but couldn’t be bothered to remember and the line went dead. Sir Humphrey was standing in front of him and Bernard wondered when he had moved, he swore he had watched him the entire time.

“Free for lunch, Bernard?” The older man peered down at him, disinterested at best, the files in his hands probably helped. Or so Bernard reasoned, hoped, perhaps even prayed. If he had been the praying type.

“Uh, I suppose so, if you so desire, of course I’ll have to check, but I’m reasonably sure – “

“Is that a yes?”

“Um, yes.”

“Good.” Lips twitched up as the younger man stood, blindly reaching for papers, folders, any excuse he could use to discuss work. Work was safe, work was impartial, work allowed their old structured relationship to continue.

“Is anyone else coming?” He asked as they made their way down the hall, eyes fixated on the path ahead.

“No,” Sir Humphrey glanced his way, eyebrows lifted in silent question. A silent question that was ignored. “Were you hoping there would be someone else?”

“No, well, that is, I wasn’t sure, I mean, you usually eat with Sir Arnold or Sir Frank, and I wasn’t sure if this was business.”

“If you’re going to be obtuse, Bernard, please do so with an expanded vocabulary.”

“Of course, Sir Humphrey.”

“And no one is coming because I thought,” he stopped, frowning. Files were shifted to the other hand.

“Thought what?”

“Nothing. How’s the prime minister?”

–

Sir Humphrey’s arm was around his waist when he woke. Two days, his mind reminded him. Two days and this ends. Two days and life goes back to normal. The breath on the back of his neck made him shiver and the arm tightened, pulling him closer. The sheets were half on, tangled around legs and pulled tight against his hip. A shift in the bed and Sir Humphrey rolled away, one arm still caught under Bernard.

“Sir Humphrey,” he whispered into the dark knowing the older man was asleep. “I don’t want to be,” he paused. Be what? Like him. Mara liked to remind that she married Bernard Woolley, not Sir Humphrey Appleby and she would prefer it to remain that way. But there were times when what happened seemed so normal it was painful. Times when Sir Humphrey’s logic made perfect sense, when Sir Humphrey’s body pressed against his made perfect sense. Times when lying in bed and waking up to that particular smell, that particular feeling, was better than most mornings. Times when he felt like picking up with Mara and moving somewhere else, somewhere where it wouldn’t be so complicated, somewhere without Sir Humphrey.

“Bernard,” it was mumbled against his shoulder and looking over he saw that the older man had rolled back against him.

“Hm?” He remained on his back, staring up at the ceiling he had long ago memorized.

“Why are you awake?” The arm was back along his waist.

“Thinking.”

“Never a smart idea at night.”

“Why’s that?”

“You might become introspective.”

Bernard allowed himself a smile, lips were pressed against his shoulder.

“And that’s bad?” He asked, keeping his gaze firmly on the ceiling.

“Of course, you might want to change things, reform yourself or some other such nonsense.”

Not replying Bernard rolled so he was facing Sir Humphrey, watching him quietly. The older man’s eyes were dark, tired. His shirt was still on, though half unbuttoned and Bernard wondered why he hadn’t completed the task. Reaching down he undid a button, then another when Sir Humphrey’s hand caught his, eyes still locked.

“Good night, Bernard.” He whispered it as he placed the hand on his waist and closed his eyes. Bernard watched him sleep thinking all the while of cold offices and dark hallways that seemed to be filled with eyes, watching, watching, watching.

–
Sir Humphrey was gone before the alarm went off and Bernard could hardly expect otherwise. Waking up in the morning would mean something, something more than what it was. Whatever it was. The other side of the bed was cool and he wondered when exactly the older man had slipped from the room, a vague recollection of the bed being far too empty half an hour after the mumbled, drowsy, conversation. Or maybe sooner, or later.

The flashing light on the answering machine and Bernard duly ignored it as he ran the shower hoping that the scalding water would solve something, even if it was just his exhaustion. There were memories he was beginning to regret having yet, yet, there was always the yet. A word he had begun to hate and yet –

–

“Sir Humphrey,” he stood by the door to the older one’s office, lingering just shy of the threshold. “You called?”

Flick of the wrist and he was obligated to enter, ignoring his knowledge that Sir Humphrey had very nice hands, that they were soft, deft, that he had felt them on his body almost every night for what seemed like forever. What might have been forever for what it was worth. Lord how he hated it.

“I’ve been hearing some interesting things, Bernard.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Sir Humphrey.” He kept his gaze on the pen holder. Sir Humphrey’s fingers were just beyond his gaze and the older man’s eyes were sinking into him.

“Things concerning you.”

“Ah.”

“Tell me, Bernard, how is the prime minister?”

Looking up he met Sir Humphrey’s gaze, impartial yet all the more threatening for that.

“Fine, busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Er, looking into a road building project in Manchester.”

“Is he?” The look became pointed, Bernard could feel something in him sink.

“Yes. Shall I find something else for him to do?”

A smile spread over Sir Humphrey’s face reminding the younger man of why it was all happening to begin with. Why he still was going along with it.

“That would be a good idea, Bernard.”

“Sir Humphrey.”

“Yes?”

Their eyes met, Bernard swore he saw something flicker in Sir Humphrey’s, something dark, something that meant more than he would ever say aloud.

“Could we do dinner. No,” he frowned, “we will do dinner.” The older man’s expression was incredulous. “I need. We need. To do dinner.”

Silence as Sir Humphrey watched him, lips parted before pursing and giving a brief nod.

–

He wasn’t sure if he really ought to do anything about it. The logic of the situation kept ringing in his ears. He enjoyed it, Sir Humphrey apparently enjoyed, or at least had nothing against it, and no one was really hurt by it. Or at least, not substantially so. Yet, yet (always the bloody ‘yet’) there was lingering doubt in his mind. It was too grey for his liking, too uncertain. What were they doing? Why were they doing it? When was it going to end? What is it in the first place?

Food was pushed around on his plate as he duly ignored Sir Humphrey’s questioning gaze. The wine was excellent, the food better than anything he had eaten recently, and the atmosphere correct for the circumstance. It had been far too long since he had been wine and dined in such a manner, he stopped and glanced up, in fact he had never really been wined and dined. The roles were usually reverse in such a situation, and of course he could hardly afford the kind of show Sir Humphrey put on.

“Bernard, I would appreciate it greatly if you would help with the conversation,” Sir Humphrey murmured, pouring them both another glass. “You’re usually quite willing to carry on the torch of civil exchanges.”

“I’m sorry, Sir Humphrey,” he replied with a guilty smile. “I was just distracted,” he paused, no response, just a sip of wine as the cool eyes watched him silently, if a little concerned. “Thank you for dinner, though I had meant to be the one doing the taking.”

The older man’s face relaxed and an easy smile broke out, “well you can do the taking next time.”

“Er, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” He could feel heat under his collar and shifted in his seat as the temperature seemed to rise. “About, well, our arrangement.”

“Later, Bernard,” their eyes met. “In private. Now, refresh my memory, do you enjoy opera at all?”

“Oh, well, I suppose so. I’ve not really gone much.”

A tsking noise and mocking disapproval and Bernard felt the heat travel from his neck to his stomach, the warmth in his chest as he remembered how much he enjoyed the other’s company.

“Shame on you, to neglect your cultural education.”

“Well I wouldn’t say that, I just didn’t focus on opera.”

“Which is the crowning glory of culture,” a smirking smile. “But don’t worry, I know full well your love for Cicero, you’re not a complete loss.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he replied with a mirrored smile and Sir Humphrey laughed while nodding,  murmuring his accent.

–

A glass of brandy each in Sir Humphrey’s home office and Bernard was feeling more and more like a small child, or a prepubescent boy infront of some pretty girl before a dance. Sir Humphrey had been in a congenial mood through the rest of the dinner, going so far as to let their fingers brush when passing him the bottle of wine, or holding the door open for him. They spoke of Cicero and Petrarch, of humanists and scholastics, of cravats versus ties, of giving love to Ann, of cabaret and dance halls, of new worlds and old, of pride and of prejudice, of sense versus sensibility, of Paris and London, of Lacon and his minister, of history, of music, of dancing, of games, of nothing at all and everything all at once. Standing just inside the door, Sir Humphrey’s back pressed against it they had kissed like young lovers rejoined, hands around waists and pressing at the back of necks, chests against each other, tongues exploring the each other’s mouths, and he had been loath to pull away.

“So what did you want to discuss?” Sir Humphrey asked as he took the chair opposite Bernard’s. Glasses were seated on the small table between them and Bernard was never so adverse to beginning a subject as he was then.

“I, well, I felt that we ought to, well, discuss, deliberate, decide, what we are doing in this current arrangement which, I do, for the most part, find congenial and I think you do as well, so I would like to keep it that way. And I wanted to know, well, your thoughts on it.”

The older man didn’t reply immediately, watched the liquid move around the glass in hand, tapped his foot a few beats before finally looking up, meeting Bernard’s apprehensive gaze.

“You’ve a very expressive face, Bernard,” he said with lips pursed.

“Oh, well, thank you.”

A wave of the hand and Bernard glanced down to his drink then back up to find Sir Humphrey watching him with a curious expression.

“What do you think we’re doing?”

“Er, having drinks – oh, that. Um, well, having an, an affaire.” The last word was whispered, a glance to the door.

“My wife is out for the evening, visiting a friend.”

“Jolly good.”

“Yes, well, I trust he keeps her entertained,” it was said in passing and Bernard did he best not to appear shocked. The parallels not hitting him till moments later and Sir Humphrey chuckled at his realization. “Yes, Bernard, we are having an affaire. One that could potentially ruin both of our careers but I seriously doubt it will.” He paused again, setting the glass down and steepling his fingers. “What, exactly, do you want to know?”

“Well, I suppose, why.”

“Why what, Bernard? Specifics, please.”

“Well, why are we, er, doing this?”

“Having an affaire,” a pointed lok and Bernard nodded guiltily. “Because, I, suppose, we both want to. These things hardly have reason you know. Not satisfied at home, for whatever reasons, bored perhaps, or tired of the monotony of everyday life,” he shrugged as he reached for his glass. “There are a multitude of reasons why affaires start.”

“Yes, well…I suppose so.”

Silence again, and Bernard was afraid that much of evening would be spent in such a way. Sir Humphrey was complacent, regarding him with a soft look, drink resting on the arm of his chair. Bernard felt muscles cramping, a pain between his shoulder blades as he desperately tried to relax.

“What you want is validation,” Sir Humphrey said at last. “Validation for why you’re cheating on your wife, your new wife. Why you’re lying to her, to yourself, to your friends, to your family, to the minister even. But most importantly, yourself. What you want is a good reason for doing all these things, isn’t it, Bernard?”

“I,” he paused, lips parted as he returned the older man’s even stare. There was no judgment in it, no questioning, just something, something that Bernard couldn’t put his finger on. He would say understanding, but he didn’t think it was that. Sir Humphrey wouldn’t have these doubts, he was sure, Sir Humphrey would have worked out everything already, wouldn’t have unnecessary worries or concerns over the moral aspect of the act. Sir Humphrey was not vulnerable, after all. “I suppose so,” he finally said, feeling shoulders relax as he sank back into the chair.

“You want to have a clear conscience.” The look became pointed.

“Yes.”

“You don’t want to be like me.”

The temperature in the room plummeted and rose simultaneously.

“Er – “

“A ‘moral vacuum’ to coin the prime minister’s phrase.”

A beat. A sigh.

“No.”

Sir Humphrey nodded, lips pulling into a frown. He considered the drink, still resting on the arm of his chair before looking back to Bernard, nodding to himself.

Heaving a sigh he shifted his weight, crossing legs, and leaning on his left arm. “I don’t have an answer for you. I don’t have an answer because I don’t know, I’ve never known, and probably never will, all things considered.” A pause, and Sir Humphrey’s gaze never left the table between them. “This is your battle, I’m resigned to the situation.”

“But, don’t you want it organized? Don’t you want to understand it?”

“I do understand it, Bernard! I understand the facts just as you do. Fact, I want you. Fact, you want me. Fact, we fuck each other. Fact, I am not adverse to spending time with you aside from bedroom activities. Fact, you are not adverse to same. Fact, we are both married. Fact, my wife is having an affaire and I could care less. Fact, you like your wife, but you don’t love her and you’re wondering if you ever did. Fact, this is going to be messy, regardless of what we do. Fact, neither of us know the reason why. And that, my dear Bernard, is something you are going to have to accept.”

–

“My wife is coming home in a day,” Bernard murmured later that evening, he felt Sir Humphrey hum a reply against his skin. “I think,” he stopped, eyes flickering around the unfamiliar room, wondering if this was how Sir Humphrey felt when they were in his room. “I think we ought to stop this, when, uh, when she returns.”

A shift in the bed and the older man propped himself up on elbows, regarding the other man with solemn eyes.

“It wont clear your conscience, you know, to stop.”

“But it wont help it to continue and if the misery outweighs the happiness, is it worth continuing?”

“Does it?”

A pause and Bernard frowned, trying to remember.

“I don’t know.”

The sheets ruffled as Sir Humphrey laid back down, wrapping arms around Bernard’s waist, pulling him close. The younger man could feel buttons of Sir Humphrey’s shirt pressing against his stomach, shifting he freed a hand and began tracing up thighs to hip then up his stomach, slipping under the fabric, feeling the older man stilling under his touch. With his other hand he began slowly unbuttoning the shirt, getting down to the lower ribcage before beging stopped, warm lips on his fingers before they were placed elsewhere. Eyes were dark and questioning and Bernard wished he had the answers.

–

Sheets were washed as soon as he got home from work. The bathroom was cleaned, shower scrubbed, living room neatened, couch taken apart then put back together when he remembered that Sir Humphrey had lost a cufflink there. Dishes were done, groceries bought, and everything looked much as it had been left. As if no one had been there for the past fortnight. And it probably would have been better had no one been there.

Mara was delighted to see him, a knight back from a successful battle. Her mother was much improved, she declared as she kissed him and he was reminded that her waist was much smaller than Sir Humphrey’s and that she smelled like something he couldn’t put his finger on but it was sweet.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said as he helped her unpack, watching her move about the room it seemed suddenly very unfamiliar.

“What did the doctors say?”

“That she ought to stop smoking, since that’s only making it worse, and that otherwise, with time, she’ll get better.”

He watched her cross the room to the bathroom, leaning against the counter as she rearranged her makeup. A memory flashed across his mind and he turned away, ignoring the image of Sir humphrey seated on the counter, half dressed, with Bernard kneeling between his thighs, fingers caught in his hair. He had been moaning sweetly, a sound that Bernard learned to crave.

“Are you all right, dear?” Mara’s arms were suddenly around him, her face infront of his, her lips on his cheek. “You seem awfully quiet.”

“Oh, I was, I am just tired. It’s been stressful at work lately.”

She made a sympathetic noise and rested her head on his chest, rocking them both gently. A second passed before he finally returned the gesture, wrapping arms around her and wondering what exactly he was doing.

–

There was coffee between them, the leaves of the spreading chestnut tree shading them from the sun. Bernard was continually amazed by the places Sir Humphrey discovered. A week had passed since Mara returned and he was still lingering, struggling to decide what exactly he ought to do. Each time he settled on a decision something would convince him to reverse and all the while the question of whether or not this made him happy lingered. Was this what he wanted? What he needed? The answer always changed.

“Bernard, you seem pensive.” Sir Humphrey murmured, setting the cup down and leaning back, watching the younger man with an impassive face.

“I was just thinking, that well.” He paused, unsure of exactly what he had been thinking, what he was intending to say. Sir Humphrey’s face had formed a half smile, the sun was dappling the pavement, the coffee was warm and good, they were eyes level now as the older man mimicked his position of elbows on knees, and he could feel the dark gaze sinking into him making him wish that they were elsewhere, anywhere.

Reaching forward Sir Humphrey cupped the side of Bernard’s face, stroking gently, half smile still lingering.

“My poor, Bernard,” he murmured. They were leaning closer and Bernard was thankful that the cool weather had kept everyone inside.

“Sir Humphrey,” his voice was rough, even to his own ears. “Sir Humphrey,” he had to say it, whatever it was. “I think we ought to -”

And his mind went black as warm lips pressed against his and a whisper of “I know, I know” brushed against his ears.

At Eton, there is this funny thing that Lower Sixth Formers (C Block in Eton lingo) do and it’s called C Perspectives. It’s effectively General Studies and comprises of 1 lesson a week as a lecture about a certain topic, such as Politics, Euthanasia, Racism and so on, and 1 lesson a week in a class discussion about that topic. It’s rather good, I think, especially with the free tea! Anyway, at certain intervals all of C Block have to write a 500 word essay on one out of a selection of essay titles. So being me, I went for the Politics title.* It hasn’t been marked, but I enjoyed writing it, so I thought I’d pass it on.

In the political landscape we find ourselves in with the infamous Duck Houses, Moat Cleaning, Phantom Mortgages, Dog Food, Adult Films, Flipping and many, many more examples of Members of Parliament delving into the murky waters of personal gain from public office, our politicians are representing us less and delving into morally grey areas.

However, how the national press reported the Expenses Scandals, it was as if this was the first time the ‘truth’ of our political system was ever discovered. Merely watch any episode of Yes, Minster to see how the political world hasn’t changed beyond recollection for at least the past 30 years. Politicians have always had to make murky deals. For example in the episode entitled “The Official Visit”, Hacker meets an old University chum, who has led a successful coup in Buranda, a fictitious British Colony, and is about to give a keynote speech the day before 3 marginally by-elections in the UK. The speech, however, calls for the Scottish people to rise up and break from English oppression. Hacker meets the new President and a deal is struck that the British Government will give Buranda a £50 million interest-free loan, in return for that embarrassing part of the speech being removed, as well as the money being used to buy oilrigs from British Docklands. This parody conveys a serious message that whatever your views, whatever your beliefs, whatever your ideals, there is no escaping compromise and underhand deals.

In this vein, if we examine the Obama Administration as it stands, he has predictably not been able to stop Osama Bin Laden, cease Iran’s Nuclear Programme or bring in the vital changes to the American healthcare system, as some of his more vocal supporters suggested would happen. It was naïve to place Obama on a Messiah-esque level. One man cannot put politics and diplomacy to one side; it takes a huge amount of time and effort to achieve what a politician wants to achieve. To achieve what you want to achieve requires persuading people it’s a good idea, either through debate or other, less acceptable, means. On a wider point, all politicians, with perhaps the exception of the end of limited term of office, such as the second term of an American President, want and need to be re-elected. This means they have to try and pass the policies they promised; and therefore it inevitably means they have to persuade others to their cause through underhand deals.

However, what about a world where Diplomacy is straightforward and legislation that would genuinely be good for the country is passed, and those that would be detrimental are not? The simple answer is that such a world will never exist with humans involved. We, by our very nature, are selfish beings who seek to control and to have power. As the immortal saying goes: “Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

I promise that’s the last essay for a bit…!

*The Politics lecture, for those interested was given by Lord Waldergrave, Provost at Eton and Conservative Minister in the Thatcher/Major Era

Sunday 18 October audio here

2009 Adelaide Festival of Ideas

Yes Minister – laying bare the operation of government
Geoff Gallop, Peter Shergold, Natasha Stott Despoja, Alex Wodak (Chair: Peter Mares)

recorded: Bonython Hall / 10 July 2009

I meant to post this at the time of the Sun’s much-trumpeted “switch” to the Tories during the Conservative Party conference, but it has taken me until now to track it down on YouTube. A classic scene from Yes Minister, and more or less as true today as it was then:

Does your city have bus lanes? Ours does.

Suddenly we lost a lane of road out our way at the times when the road was busiest. And in certain parts of town where there was only one lane anyway, we got bus stops right in the middle which meant that every bus held up masses of traffic every time it stopped to pick up or set down.

And there’s a penalty of £100 if you get caught using one at the wrong times of the day.

I accepted their intrusion into what was my daily driving life initially at least. Everything and everyone needs acceptance and tolerance which is the world’s greatest evil because it allows evil to flourish because good men do nothing – we are tolerant of everything in the UK.

Bus lanes are evil.

And we have allowed them to spring up like the green pods from Invasion of the Body Snatchers – they are everywhere – feeding on our minds….

Anyway. After a while I noticed that there was no enforcement. I phoned the City Council Roads department who organise such things as bus lanes. “We’ll be doing an evaluation of their success in a year’s time” I was told. “We don’t enforce them”, he said, “It’s the Police. We’re trying to get powers but these are moving traffic offences (really!) and only the police can give those penalties out.” I got the impression that he was truly upset and disappointed that the high command that is the City Chambers couldn’t take that next step.

What really annoyed me was, as a good law abiding citizen, I d been keeping to the Bus lane law by keeping out of them while my other 750,000 co-citizens had been enjoying a whale of a time.

Police next. My big bugbear was the Duke Street Junction in Glasgow – pure hell. You would almost think that light sequencing and traffic layouts and light timings had been organised by a committee using a computer powered on carrot juice. I spoke with a really nice chap in the Traffic division. “We warned the City Council about this“, he said, “we told them we don’t have the officers to enforce the bus lanes and in any case”, he continued, warming to his subject,” it’s crazy trying to put bus lanes in a Victorian City with little enough space let alone isolating roads for the odd bus”. I knew what he meant – we have 3 miles in each direction of bus lanes on the A8 – a bus about 3 or 4 times an hour and never when it’s busy. My master stroke was this – “But surely if you enforced it you would generate a small fortune in fines?” “Unfortunately not, Sir”, he said. “All fines go to Central government – London – we don’t even see them in our funding”.

Then I tried the bus company, First Bus. As a passenger I complained that we were constantly stuck in a queue of traffic at Duke Street every morning what are they doing about getting the bus lanes freed up? Sorry mate, not our problem, you’ll need to speak to the Council. At this point I wanted to jump in front of a bus. Reality kicked in though – I would be travelling faster than it would be.

I phoned Bus Lanes HQ 1 year after they were put in place and was told “We WERE going to do an evaluation but we don’t have the resources”. Pity really as the evaluation would have told them it wasn’t working. “Besides”, he continued, “it wasn’t our idea – it came from central government”. I groaned audibly and something inside me died – my pioneering spirit; my all against the world crusading zeal. I couldn’t even begin to wonder WHICH central government – Holyrood or London?

So here’s the position:

Bus lanes are designed to encourage more people to use public transport but they don’t because the bus lanes are full of cars.

The council who implemented someone else’s idea can’t enforce it and don’t have the resources to evaluate it.

The police didn’t want it and don’t have the resources to enforce it and even if they did no-one in Glasgow would benefit directly.

Sir Humphrey had this sorted out and explains the syndrome we are dealing with perfectly.

About the environment and public transport – let’s reduce the number of cars on the road and increase public transport usage. It’s a good thing to do.

It’s a clear case of politicians’ logic:

“We must do something.
This is something.
Therefore we must do it.”

With Thanks to

Yes Minister (Party Games episode)

Where are my car keys? Who’s moved them?

JohnF

So at last we have assisted suicide approved by the courts. It might sound like I was waiting for it with some degree of expectation – well I wasn’t. I think it IS the thin end of the wedge. The prosecutors clearly didn’t want to be seen to be upsetting the applecart when “people” are emotionally upset and found that there was no case to answer effectively. But this is only the beginning of the end….

To start with we need to look at one of the most forward looking comedy series we’ve seen in the UK – Yes Prime Minister. Strangely just about all of the things this government has done or is doing has been talked about in YPM or in its predecessor, Yes Minister. But it was in a particular episode of YPM that we will find the source of  my concern:

Jim Hacker was worried about his having to decide about when to press the nuclear trigger (in the cold war days) and his adviser set him a series of analogies – would you start nuclear war if the Russians accidentally strayed into …; would you press the button if they invaded Paris; and so on. The adviser described the gradual and almost imperceptible change in political and military strategy as salami tactics taking one small slice at a time so small, so thin that YOU wouldn’t realise or see what was actually happening.

So it is with suicide. You see already the woman who has obtained advance consent for assisted suicide is now asking for it to be on the NHS in the UK, why should we have to travel to Switzerland? Why should it be on the NHS? Why should I and You have to pay for this? If we must have this and it seems that the law says we must, let private enterprise sort it out. But this is only the beginning. You’ll notice the government are allowing the lawyers to take this on and I have no doubt that the next stage will be euthanasia.

Think about it – at the moment we talk of assisted suicide – the person who will take the lethal concoction makes the arrangements and is accompanied by their spouse or friend. Salami tactics – next stage – the friend or spouse counsels the unwell  person ” the pain is really so bad, isn’t it. Maybe we should consider assisted suicide, why don’t you speak to the doctor….”. Salami tactics – next stage – the friend or spouse says to the doctor, “I think maybe  X is at the end, he/she can’t stand the pain any more….could you consider assisted suicide?” Salami tactics – next stage – the patient feels that they are a burden and asks to be killed by assisted suicide. Salami tactics – final stage – population gets out of control, government can’t manage the increasingly aged dependent individuals, and suggest that after 80 ……

Yes I realise that is far fetched and perhaps a little exaggerated but who would have thought that on 31st July the UK would approve Assisted Suicide and on 1st August we see calls for it to be done by the NHS.

Anyone for pepperoni pizza?

JohnF

The Fair Go For Gawler blog page enables disaffected people and groups within the Gawler and surrounds community to communicate with each other and other interested parties about the  Delfin Gawler East project and the Development Plan Amendment (DPA) which supports it. Visitors can voice their grievances about, or support for it. The blog is also tending to ‘morph’ into a vehicle through which  broader aspects of urban development in our region can be explored, even how the excessive power of vested interests…on both sides of politics….. is eroding the public’s confidence in our version of democracy.

WOW! This blog site has now had its 1,450th visitor since it was created only a few months ago. THANK YOU TO ALL.

Cheers from the blogmaster - Jow Bloggs

Freak.

There is a “good” usage and a “bad” usage (and maybe others, but I don’t care about them).

Good:

LeBron James is a freak of nature.

Bad:

Michael Jackson was a freak show.

====

Michael Jackson, RIP

One less freak show on planet earth.

====

Poor Farrah Fawcett. She picks the day Michael Jackson dies to leave this earth. Hardly a word to be heard about the ‘70 icon.

Farrah Fawcett, RIP, really

====

Atlanta Hawks Basketball

Well, the Hawks traded for a guard who can score, they drafted a guard who can score, and they have a guard who can score.  They have Josh Smith who thinks he can score.  The question is, are there enough basketballs to go around?  Will ZaZa Pachulia have to play 48 minutes just so someone on the floor won’t need the ball?

====

Harold Hongju Koh

The new legal advisor to the State Department.  Who cares?  Well, if you think the 2nd Amendment matters, then you ought to care.  Here is a sample of his thinking:

“Too much work [was] left undone. After a few sleepless nights, I wrote for myself a list of issues on which I needed to do more in the years ahead. One of those issues was global regulation of small arms.” (2001)

Look for this administration to somehow trump the Constitution with an international treaty.  Not that the average politician in Washington has ever read the Constitution…

====

Cap and Trade

I predict this will turn a recession into a depression.  I predict 100s of thousands if not millions of jobs will move to China and India (they aren’t capping a damn thing, except maybe our ass – to use the vernacular).   The recent CBO info on the cost of cap and trade I’m seeing sounds crazy to me – $175 per family!?  Nuts.

Try this on for size instead.

====

How Politics and Politicians Really Work

I was recently reminded of two of my all-time favorite British comedies: “Yes, Minister” and “Yes, Prime Minister.” If you haven’t seen them you are missing the best and funniest explanations of how governments and politicians really operate. Here are a couple of snippets:

Yes, Minister
Yes, Prime Minister

====
Addendum
WTF?

From the current president of these United States:

Concerning the protests in Iran, Obama said, “Their bravery in the face of brutality is a testament to their enduring pursuit of justice. The violence perpetrated against them is outrageous. In spite of the government’s efforts to keep the world from bearing witness to that violence, we see it and we condemn it.”

The “pursuit of justice”?! WTF? How about the pursuit of Liberty? Or the freedom to live your life as you see fit? Oh no. Couldn’t say that – for once he is being honest – because he does not believe in LIBERTY or FREEDOM. Think I’m wrong? Find me a speech where he has said those words. More importantly, look at his actions.

This guy is a Marxist community leader. Period. He is masquerading as a president.

As this is by way of being Michael Ng’s first topic as an Official Fox, what better introduction than a chat about one of his grand passions?  Today, Michael joins Kirsty to talk about the TV series and novels that inspired them both: the Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister series by Anthony Jay and Jonathan Lynn.  They met over a sherry in a smoky room (sounds better than “on MSN”, doesn’t it?) to have this, frankly, courageous discussion.

Kirsty says: Well, I think, as this is your first official post, you should officially introduce yourself.

Michael Ng says: Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, I (your current interlocutor)…

Kirsty says: (shouldn’t that be RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH unaccustomed as I am to public speaking?*)

Michael Ng says:  (Haha, I was hoping you’d get it.)

Michael Ng says: In other words, I’d like to introduce myself to all the Vulpes Libris readers who have not yet met me.  My name is Michael Ng and it is my pleasure to talk to you today about Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister with Kirsty.

Kirsty says: Well, Michael, although we seem an odd pairing we do have something very important in common!

Michael Ng says: Indeed so!  Though, of course, it is an interesting subject since I came to YM/YPM as an American and as a postgraduate in London.  I think it was my 2nd year as a PhD candidate and an Indian friend mentioned that he thought I would greatly enjoy a show called ‘Yes, Minister’ about a bumbling minister and his civil servants who could at times be his cronies or his worst enemies. I thanked him, made a note of it, and forgot about it during the press of my 2nd year’s writing.  At the end of my 2nd year and the beginning of my 3rd year, I found myself browsing HMV for films or telly programmes to watch and saw it on sale so I bought all 5 series.  Well, I should imagine that if I were to look this horse in the mouth, I should find many civil servants.

Kirsty says: A horse full of civil servants – we have the first arresting image of the day.  What would the Latin tag for that be?

Michael Ng says: Well, interesting: Latin is not only the English for Latin but also the Latin for Latin.

Michael Ng says: Well, actually, no, it isn’t.

Kirsty says: I think I already know which character you mostly identify with.

Michael Ng says: I took to the show because I have always been fascinated by civil servants and mildly sympathetic to them.

Kirsty says: Ha, well, my father is a civil servant and I have worked in the civil service over a few University summers so… I shall not comment.

Michael Ng says: Very discreet of you, Kirsty.

Kirsty says: It would be potentially courageous.

Michael Ng says: As novel as it is, I shall not obfuscate.  I rather admire Sir Humphrey Appleby, the nominal subordinate of the Minister, Mr. Jim Hacker, MP.

Kirsty says: Ah, Humphrey, probably my first great television crush.

Kirsty says: Yes, I know it would never have worked *sob*

Michael Ng says: There there, Kirsty.  Don’t take on so.

Michael Ng says: Perhaps it’s my own apathy to demagogues and politicians but I found the character of Sir Humphrey very appealing.  His smooth enunciation and his classical education.

Kirsty says: Well, it is ironic because we are clearly not supposed to admire Humphrey and yet…

Michael Ng says: …and yet, I do.  It is interesting since the character in the novelisation of the series is far less pleasant and, indeed, more arrogant and even a bit supercilious.

Michael Ng says: He never even realises, in the book, his precarious standing with Sir Arnold.

Kirsty says: I do think that he is less sympathetic in the book version.  I wonder how much Nigel Hawthorne’s performance transformed the character?

Michael Ng says: I think Nigel Hawthorne created a character which was actually likeable and not some cynical middle-aged man.

Kirsty says: In fact, just about everyone is less sympathetic in the books.

Michael Ng says: That’s true, Hacker is far more grubby and grasping.  Even Bernard loses much of his innocence without Derek Fowlds to bring out the character’s humanity.

Kirsty says: The books are certainly bleaker, both about the nature of the civil service and about Hacker’s own character.  The TV series perhaps cushions the blow a little, although it certainly does not have a simple moral either. In fact, that is one of the things I very much like about these series.  There really is no happy ending, and everyone compromises themselves to some extent in order to get on according to their own priorities.

Michael Ng says: I think you’re very right there, Kirsty, and that was always the splendid nature of the show.  That life is never simple and even the people whom we might think are masters and commanders are little more than pawns. The irony, I suppose, is that it is a very democratic message in some ways. That with the politicians, the would-be power-players are often the pawns who are controlled by their nominal peons, the voter.

Kirsty says: In fact, who *is* the authority figure?  I don’t think even Sir Arnold is entirely in control.

Michael Ng says: I think, actually, there is the supreme irony (I do rather enjoy that word).  For all the bureaucrats and their love of control and the illusion of power given to the politicians, no one has control.

Kirsty says: You are positively Lermontovian in your employment of that term.

Michael Ng says: When Sir Frank and Sir Humphrey fight for control of the Civil Service in several episodes of Yes, Prime Minister, well… In some ways, I’d almost be tempted to think of the idea of Rome and how it kept things going during the Roman Empire’s darkest days even when there was little central control and with multiple breakaway provinces.

Kirsty says: Yes, and that brings us to one of my all time favourite episodes: The Key (YPM, Series 1).

Michael Ng says: Ah yes, The Key.

Kirsty says: The Key has everything you could want, right down to splendid slapstick and the sight of poor Humphrey desperate at the idea of losing his authority.  And yet, you (or perhaps I) don’t feel that Hacker has really triumphed in getting the upper hand over Humphrey – in fact it makes him seem rather squalid.

Michael Ng says: When Sir Humphrey has lost the composure of a lifetime’s practice and is dirty, smudged, and a bit chagrined by the sound of alarms at the door.  But you’re right, Hacker’s victory is rather Pyrrhic.

Kirsty says: Nobody wins in that world, one feels.

Michael Ng says: I’m not sure why, but you feel as if Hacker’s victory has only set him back and created further dislike.  Something which I wonder if the writers might have touched on more in the novelisations (though they did not). Perhaps that world reflects our own.  A world in which we never know who ultimately shall win. Or, indeed, if there is anything worth winning.  Perhaps the most empty thing about Hacker’s victory is that you’re not quite sure what he has won.

Kirsty says: Well yes, rather like that nasty little twist at the end of The Moral Dimension (YM, Series 3), where Hacker’s attempt to expose corruption is met with Humphrey’s threat to expose Hacker’s own unethical behaviour.  That is a queasy little moment and I feel my laughter almost comes from discomfort rather than anything.

Michael Ng says: The theme in both seems to be that both men trip themselves up over some belief that they are infallible.  That they’re entitled to their power and forget that, along the way, someone else has something on them. From Hacker’s inability to stomach a few hours ‘without a drinkie’ to Humphrey’s need to be the Cabinet Secretary.

Kirsty says: But Humphrey has a whole system behind him, he has permanence, while Hacker is just passing through. We’re reminded over and over in these series that politicians hardly have time, or power, to make lasting changes – or at any rate, changes for the good.

Michael Ng says: Indeed, though we have no time to discuss it, The Greasy Pole (YM, Series 2) shows something interesting.  That when a politican does make change, it is usually political expedience which sacrifices the long-term good for a cheap and hollow (but public relations) victory.

Kirsty says: As well as having a hilarious portrayal of student Trotskyism of course.

Michael Ng says: Oh yes, how could I forget.

Michael Ng says: What’s particularly fascinating, I suppose, is how much of the series makes sense to a Yank passing through London.  Even more so, is how depressing it is to realise how true the series is to politics of the time and even to the present.

Kirsty says: You are no ordinary citizen of your country, mind – you are far more British than I.

Kirsty says: What horrifies me is how many of the “joke” policies have since been adopted by real governments!

Michael Ng says: Something amused me when I was talking to an old teacher and she noted how few things seem to shock me.

Michael Ng says: Would it surprise you if I were to express little shock at your 2nd statement?

Kirsty says: Not really.

Michael Ng says: I see you are not easily inflamed or surprised.

Kirsty says: I am in fact quite easily inflamed, as anyone who ever mentioned Young Stalin to me has found…

Michael Ng says: Ah yes, well… I will merely practice my inscrutable look and nod to you, Minister.  *awkward pause* I mean, Kirsty.

Kirsty says: Hey, who are you calling Minister?  I will have you know I did not go to the LSE.

Michael Ng says: Well, no, you did not. You know, I don’t believe you’ve ever mentioned to me which of the three characters you enjoy the most?

Michael Ng says: Ah yes, you must dearly enjoy Bernard.

Kirsty says: Well of course, who could not enjoy Bernard.

Michael Ng says: As I deftly sidestep the crush issue.

Michael Ng says: Now, as I rub your nose in my deft sidestepping…

Kirsty says: You know, sidestepping is more effective if you don’t point it out, Minister.

Michael Ng says: It is, but I was going to imagine you as Bernard and I, of course, as Sir Humphrey.

Kirsty says:  That sounds disturbing.

Michael Ng says: So what do you enjoy about Bernard?

Kirsty says: Well, I think Bernard is the young keen creature Humphrey probably once was, the classic career starter.

Michael Ng says: It’s almost impossible to imagine Humphrey as the young, somewhat bumbling, high flyer, isn’t it?

Kirsty says: Well, when we find out about The Skeleton in the Cupboard (YM, Series 3), we do get a glimpse of it…

Michael Ng says: There is that.

Michael Ng says: Bernard really ties the show together, I think.  Between Sir Humphrey and Hacker duelling about power, the role of ministers in a democracy, and the power of the permanency of the civil servants, you have this fresh civil servant who shows off his naivete.

Kirsty says: Yes, he is the perfect complement to both Hacker’s rather brash and clodhopping, but well meaning nature and Humphrey’s very practised… what is the word for what Humphrey does anyway?

Michael Ng says: Humphrey’s…

Michael Ng says:  Perhaps Humphrey ‘guides’.  Yes, that’s what he does.  He ‘guides’ inexperienced ministers.

Kirsty says: Lovely use of inverted commas.

Michael Ng says:  In the end, I was drawn to YM/YPM since it seemed to sum up 1980s Britain and, indeed, British life for several decades and, perhaps, portrayed a lifestyle that no longer exists.  The Whitehall mandarins who, alas, are no longer purely classicists.

Michael Ng says: Perhaps that was the most striking thing that we can imagine.  Sir Humphrey enjoyed his perks but Mr. Hacker certainly flaunted them and was easily bought off with flattery.

Kirsty says: Well, having worked in the Civil Service and having more than a passing interest in management literature I can tell you that the language has never gone away… even if Greek tags are no longer the norm.

Michael Ng says: Your own experience only reminds me that much of that dream seems…remote at best.  If not non-existent at worst.

Kirsty says: I mostly did filing. You’ll have to reminisce with my dad if you want the corridors of (sort of) power.

Michael Ng says: Imagine, a discussion between your father and myself.

Kirsty says: I would buy popcorn.

Michael Ng says: Would it be frank bordering on … ?

Kirsty says: Novel.

Michael Ng says: Oh dear.

Michael Ng says:  I suppose, Kirsty, people have asked me (almost always another Yank), ‘What makes two people talking about politics funny?’

Michael Ng says:  (I’m juxtaposing us with Yes, Minister’s premise.  Aren’t I clever?  :P ).

Kirsty says: You should do your Churchill impression

Michael Ng says: Ah, but our audience could not see my hand hiding under my suit jacket.

Kirsty says: Ewww, dude!  TMI!

Michael Ng says: As I puff out my chest and bellow out inspiring words and press my foot down on the accelerator.  Wait, no…I meant brake. Oh well, we’re doomed either way, really.

Kirsty says: And on that note, Minister, I mean Michael, we probably have to wind up for today at least.

Kirsty says: The relationship which I might tentatively venture to aver has been not without some degree of reciprocal utility and perhaps even occasional gratification, is emerging a point of irreversible bifurcation and, to be brief, is in the propinquity of its ultimate regrettable termination.

Michael Ng says: Oh, jolly good then.  How many red boxes for my next edition?

Kirsty says: *stacks a pile on the desk*

Camera angle pans out and fades revealing the VL main page
Big Ben chimes in the background

(* Blackadder reference)

Tune in later in the month when Kirsty will be holding forth on Citizen Smith, the Glorious Day and “urbane gorillas”.

I was in London a few weeks ago on business. Incidentally I traveled with BMI business class from Israel and enjoyed it very much. My chair converted into a bed, there was an on board chef and the entertainment system included a large screen and very comfortable stereo headphones which blocked out all noise.The film I chose to watch was “The Reader” with Kate Winslet. Indeed thought provoking and Kate Winslet very much deserved her Best Actress Oscar. The film is very clever in how it tackles the most serious of issues and I very much recommend you see it.

I would have been happier to stay on the plane for a few extra hours, but they said the cleaners needed access. On arrival at Heathrow BMI have an impressive Welcome Lounge, which I was invited to use. I was greeted by two charming young ladies who immediately insisted I take a shower. I must have looked as if I needed it, as it took a vast amount of effort to persuade them that I did not want to wash myself in one of their many fully-kitted out shower cubicles. I was happy to order scrambled eggs on toast and eat it with a steaming cup of Coffee while reading the morning edition of a popular British newspaper. In-between, my eyes popped up above the pages to observe the news on the wide screen TV. Yes, I enjoyed it very much.

I had some free time the day that I arrived and bought an Oyster card before traveling on the tube into London. The Oyster card keep you right and gives you the best deals automatically while you travel around London. Its always good to be in London! I went straight to the HMV store in Piccadilly which must have one of the most complete selections of music, films, dramas and comedies in Europe. Among other buys, I bought for my wife who is an avid fan, the full box set of Yes Minister and Yes Prime Minister – Classic comedy, most of the satire still relevant to current-day UK politics.

The business part of my trip went well and at the airport I made sure to buy a good supply of cream eggs, crunchies, flakes and square crisps to take back to an expectant family. Maybe they would be happy to see me too! I was certainly happy to see them. I always miss them very much while I am away.

And with that I wish you a good evening or good day depending where you are located. Bye for now.

Here is Simon Jenkins suggesting in today’s Guardian that one explanation for the  UK government’s current impersonation of a mammoth sinking into a tar pit is that ministers no longer take advice, at least on matters political, from permanent secretaries.  Instead political advisers rule the roost leaving senior civil servants to manage and administrate.

‘Blair, like Thatcher over the poll tax, replaced Whitehall’s “scepticism first, loyalty afterwards” with loyalty first and then chaos. Brown as chancellor, who rarely consulted even his Treasury officials, endured one fiasco after another, as on tax credits and rail privatisation. At No 10 he conveys the image of a prime minister alone in his office, attended by a small and devoted cabal, unable to handle contradictory advice or exercise judgment based on it. A lost victim of circumstance, he seems to have no traction on the machinery of government.’

Jenkins predicts that Sir Humphrey will return.  I’m not so sure: the Oxbridge classicists who once dominated the ranks of  the senior civil service (Sir Humphrey was undoubtedly one himself) are no longer so sniffy about ‘commerce’ and are happy to head off to the private sector.  Once a tradition has been broken, it’s broken.

I mentioned my encounter with a real Sir Humphrey here, incidentally.

Is the phrase ‘a great British comedy film’ an oxymoron these days? Thankfully not as hot on the heels of ‘The Boat That Rocked’ and ‘Lesbian Vampire Killers’, two films I’m not going to do the honor of providing any links for as they both look absolutely terrible comes British comedy maestro Armando Iannucci’s film debut ‘In The Loop‘, a big screen expansion of his critically lauded, satirically devastating BBC4 series ‘The Thick Of It‘. Whilst the latter centred on the politics of spin, manipulation and policy screw-ups emanating from the inept halls of Whitehall and Westminster, Iannucci and his cadre of fellow wordsmiths have set their sights on the broader canvas of international relations with the same hilarious results, exposing and exploring the machinations of contemporary politics on both sides of the pond. 

The film is a thinly veiled satire on the run up to the Iraq War but if that makes you roll your eyes in boredom then let me be clear that such an approach is merely a springboard to deliver a hugely entertaining, prescient and convivial treatise on modern politics whilst most importantly being very, very funny. Ineffectual Secretary Of State Simon Foster (Tom Hollander) remarks in a radio interview that ‘war is unforeseeable.’ Unfortunately for Foster the unseen Prime Minister is being pressured to support a US led excursion into the Middle East and brutal communications director Malcolm Tucker (the real star of the show, Peter Capaldi) launches into a expletive peppered tirade when the press transform Foster’s innocuous comment into a major news story. The bumbling Foster becomes an unwitting media figure as he and his personal communications director Judy (Gina McKee) and political damage control expert Toby are despatched to Washington to liaise  with senior American State Department officials (including Sledgehammer himself) and Pentagon attaché General Miller portrayed by a bruising James Gandolfiini. Largely Ignoring both Judy’s and Toby’s advice Foster exhibits an inept ability to follow the party line as he finds himself caught in a maelstrom of pro and anti war factions. To complicate matters further back in England Fosters constituency is brewing its own local political scandal with an unstable adjoining wall between his office and a vocal neighbour’s property heralding future complications….

I love ‘The Thick Of It‘, it is an exceptionally smart and insightful series with an expert eye for the minutiae of contemporary UK politics, a worthy heir apparent to Iannucci’s beloved ‘Yes Minister‘. ‘In The Loop‘ employs the same veritie, fly on the wall approach as ‘Thick‘, it’s essentially a big screen spin off which for once doesn’t feel exhausted considering the glut of comedy these days that follow the same template, its sheer intelligence and wit have effortlessly leapt to the big screen fully intact. I did wonder if the inclusion of American politics might not gel with this approach but rest assured they complement each other perfectly, in fact the premise that the writers seem to be aiming for of our political representatives being seduced by the scale and glamour of Washington’s power are illuminated with a razor intensity. The dialogue veers from the parochial ‘Oh, I hope we don’t go too war, its difficult enough just dealing with the Olympics’ to the offensively sublime, ‘There’s a cartoon of you in the Telegraph, it’s got you sitting on the great wall of China. You know why? ‘CAUSE you’re a political FUCK-UP of such immense FUCKING proportions it can be seen from fucking SPACE’ – if you don’t find elaborate swearing big or clever then this might not be for you. On that note the star of ‘The Thick Of It‘ and indeed this movie is Malcolm Tucker, the terrifying spin doctor impresario whose diatribes of expletive infected rage form many of the films highlights. The character of course is lifted from the odious Alastair Campbell who has dismissed the film as ‘boring’ which says it all really, there’s many accusations you can level at the film but with its pnuematic gag delivery and attention critical plot machinations you cannot label this movie as ‘boring’. Of all the absolute fucks who managed our country since 1997 (and I say this as Labour supporting youth whose idealism has been utterly destroyed and submerged to a Mariana Trench depth of cynicism when it comes to the current political machine) he really is a fucker whose levels of deceit and lies have critically eroded any trust I any many others can ever have in our current democracy. 

On a day when my local government colleagues were grimly amused at our current Home Secretary’s painful attempts to salvage her career with this spin induced u-turn – there is a gag in the film where Foster moans about not being able to risk a quick stroke to his Washington hotel’s porn channel as it would inevitably end up on his disclosure of members interest expenses – I’m wearily comforted that there are some people out there like Iannucci who can generate some level of solace in poking fun at our esteemed elected representatives. Just to keep things jolly (this must be my most optimistic review of a comedy film eh?) it seems that finally an appropriate period of time has elapsed between the Iraq war’s genesis and inception, there are a number of conflict themed movies in the pipeline which have cultivated my interest. Yeah, I know that trailer for ‘The Hurt Locker‘ looks pretty terrible trailer-wise but it has got some cracking reviews from various festivals and Bigelow always produces material that consistently has some merits so I’ll give it a look. Well, here’s my attempt to finish on a couple of positives, the NFT are running a Nouvelle Vague season at the moment, the best briefing I’ve read for a while on the movement is here which is also some of the best general cinema discourse I’ve stumbled upon for some time. Finally, this has been doing the rounds and made me, um LOL. Yeah, I’ve still got it….

What a marvellous creation. Stupendous satire. High quality entertainment and most superior wit. Perhaps one of the best television programmes ever made. What makes it more praiseworthy is the topic which this series has chosen to deal with – government and the bureaucracy.

Having seen some of that bureaucratic mumbo jumbo from close quarters, I can appreciate the humour tremendously. As it has been reported, even Margaret Thatcher saw it and found it highly amusing.

As witty as the writing is, equally superior is the acting. Paul Eddington as Jim Hacker portrays the minister who is confused and essentially led by the civil servants in an  immaculate manner. Nigel Hawthorne as the machiavellian bureaucrat, Sir Humphrey Appleby, and the true incharge of the government business, is terrific. Nothing to say of his long winding, ever confusing, never clear terribly long speeches given to the clueless minister. Then, there is Bernard Wolley played by Derek Fowlds as the smiling middle man,  generally quiet , who jokes at the most imopportune moments and quibbles about things like actual physical impossibility of a said act, does his part with perfection.

This series has been a pure joy to watch. It is high quality entertainment. It is the genius satire, sarcasm and wit which is often attributed to the British. It is a must watch!!