However, Bernard was more than happy to explain about the constituency Christmas cards. Those you sign Jim, these Jim Hacker, these Jim and Annie, these love from Annie and Jim
I told him that Id got the gist. But it was clearly going to take up much of the day. What a bore.
In fact, I hadnt yet been shown the full magnitude of the task. Bernard suddenly produced a bulging carrier bag.
And Mrs. Hacker left these, he murmured sympathetically. Your personal cards. But it wont take too long. Only eleven hundred and seventy-two.
I was appalled. Eleven hundred and seventy-two?
Apart from, he added, the cards that are waiting for you at Party Headquarters.
My heart sank. Party Headquarters. Id forgotten all about that. I didnt sign any Party Christmas cards last year. But last year I wasnt Party Chairman. This year I am.
I started signing the cards. To my surprise I noticed that there were two kinds: DAA cards and House of Commons cards.
Bernard explained. Departmental cards bestow a slightly higher status on the recipient than a mere House of Commons card. Quite right too -- a departmental card can only be sent by a member of the Department, whereas a House of Commons card can be sent by any ordinary backbencher.
I asked why we didnt send departmental cards to everyone.
They cost 10p more, Minister.
But arent people who get mere House of Commons cards going to be offended at being downgraded?
No, Minister, weve worked it out quite carefully. For some people you can get away with a House of Commons card if you sign it Jim instead of Jim Hacker, or Jim and Annie instead of Jim and Annie Hacker, or add with love, or sign it instead of cyclostyling, or
I silenced him with a look.
There was one card I particularly resented sending. It was to the EEC Agriculture Commissioner in Brussels. I would rather have sent him a redundancy notice. Hes even worse than his colleagues, and I cant speak any worse of anybody than that. Hes the fool who has forced through the plan to standardise the Eurosausage. By the end of next year well be waving goodbye to the good old British sausage, and well be forced to accept some foreign muck like salami or bratwurst in its place.
Of course, they cant actually stop us eating the British sausage. But they can stop us calling it a sausage. It seems that its got to be called the Emulsified High-Fat Offal Tube. And I was forced to swallow it. I mean, it is a perfectly accurate description of the thing, but not awfully appetizing. And it doesnt exactly trip lightly off the tongue. It sticks in the throat, as a matter of fact. Theres going to be frightful trouble over it.
But its my job to implement EEC regulations. And, in exchange for getting a new deal on farm prices and on Britains reduced contribution to the community budget, a concession had to be made. The PM didnt seem to mind, nor did the FO, nor did Agriculture -- presumably because Im the one who is to be landed with trying to sell this to the British people. It could ruin my career.
Bernard asked me what the EEC has against our sausage. Apparently he doesnt read the papers he puts into my red box. [The official briefcase containing government papers, which members of the government are given each evening and weekend as their homework Ed.]
Didnt you read this analysis?
I glanced at it, Minister, but Im afraid it rather put me off.
I re-read it, there and then.
a lack of healthy nutrition. The average British sausage consists of:
32% Fat
6% Rind
20% Water
5% Seasoning, preservatives and colouring
26% Meat
The 26% meat is mostly gristle, head meat, other off cuts, and mechanically recovered meat steamed off the carcass.
I felt slightly sick. I had had one for breakfast.
Bernard read the analysis. Perhaps the EEC Commissioner is right about abolishing it.
Bernard sometimes misses the point completely. He may be right, I explained wearily, but itll be dreadfully unpopular with the voters. Bernard nodded gloomily. Ah well, I added, it seems well just have to grit our teeth and bite the bullet.
[We have kept Hackers mixed metaphors in the text of this document because we feel it gives an insight into the mind of one of our great national leaders Ed.]
Bernard tactfully suggested that I should send Maurice a Christmas card, nonetheless. I toyed with the idea of wishing him an offal Christmas and a wurst New Year, but Bernard advised me against it.
[One of the reasons for trying to maintain impenetrable secrecy around Government Ministers is that without it many would make themselves laughing stocks within days or -- at most -- weeks. Bernards advice in this case was clearly wise Ed.]
I asked Bernard what Christmas presents it would be appropriate to give to the Private Office.
Bernard said that it was entirely up to me. But he recommended bottles of sherry for the Assistant Private Secretaries, large boxes of House of Commons mints for the Dairy Secretary and the Correspondence Secretary, and small boxes of House of Commons mints for the rest.
What about the Principal Private Secretary? I asked absent-mindedly.
Thats me, he replied, slightly startled.
I explained that I knew who he was. But I wondered what I should give him.
You dont have to give me anything, Minister.
I know that, I said with real warmth. But Id like to.
Bernard seemed quite touched. Oh, Minister, he replied.
Well? I asked.
Well, anything really.
He obviously didnt want to say. But I had no idea what hed like.
Such as? I prompted.
Really, he said, Id like a surprise.
I still didnt have a clue. What sort of surprise should I give you?
Well, he said cautiously, a bottle of champagne is the customary surprise.
I spent the rest of the day signing those bloody cards. I was supposed to have a big meeting with Humphrey, but it was cancelled because he had some unexpected meeting with Sir Arnold [Sir Arnold Robinson, the Secretary of the Cabinet]. I think Bernard knows that theres something going on with Sir Humphrey because I got one of his less-than-completely straightforward replies when I asked him if the meeting was something I should know about.
Well, he answered evasively, Im sure that if, you know, its about something you should know, assuming that, you know, you didnt know about it already, then, obviously, when you can know will be when Sir Humphrey really knows.
I dont like being kept in the dark, I complained.
Well, honestly, Minister, Sir Humphrey may not know what its about. Only Sir Arnold may know what its about. And they do have meetings that arent just about this Department.
Bernard may be right. But Sir Arnold always makes me feel nervous. The Cabinet Secretary is, in some ways, the most powerful man in the country. Hes the Prime Ministers right-hand man. He controls Cabinet Agenda. He can control access to the PM.
[Sir Humphrey Applebys meeting with the most powerful man in the country was to have a momentous effect on the future of them alclass="underline" Hacker, Appleby and Bernard Woolley. A note of the meeting has been found among Sir Humphreys private papers Ed.]
Had an astonishing and nerve-wracking meeting with AR [Sir Arnold Robinson today. The CS [Cabinet Secretary] fixed me with an eagle-eyed stare.
Humphrey, he murmured, Ive been giving some thought to the matter of early retirement.
I was shocked. I had no wish to retire. I couldnt see what Id done wrong. But he seemed very firm. The time has come, Humphrey. Enough is enough.
I told him that this was a bit of a bombshell.
Im well aware of that, Humphrey, he replied firmly, but no one is indispensable.