Partying The Night Away. Tony Blair Remembers
July 26, 2011
Adam Lovejoy writes from London: Today we present another instalment of our parody on Tony Blair’s memoirs that he supposedly dictated to his aides before it was turned into a book. For those of you, who haven’t read the book, and that’s probably most of you out there, it reveals a man who actually didn’t know how to occupy himself and what to do all day while being Prime Minister, and so he tried his hand at all sorts of things and ended up screwing them badly.
Chapter 8 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…
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)