Free An Unexpected MP by Jerry Hayes Page A

Would I like to stand? Of course I bloody would. But how could I look those who had worked so hard to get me elected in the eye again? For me it was a no-brainer. But the chicken run before the 1997 election, where sitting MPs jumped ship for safer berths, was a disgrace.
    I know all MPs say this, but I am so grateful for those who worked so hard for me. Most hadn’t a penny to rub together.
    During one election, I remember being chased down the road by some fellow who had my election address rolled up in his hand. He was threatening to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. ‘Not unless I get to you first,’ said I, on my charm offensive. A bit of a bundle ensued. Then he took a good look at me. ‘’Ere, you’re that Jerry Hayes.’
    ‘Yes,’ I gasped.
    ‘Sorry, mate, got you muddled with that Labour twat. Fifty quid all right?’
    And it was. Harlow was a great place to represent.
    And so, David and Betty Roberts, my loyal chairman and friends, and my last agent, Marion Little, thank you for your love and forbearance and for realising that I can be a bit of a handful. And for not telling too many people about it.
    But how could I forget Rita Whyte? She was a great supporter who was the former deputy head of a primary school. She spent her life on the run from an abusive husband. Yet her son became an assistant chief constable and her daughter a chairman of a county council. So, when my party start having a go at single mothers I always take a deep breath and will never forget this remarkable woman. I was very proud to take her to a Buckingham Palace garden party before she died.
    But the image that will stick in my mind more than any other is when Saddam Hussein visited Harlow. Well, sort of. In the middle of the first Iraq War, Harlow Council gave me a wonderful political present. The daft lefties refused to fly the Union flag over the town hall. When our boys were putting their lives at risk? Insane. So I contacted my mateson the super soar-away
Sun
. I was told to meet a pleasant guy called Robert Jobson at the Harlow Moat House at 9 a.m. for breakfast the next day. So up I rolled to find the normally sleepy dining room packed. Must be some bloody convention. How was I supposed to find Robert? So I stood on a chair and asked if anyone was there from
The Sun
. Much hilarity. They
all
were.
    The Sun
then invaded Harlow with two tanks, three Page Three lovelies and a Saddam Hussein lookalike. This was spread over three pages the next day, topped with a cartoon of Saddam on the balcony of Harlow Town Hall, doing a Nazi salute. Harlow Council was of course flying the Iraqi flag. Sadly, the lefties didn’t see the funny side of all this at all.
    Being an MP is round after round of opening things. And I loved it. Harlow is infested with little plaques bearing my name. If you want to have look at a rather expensive brass one, pop in to the Beefeater Inn just outside North Weald. I was told there was going to be a parachute display and then a formal opening. So I peered into the sky and noticed a few little black dots. Then parachutes opened. But as they came nearer to earth they didn’t get an awful lot bigger. And they were all very round. When they landed I realised that Beefeater had parachuted in five dwarves dressed as Mr Men Beefeaters. They formed a guard of honour for me to open the place. The things one has to do.
    Although I have always enjoyed swanning around being pleasant to people, you really need a great team to back you up.
    My wife Alison was a top secretary before I poached her, and with her deputy, Jan, they kept the whole show on the road. It meant Ali could work from home and be there for ourtwo very small children. I had a reputation for dealing with problems quickly and efficiently, but the truth is it was really them. These sorts of partnerships are good for democracy, constituents and family life. But since the expenses scandal, employing any relative is regarded as a mortal sin. That is