Free Breaking the Code by Gyles Brandreth Page B

wanted. Three cheers.
    Rather less exciting is the fact that I’ve been dragooned onto the Standing Committee considering the Railways Bill. This means that from 10.00 a.m. onwards every Tuesday and Thursday for the next two months I’m going to be imprisoned on the committee room corridor going through a piece of legislation in which I have scant interest. I wanted to be on the Lotteries Bill. I volunteered to be on the Lotteries Bill. That was probably my mistake. Cecil Parkinson 244 put it so nicely: ‘People here like to give you what they think you deserve and deny you what they think you want.’
    My real mistake was letting slip to the whip that I knew quite a bit about the lottery and even had the managing director of Vernons Pools as a constituent. He wheeled me in to see the Deputy Chief Whip 245 where I compounded my error by showing off the extent of my knowledge of the bill, its strengths and its weaknesses.
    ‘I don’t think you’ll find this government’s legislation contains any weaknesses,’ said the Deputy with a wintry smile and a slightly raised eyebrow.
    I still didn’t get it. I thought because I was keen and informed I’d be the man they wanted. Now I realise, it’s
because
I’m keen and informed I’m the very last man they want. The upshot is I’m off Lotteries and onto Railways.
    And I’m not going to New York either. Gerald and the Select Committee are off to the US at the weekend, gathering evidence for our enquiry into the cost of CDs. (Gerald buys a lot of CDs. They cost much more in the UK than in the US. Gerald wants to know why. Fair enough.) Lizard-like, skin glistening, eyes narrowed, tongue flicking, Gerald explained to us that if we all went, the Budget wouldn’t stretch to us travellingBusiness Class. He felt that those going would want to travel Business Class (murmurs of assent), so was anyone ready to volunteer not to go? I put my hand up. I’ve got a nightmare weekend in the constituency, things that to get out of would bring the house down; I’m committed to the wretched Winter Ball on Monday; there’s the dinner with the PM on Tuesday; now there’s the Railways Bill. I’ve been to New York – and in better company. It’s less stressful staying put.
TUESDAY 9 FEBRUARY 1993
    The Winter Ball could have been worse. I did my stuff. It turned out they asked me because they were weary of ‘Jeffrey’s hectoring tone’. I bet he raises more money though. I didn’t do too badly, but it isn’t much fun trying to raise £30,000 in under eight minutes flogging three items to four interested punters surrounded by 900 garrulous but non-bidding spectators. One good woman bought a bottle of champagne signed by the Prime Minister for £16,000. She deserves a peerage. (And I understand she may get one.)
    I was warned off taking bids from punters at one particular table. Their dusky hue wasn’t the problem; it was their ‘slightly doubtful business reputation’: ‘they’ll want a picture with the PM – we can’t be too careful.’
    The best bit of the evening was encountering David Cameron, 246 special adviser to the Chancellor.
    ‘Well done,’ he purred, pink cheeks glowing. ‘I hear you’ll soon be joining us at the Treasury.’
    ‘Really?’ I tried to look as if I knew exactly what he was talking about while being far too discreet to let on. ‘Tell me more.’
    ‘PPS to the Financial Secretary. Can’t be bad.’
    Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were true? In case it isn’t, I’ve not mentioned it to Michèle. Let’s wait and see.
    This comes to you late on Tuesday morning, from Committee Room 12, where I am advised I shall be closeted every Tuesday and Thursday from now till the end of April. Three months locked in a room with John Prescott 247 and Glenda Jackson! Can you imagine? Prescott is pug-ugly, overweight, overbearing, but not, I imagine, over-promoted. He is brutish, but there’s something rather brilliant about him as well. He’s sharp,