This Honourable House by Edwina Currie Page B

and he’s convinced we’re anti-European, so don’t disabuse him of that notion, will you?’
    ‘Why exactly did he help us, then?’ Benedict undid his tie and started to refix it, with a looser knot, as a louche antidote to the offending buttons.
    ‘The last government stopped building motorways, this lot are trying to tax the internal combustion engine out of existence, the Greens want everything ferried about by push-bike. How they’d pay for the NHS, then, God knows. You might explore the inherent contradiction of an Exchequer so dependent for revenue on what they’re trying to diminish, though I’m not sure your host is intellectually up to it. We’re not anti anything on wheels, though we favour an integrated transport system.’
    ‘Which means what?’
    Christine frowned, as if she were being set a test question. ‘There’s a policy paper in the folder somewhere. The buzz words are about buses and trains connecting with each other, getting the trains moving again. Nobody could object, anyway.’
    ‘But it’s hardly earth-shattering,’ Benedict remarked, almost to himself. ‘It sounds sensible, and that’s about it. Between John Major’s cones hotline and New Labour’s New Deal, nobody has big ideas any more, do they?’
    ‘The nitty-gritty of everyday life is what wins votes.’
    ‘Is that so? I wonder.’ Benedict broke away from her, tossed his notes on to the bed and began to pace about. ‘Bus and train timetables are not what I came into politics for. And I bet they bore the pants off the electorate: that’s why the turnout’s so low.’
    ‘But what else are governments at Westminster to do?’ Christine allowed herself to sound exasperated. ‘Think about it. Most business is global and run from Seattle or Singapore. The currency, even the poor old pound, is subject to the whim of international bankers who never go near a ballot box. The economy runs itself, more or less. That’s fine by most people. The profession they don’t trust is politicians.’
    ‘Maybe that’s because we persist in debating the number of angels who can dance on a pinhead. We seem to lack confidence to attempt anything big. The great issues of life and death, where are they? How come they always get pushed to the back of the agenda and we never reach them? Why is everything we have to deal with so trivial ?’
    Christine stood stock still and opened her mouth, but Benedict persisted, not letting her interrupt. ‘Last century, the creation of the National Health Service was a huge upheaval in politics. So is war: that’s why Prime Ministers can’t resist bombing other countries, whether Iraq or Kosovo.But the big deal today? Slagging off the other parties at Prime Minister’s Question Time for a bit of point-scoring. No wonder our continental cousins are bewildered. What happened to the great- leap-forward mentality we used to have?’
    Christine stared. ‘For heaven’s sake, don’t start wittering on at this dinner about the need to join the euro.’ Benedict flinched. Her voice softened. ‘It’s our job to inject the glamour. Real politics is boring, if that’s what you’re implying. But personalities are exciting, and voters can relate to them. That’s why we did so well in the election.’
    ‘Because we said very little of substance, but we said it beautifully?’ Benedict’s face was flushed. ‘Didn’t that spin doctor Melvyn O’Connor protest that debating with us was like trying to nail jelly to the ceiling?’
    ‘You could do worse,’ Christine said tartly. ‘You could be on the receiving end, instead of dishing it out. Imagine trying to pin the Prime Minister down on anything. Except maybe on how to enlarge one’s family. Now remember, be nice to the sponsors, and for heaven’s sake don’t tell them what you truly believe about Europe or they’ll take fright.’
     
    The bar was filling up. A group of five men and a woman walked in, found a table and sat down. The tallest, a giant