December 4th
A meeting with Nick Everitt, the Arts Minister. He was in a bit of a state. Hes been got at, hes losing his nerve! He was party to the decision about the Arts Council grant -- oh no he wasnt, I forgot hes not in the Cabinet, but its a free country, he could have resigned if he didnt want to support it! Anyway, its a Government decision, a collective decision, hes part of the Government and hes got to accept it whether it was his decision or not. Thats democracy.
Jim, he said, I think theres going to be terrible trouble when they find out how small the grant increase is.
Well just have to brazen it out, I said. Wont you?
He didnt look too happy, peering out nervously through his big rectangular glasses. Young, earnest, and a regular visitor to Glyndebourne, he didnt like being accused of Philistinism. I do think well have to try and find a bit more.
I told him wed been through it all before. He shook his head. We havent really taken the employment argument on board.
I sighed. The employment of actors cannot be allowed to dictate our fiscal policy, however famous and vocal they are. I told Nick that theyd just have to get other jobs, outside the theatre.
They cant. Actors are unemployable outside the theatre. A lot of them are unemployable in it.
Hes one hundred per cent wrong about that. Annie tells me that half the mini-cab drivers she meets are out-of-work actors.
Nick had a different explanation. Most mini-cab drivers say theyre out of work actors. Its more glamorous than describing yourself as a moonlighting nightwatchman.
Bernard raised a forefinger and looked in my direction. Apparently he felt he had a useful contribution to make to the discussion. Er, nightwatchmen cant moonlight. Its a moonlight job to start with. If they drove mini-cabs theyd be sunlighting.
Nick went through all the arguments that the Treasury had already rejected. The theatre brings in tourists, he declaimed with passion.
Fine. I stayed cool. Then the British Tourist Authority should subsidise it.
But they wont, he complained. Thats the trouble. They say theyve got better ways of attracting them.
So, I summed up, you want us to subsidise a bad way of attracting tourists. He tried to interrupt. No, Nick, we waste too much on the Arts anyway.
He flinched. Then he tried the old chestnut about how the arts are educational. Maybe -- but why should I give public money to people who use it for the very uneducational purposes of attacking me?
Wed have to spend the money anyway, said Nick, trying his final ploy. Its only a concealed way of preserving old buildings.
I couldnt see what he meant. All those theatres and art galleries and museums and opera houses are listed buildings, he pleaded. Wed have to maintain them anyway. And theyre totally useless otherwise. So we put in central heating and a curator and roll it into the grant to make it look as if were supporting the Arts.
Half true; but not persuasive enough. I have a simpler solution. Well sell them.
December 5th
This Arts Council crisis is becoming a bloody nuisance. Tonight we had a drinks and buffet party at Number Ten. A couple of hundred guests, many of them theatricals -- we always do this to attract good publicity but tonights do was organised many weeks ago and, had we known, we would have invited a more respectable bunch: backbench MPs, for instance, who never argue with me on social occasions and usually confine themselves to getting harmlessly pissed. Its a change from Annies Bar. [One of the many House of Commons bars Ed.]
As a matter of fact, Ive often thought that we should breathalyse MPs -- not when theyre driving but when theyre legislating. I would guess that well over fifty per cent are over the legal limit by seven pm. Just think of t he permanent damage they do to the nation with their impaired judgement and poor reflexes.
Anyway, we had drunken theatricals to contend with tonight. And, which was worse, sober ones! Annie, who didnt realise what was at stake, congratulated me on taking such trouble over all those lovely theatre people even though theyre not important.
I explained that they were very important. Not for their votes, which are too few to count, but for their influence.
She was surprised that they have influence.
Annie, I explained patiently, show business people have a hotline to the media. Once youve drunk a couple of pints in EastEnders the press want your opinion on everything: Britains schools, the Health Service, law and order right through to the European Monetary System. They get far more exposure than my Cabinet.
Theres no sense in it, of course. But editors want people to read their papers, so if any article starts with a picture of Dirty Den [Den Watts, a character in EastEn, a soap opera which had prominence in the latter part of the 20th century - Ed][/i] they want to read it. But who is going to read an article because of a photo of the Secretary of State for Trade and Industry?
Annie said, So all these actors turn into your supporters after a couple of drinks at Number Ten?
Some do, I told her. But not enough. Thats why we dish out a couple of CBEs or Knighthoods every year. Keeps them all hoping. And theyre less likely to knock the Government next time theyre on Wogan. [Well-known TV talk show of the 1980s on which the host, Terry Wogan, talked and the guests listened Ed.]
Simon Monk was, by a fateful chance, one of the guests at this party. His autobiography records his quiet conversation with Sir Humphrey, who had been anxiously waiting at the top of the grand circular staircase, watching out for Monks arrival Ed.]
Sir Humphrey took me aside, into a sort of panelled lobby outside the main state reception rooms. He faced away from a few bystanders and spoke softly in my ear. He wanted me to talk to Hacker that night. In fact, he implied that Id been invited to the party -- several weeks ago -- for that very purpose. The date of the grant announcement was known months back.
But isnt it better to wait till the figure is published? I asked, not really relishing a confrontation with Hacker that night.
Sir Humphrey was astonished. What on earth for?
If I try to lobby him before, he wont say anything, will he?
Sir Humphrey explained. Of course he wont say anything. You dont want him to say anything. You want him to do something.
I began to argue. Then I realised that I was getting free advice from the most skilful political operator in the land. If you wait, he muttered into my ear, the figure will be published and everyone will be committed to it. Theyll have to stick with it to save their faces. If you want to change government decisions you have to do it before anybody knows theyre being made.
Its a good principle. But, I asked, isnt that rather difficult in practice?
Yes, Humphrey answered. Thats what the Civil Service is for.
To change Government decisions? I realised that I was a complete innocent.
Yes, he smiled. Well, only the bad ones. But thats most of them, of course.
I asked Sir Humphrey what he wanted me to do. Quite simply, he wanted me to help emphasise to Hacker that a small grant might cause him great embarrassment at the Awards Dinner on Sunday.
SIR BERNARD WOOLLEY RECALLS [in conversation with the Editors]:
Everyone was politicking furiously. Humphrey got Simon Monk into one corner. And a bunch of actors and actresses got the Prime Minister into another. And Hacker did his utmost to persuade the thespians that he was a theatre lover. Without much success, I fear.
Do you really believe in the British theatre, Prime Minister? said a deeply sceptical young actress, whose roots were showing, metaphorically and literally.
Of course. Absolutely.
Why?
Hacker said something to the effect of Well, er, its, er, its one of the great glories of England.
You mean Shakespeare? said a smooth old fellow, apparently being helpful.
Yes, said Hacker gratefully. Absolutely. Shakespeare.