Part 27 (2/2)

Finally, I'm afraid I just stopped taking his calls. Poor Jon would come into the presidency room and say: 'The Chancellor really wants to speak to you.' I would say: 'I'm really busy, Jon.' And he would say: 'He really is demanding it.' Then I would say: 'I'll call him soon.' And Jon would say: 'Do you really mean that, Prime Minister?' And I would say: 'No, Jon.'

It more or less worked out. We got a good deal. Gordon was able to distance himself. And soon there were plenty of other things to think about.

EIGHTEEN.

TRIUMPH AND TRAGEDY.

The schedule of today's political leader gets ever crazier. The convenience of modern travel; the emergence of foreign affairs as a dominant part of the job; the range and scope of the events you are called upon to deal with; all this means that you can travel to four or five countries in the s.p.a.ce of as many days. Because it's possible, sooner or later you are expected to do so. The schedule is much more punis.h.i.+ng than just twenty years ago.

I got used to it and have a huge advantage: I don't suffer from jet lag. For me, if the sun is s.h.i.+ning, it's day; if it's dark, it's night. I also take a melatonin pill. Pop one of those and you get six hours' sleep wherever you are, and in whatever time zone.

The one problem is that travel does play havoc with the digestive system. You need to eat healthily and with discipline. I am very typically British. I like to have time and comfort in the loo. The bathroom is an important room, and I couldn't live in a culture that doesn't respect it. Anyway, that's probably more than you ever wanted to know. But politicians, as I frequently say, need to be seen and understood as human beings. Have a bad night's sleep or feel lousy because your system is shot to pieces, and you perform badly. And the difference with us is that each performance is on film or reported, and there are no second takes.

I always knew the seven days starting on 2 July 2005 were going to be challenging: fly out to Singapore for the Olympics bid and spend a hectic two days there, then fly back to Gleneagles in Scotland for the G8, which that year was chaired by Britain, and so by me. Two very big challenges; two very big risks; if they failed, two very big failures.

When the Olympics open in London in 2012, many people will be remembered as having brought them to Britain, but it all started with Tessa Jowell, who at that time was the Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport. When the bid was first raised as a possibility, most of the Cabinet were dubious and the Treasury was hostile. I liked the boldness of the notion, but it didn't seem likely we could get it the French were runaway favourites, with other powerful bids from Madrid and New York and after the Dome we were all a trifle nervous of anything so immense, costly and liable to turn out tricky. The athletics community, however, immediately understood its significance, came out strongly in support of a bid, advocated it intelligently and showed admirable firmness for it all the way through. Tessa was equally emphatic.

She is a great person, Tessa, just a gem. She represents the best of political loyalty, which at its best isn't blind, but thoroughly considered. She understood that to be successful, a political party needs to be led strongly and a strong leader needs loyal supporters. If you think the leaders.h.i.+p is wrong or fundamentally misguided, then change leaders; but don't have a leader and not support their leaders.h.i.+p. That way lies political debilitation. Tessa was the ultimate sensible loyalist and was with me to the end, however bitter, because she believed in my leaders.h.i.+p. And if she hadn't, she would have told me.

On the Olympics she was telling me it was an enormous opportunity. Think of the impact on our young people, on fitness, on sport, on the country's self-belief. I would say, 'Yes, but suppose we get beaten, and what's worse, we get beaten by the French and I end up humiliated?' One day when I had finished saying this to her in graphic terms, sitting in the Downing Street garden where, if the sun was s.h.i.+ning, I would sit and have one-to-one meetings, she looked at me reproachfully and said, 'I really didn't think that was your att.i.tude to leaders.h.i.+p. I thought you were prepared to take a risk. And it is a big risk. Of course we may not win but at least we will have had the courage to try.' When Tessa says this, you feel a complete wimp and rather ashamed. You know she is manipulating you, but you also know it's a successful manipulation. 'Oh, OK, we'll go for it.'

The Cabinet came round, but only because I was then really going for it and JP as ever waded in manfully with support, chiding and generally prodding in a JP-like way that made everyone think that they might as well go with the flow.

In the middle of 2003 we had established a bid team under Barbara Ca.s.sani who were thoroughly professional and competent. Craig Tweedie from the IOC was an adept and skilful committee politician. In May 2004, Seb Coe took over. I had only ever really seen him on telly running his famous races against Steve Ovett. He was a great athlete; on the other hand, he had later been William Hague's chief of staff and that hadn't been great. I didn't mind in the least that he had been a Tory he obviously wasn't someone who was hopelessly tribal, and anyway it would help to keep everyone together politically for the bid but to be frank I wasn't sure of him. However, I trusted Tessa, and she was certain. It turned out to be an inspired choice. Being the athlete he was, he could instantly enlist anyone in the athletics world. Being the person he is, he did so in an intelligent, decent and persuasive way. He had none of the worst Tory traits and most of the best ones.

But it was clearly an uphill task. We weren't even second in the running, and personally I doubted we would ever win. There was a fierce debate over whether I should go to Singapore. In the end I did, but as much because this was a crime scene I had to be present at in order to have an alibi, to avoid being criticised for not trying hard enough. By the time I got there, the bid team had been ensconced for several days. It was the usual ridiculous pantomime in these situations: we could talk about the bid, but we weren't supposed to canva.s.s. Try to work out the difference if you can. I couldn't.

The bid strategy had two parts to it: there was a ceremony and a party at the British High Commission to show off our wares and to give the team a sense of unison and solidarity; then we would see the various members of the committee, of whom I was deputed to meet around forty on a one-to-one basis. Out of a total electorate of 115, it was a fair proportion. I sat in the hotel suite, and just before they were ushered in I was handed slips of paper with their details on, so I would know roughly what their likes, worries and dislikes might be. In the course of two days of meetings, I learned again the lesson that, at a profound level, electorates are the same everywhere: each member has one vote. In small electorates, this is crucial.

When I ran for the Sedgefield nomination, John Burton taught me this. There were lots of big mouths, movers and shakers on the General Management Committee (the selection body at the time) who would take the floor, but John identified the little old ladies, the not very a.s.siduous attendees, the shy, the diffident, the uncertain and the unaligned, and together we went after them. When all was said and done, they each had the same number of votes as the movers and shakers: one.

Because the Olympic electorate are globally dispersed, the adage was even more true. The person who spotted this first was Cherie. Ever since we had launched the bid, she had been going to different parts of the world and meeting the less significant members. There are several people without whom we would not have won the bid, and she is one of them. She can be difficult, my wife, but when determined, she is determined. She can also work a room better than anyone I've seen.

She and her mum and the wonderful Jackie, our nanny, are all pa.s.sionate about athletics (truthfully I'm not) and so she enjoyed it. But enjoy it or not, by the time we all converged in Singapore, she had met, followed up and kept in touch with a large part of the committee. At the IOC party we were continually b.u.mping into her 'old friends' who were usually on their own as they weren't considered important, but each of them of course had the same vote as those over whom a lot of fuss was being made. So, hidden from sight, we had been building up a lot of quiet support. Seb too had been travelling the world and was very effective.

As I discovered quite quickly, the people seeing me hadn't the slightest interest in talking to me about athletics, rightly figuring me as an ignoramus on that score; but they were fascinated about politics and meeting a famous political figure. I found that my recent speech to the European Parliament was a huge talking point. Bizarre, I know, but it struck a chord, and though some agreed and some disagreed with Iraq, they all had a strange respect for the fact that I took a deeply unpopular decision.

Because we shouldn't exaggerate the pulling power of politics, we also put David Beckham into the mix. David is a complete pro he did what he was asked to do with no messing about, and generally sent Singapore into a twitter, which is exactly what was required.

In the course of the meetings, I learned yet again how important it is to listen as well as talk. Knowing when to shut up is one of the most vital rules in life, never mind politics. Basically, most people are psychological itinerants in search of someone who wants to hear about them, who is interested in what they have to say, and who will regard what they say as both sage and stimulating. This applies at any level. In fact, the more elevated the level, the truer it is. In most of my meetings with other leaders less so those whom I knew really well, or when there was real immediate business to transact I would listen or ask them questions to get them talking, so that I could listen. A good meeting is one where you have listened more than you have spoken.

Also, know when to disagree and when to let a comment pa.s.s. If it matters and there will be a frightful misunderstanding, you have to step in and contradict; but frequently, even if your interlocutor makes some completely ludicrous a.s.sertion, contradiction will only lead to a futile, sterile disagreement which it is then embarra.s.sing to move on from. Unless it is germane to the real issue at hand, let it pa.s.s.

So, anyway, I met endless members of the IOC and paid as much attention as I could in the time allotted. Occasionally, they came in too thick and fast. I would get the slips of paper out of order and the people muddled up. One chap came in who my paper said was a champion javelin thrower. I thought it odd that he seemed so small about five feet eight. I thought they were supposed to be big, though truth be told my knowledge of javelin throwers was limited. I asked him what was the most important factor in his sport. His reply completely threw me. 'The quality of the ice.'

G.o.d, I thought, I really don't know anything about javelin throwing. 'I see,' I said. 'Is that very important to you?'

'Yes, the most important thing,' he replied. 'It determines how high you can go,' he went on. I could see Seb gesticulating wildly but not very articulately behind him.

'How high do you go?' I asked.

'About three feet,' he said.

Seb intervened. 'He knows all this because for years he was the champion ice skater. Very famous for his skating on ice.'

Another moment of drama was when the Russian delegation came in to see us, led by the mayor of Moscow. Ken Livingstone told me mysteriously that they were close, and that they had an understanding. He didn't give details and I thought it better not to ask.

They trooped in looking very Russian. There is something about a group of Russian men that makes you want them on your side. You feel that in the wrong context, or any context, they could become excessive; that the boundaries which circ.u.mscribe our conduct and character don't apply; that you fully realise why Napoleon failed and why Hitler was daft to try.

They sat down heavily, and looked at me. I looked at them. Then they smiled knowingly and nodded. Ken, who had joined me for this one, looked at me and we both nodded at them. The nodding went on for some time until a conversation began that was, for me at least, entirely elliptical. The gist of it was that we all understood each other very well, that they were very true to their word and so were we, and they didn't like people who weren't (I got a bit uneasy at that). But since they were and we were, there was no need to say any more. After another round of knowing smiles and nodding, they trooped out.

'What the h.e.l.l was all that about, Ken?' I asked when they had left.

'Don't you worry your pretty head about it,' he said. 'I think it went well.'

In between all the 'non-lobbying', there were formal meetings and receptions. The Queen of Spain very gracious and a real a.s.set for them turned up with the newish Spanish prime minister, Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero who, despite my friends.h.i.+p with Aznar, always behaved very well towards me and was obviously a smart leader. Big politicians mixed with small royals. At the reception, given by Singapore's prime minister in the wonderful old colonial General House, we all mingled uncomfortably, talking to one person, watching with snake-like intensity the moves everyone else was making, acutely aware that an inadvertent word or snub could lose a precious vote. Really horrible stuff: being compet.i.tive without appearing to be and trying to maintain dignity while begging.

Princess Anne was also touring the meetings, and doing so carefully because she was an IOC member. She was genuinely respected because genuinely knowledgeable and, of course, an Olympian herself. She does a huge amount of largely unnoticed charity work and is a tremendous amba.s.sador for the country. I always liked her. I doubt the feeling was mutual, or perhaps more accurately she was indifferent, except on the hunting ban, which I'm sure she would have hated. She is a chip right off the old man's block. People think Prince Philip doesn't give a d.a.m.n about what people think of him, and they are right: he doesn't. Anne is exactly the same. She is what she is, and if you don't like it you can clear off. It's not a quality I have, but I admire those who do. The unfortunate thing is, it stops people seeing the other side of their character.

During our first time at Balmoral, Princess Anne called Cherie 'Mrs Blair', and Cherie (being Cherie) said, 'Please call me Cherie.'

'Actually, I prefer Mrs Blair,' Anne replied. At one level, it is stunningly rude and discordant in our democratic age. At another, it shows an admirable determination not to be concordant with our democratic age but to tell that to clear off as well.

I remember, early on in government, Buckingham Palace thought they should have a reception for a few Labour MPs. Since we had a rather large majority, perhaps they thought they should do so in case there were any latent republican tendencies that might erupt. It was going fine until Prince Philip wandered up to Joan Walley, a very sincere leftish feminist MP. 'h.e.l.lo,' he said, 'where do you represent?'

'Stoke,' she said.

'Ghastly place, isn't it?' he replied.

On the evening I was due to leave Singapore we had the grand ceremony, the opening speeches and the IOC drinks party. I met the Spanish footballer Raul, and tried, unsuccessfully, to persuade him of the merits of moving to Newcastle United over Real Madrid. By the time of the drinks party I was desperate to get away. I was exhausted, and frankly wanted to kill the next person who gave me their opinion of the present geopolitical challenges facing the world today. I had had just about enough of the Olympic movement, its members and its ceremonies. My brain was switching on to the G8 preparations, about which I had had continual and not always positive reports throughout the stay. I was more and more conscious of the double-whammy possibilities of failure: lose the Olympics, screw up the G8.

Jacques Chirac arrived, swinging into the party like he owned the Olympics and everything in it. I noticed in a rather jaundiced way but it may have been my mood that everyone fluttered around him. Maybe I had stayed too long, become too familiar, been too modest, not grand enough. I started to exhibit signs of whining, signs my staff recognise.

This is when it is important to have people around you who don't respect or revere you too much. Jo Gibbons from Number 10, in charge of events, was sympathetic to my exhaustion but utterly unsympathetic to my leaving. There were many people to see. Seb was very kind, but completely firm: stay. Cherie seemed inexhaustible. I was going to miss the big presentation the next day because I had to get back to prepare for the G8. Jacques could do his in person, I could only be in a video. So stay it was.

Finally, when I had just about given up the will to live, and when all the drinks waiters had had their picture taken with me in turn, it was time to go, get on the plane and head back, a twelve-hour flight.

In fact, the difference between me and Jacques at the drinks party kind of summed up and symbolised the difference in approach of the Paris and London bids.

In 1948, London had to be persuaded to host the games. Then the Cold War somewhat distorted the bidding process. But by the 1990s, the Olympics had come of age. It was no longer a case of a country doing the Games a favour by hosting them, but rather the hosting of the Games became a prize to be desired devoutly. Nowadays, the IOC a.s.sume that countries can get the infrastructure built and physically put on the games. What used to be the end point is now only the starting point. The real value added is what the host city can contribute to what might loosely be described as the Olympic spirit the intangible but deeply felt soul of the Olympic movement.

During the IOC preliminary visit to London to a.s.sess our bid, Buckingham Palace put on a dinner for the a.s.sessment team, whose chief I sat next to. It was only in the course of talking with her that I realised London's bid had to be about them, not us; or more accurately what we could do to advance the ethos, the spirit, the inner emotions of the Olympic movement, rather than being simply about London, infrastructure, and so on. The IOC were a curious mixture of athletes, business people, royals and the general great and good; but whatever their origins, they were immensely sensitive to the charges that the whole thing had become commercialised and had lost touch with its inner self. They wanted the Olympics to mean something again, a higher and better thing, not just a great moneymaking celebrity fest.

People talked about the Games needing a legacy, which normally meant facilities that didn't close as soon as the Games were over. I took it to mean something that would make a positive difference to the world. I found Seb and the others in a similar mood, so we set about presenting London as modern, dynamic, multicultural, multiracial and proud of it. London on its contemporary merits modernity as much as tradition.

Rather like at the drinks party, the French affected an att.i.tude of 'we are going to win and aren't you lucky when we do' and tried to sweep people along as if invincible very French. We affected an att.i.tude of 'we humbly beg to offer our services to your great movement' and paddled and conspired like crazy underneath the surface very British. The French way can in many cases be the right way, but they overdid it just a fraction. It undoubtedly made a difference; our presentation just had a better feel.

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