Instead a tactfully constructed P.M’s press release was issued by his P.A. to the effect that I was taking early retirement in order to, as the euphemism goes, “spend more time with my family” instead of the more tricky “dying from cancer.” Had the P.M, his P.A, or even the good gentlemen of the Press enquired or done any research at all they would be aware that I had dedicated my life to politics and, since the death of my parents ten years ago, I would have no surviving relatives.
Only two mornings ago my dedication to this country’s political system had been unquestionable. Then events that took place that day showed me just how misguided I had been. I was due to lunch with the Government Department that had to provide the P.M. with a reply for Prime Minister’s Question Time. The night before, a story had broken on “Panorama” concerning the abuse of power by government officials especially at the highest level. The P.M. had been caught out arranging the removal of rights of public access to the land around his personal property. The opposition had tabled a question and it was looking pretty bad. The P.M. was being presented as an uncaring and self serving leader. Now that would never do in a society where a “caring” image is so important.
Suddenly I found myself in front of the P.M. and without any ceremony he presented me with a card clearly bought and written by his P.A. whilst awkwardly informing me I would be leaving within the hour. A bottle of bubbly, a basket of fruit and a bunch of flowers were waiting for me in the outer office. The P.M’s farewell was a half hearted hug, a pat on the back directing me to the door where he winked and whispered,
“I know I can rely on your discretion in all matters!”
A quick glance at his watch and I found myself of the door.
Before I could even order my thoughts, his P.A. had thrust my leaving presents in to my arms and, with no genuine affection, she directed me to exit by the right hand door where I was supposed to speak to a specially chosen group of reporters. Without a supportive smile or her eyes meeting mine, she returned to her phone call. I instinctively exited to the left recognising a set-up.
As the warm sunlight hit my face I began to control my breathing and ordered my thoughts. Yet I was still filled with disbelief that I had been treated this way. Gradually I began to feel a seething anger bubbling inside my chest. Across the road from me stood one solitary reporter having a cigarette. As our eyes met his emotionless comment was,
“So you got your marching orders then.”
“Seems so,” I replied.
During my three minute journey to the taxi rank, I deposited the flowers in a rubbish bin, left the box of fruit in the doorway of a night shelter and made the day for two tramps sitting on a park bench by giving them the bottle of bubbly. Twenty seven years in the service of my country, always loyal to the P.M, and what for? The rest of the journey was passed in the silence of shock. That night I went to bed uncertain how to spend my remaining days on Earth.
By the following morning I still had made no firm decisions. I woke at 6.30am and collected my daily papers from the front porch. Over breakfast I searched them for the official story of my retirement. Finally I located one small column inch which simply stated that I had “retired to spend more time with my family” however what came next really shocked me. If, during the day before, I had felt like I had been stabbed in the back, today that injury felt twice as deep. The newspaper report concluded that I had made little contribution to the government of this country and this was clearly reinforced by two deeply hurtful comments. Firstly the P.M. had been “unavailable for comment” and secondly “a source close to the P.M.” had said my position would “no longer exist in the new government structure”. Again I wondered how twenty seven years of unquestionably loyal service could be reduced to one column inch.
I slowly buttered my toast but only chewed one mouthful before I had made my decision. I may only have a short time to live but I also have no relatives who would have to bare the consequences of any action I might take. Suddenly I wanted the world to know exactly what I had done for this country; warts and all. I would not go out with a whimper but with a bang.
Now, each day, I take my breakfast in a small fishing village, overlooking the blue Mediterranean Sea. The waiter brings me a selection of the English papers and I read with vast pleasure the daily headlines. Today they announced that the P.M’s days are numbered and so with some sense of satisfaction I feel I can rest in peace, excuse the pun again, as everyone will get their just deserts back in the cold corridors of Westminster.
