A Journey_ My Political Life Part 26

I had taken the country into an unpopular war with a very unpopular Republican American president. The war had finally allowed right and left opposition to find a point of unity. In terms of my personal political position, it gave the party a reason to think if we could only lose that albatross, we could renew with Gordon as leader.

All of it obscured what was actually a more fundamental and important truth: the basic position of New Labour was still the dominant and determining centre of gravity for British politics. We had won despite all the drawbacks, despite the war, the length of time I had been prime minister, tuition fees (which cost us dear), the internal wrangle with Gordon, and a fairly incessant drumbeat of negative and destructive criticism from right and left. This was an election we were never destined to win with enthusiasm, but as I tried to point out in the post-election dissection and a.n.a.lysis, the crucial thing was: we were never going to lose.

The Queen's Speech of November 2004 had gone surprisingly well. The legislative programme always a bit of a weird vehicle to describe what the government wants to do had vigour and lift. We had a strong agenda in the election. The platform was indisputably New Labour and there were detailed plans in all main areas of policy: on schools, especially academies; on the next stages of NHS reform; on welfare, crime, ID cards; on housing and planning; on local government; and even on a new industrial strategy. Frankly, with the media climate as it was and by then the BBC were more or less in a monotheme on Iraq there was never going to be much coverage of policy, especially domestic policy. But here's a curious thing about the public. Even without knowledge of the policy detail, they sensed that we were a government with a programme, a party that still retained a sense of mission, with a leader who could still lead. The ministers and party had something to carry with them, that kept them focused even as they struggled with the onslaught around Iraq, 'Blair the liar', 'time for a change' and the general static of a raw and nasty campaign. Though the Tories had a set of policies, they seemed more like a set of talking points designed to provoke anger or grievance, but not reflection or the mobilisation of a plan for the nation's future.

George Bush had been re-elected US president. I am, of course, a Democrat, and I liked John Kerry and thought he would have made a good president. But the issue, whatever my own political tribe, was in terms of perception completely obvious: a defeat for Bush was a defeat for Blair.

Also, as I have said, I had come to like and admire George. I was asked recently which of the political leaders I had met had most integrity. I listed George near the top. In what was a fairly liberal audience, some people were aghast. Others even t.i.ttered, thinking I was joking. But I meant it. He had genuine integrity and as much political courage as any leader I ever met. I said to my audience: You can disagree with him on Iraq (which I didn't) or on other issues (which I did), and still accept he sincerely believed in spreading freedom and democracy.

He was, in a bizarre sense (bizarre because it appears counter-intuitive), a true idealist. I remember at the time of the Palestinian elections in January 2005 when many people thought they should be postponed, George was all for them going ahead. He didn't ignore or fail to comprehend the advice that this might give Hamas a victory; he simply said: 'If that's what people think, let's find it out.'

It's one of the oddest things about modern politics. The paradigm imposed, usually by a particular media view, completely disorients the proper a.n.a.lysis. I used to smile at the way the Obama/McCain election of 2008 was framed: Barack was the man of vision, John the old political hack. One seemed to call America to a new future, the other seemed a stale relic of the past. This was a paradigm that determined the mood and defined the election.

Actually, it was John who was articulating a foreign policy that could be called wildly idealistic for the cause of freedom. Barack was the supreme master of communicating a brilliant vision, but he was a pract.i.tioner of realism, advocating a cautious approach based on reaching out, arriving at compromises and striking deals to reduce tension. For these purposes, leave alone who is right. It's just a really interesting feature of modern politics that the mood trumps the policy every time.

So it was with George. He was basically considered a right-wing Republican b.a.s.t.a.r.d for getting rid of hostile brutal dictators.h.i.+ps and insisting they be replaced not with friendly brutal dictators.h.i.+ps but with an attempt at liberal democracy. Of course, part of this feeling was an entirely natural dislike of war. Part was also the Republicans' fault for allowing this ridiculous notion of 'neoconservatives' to take hold. I often warned George of this.

It meant that the war was presented as ideological in a right/left sense, instead of being presented in a manner that could unify, something which so easily and correctly could have been done. Even Guantanamo, a policy that was both understandable and, done in a different way, justifiable, came to be seen as a poke in the eye for all those who believed in the rule of law.

The truth is that the prisoners picked up in the war zone of Afghanistan were, in a sense, prisoners of war. In normal circ.u.mstances, the war ends, they are returned; we all live peacefully ever after. Except in this case, the war hadn't ended and wasn't a conventional war. There was no way of proving, as in a proper court of law, that they were 'guilty'. On the other hand, many of them would undoubtedly be a threat if released. But the whole way it was handled was done almost in the most provocative way possible, as if we deliberately sought to alienate liberal opinion rather than try to face up to the reality of the dilemma for our security.

But in any event, George's re-election had deprived those inside and outside the party of another hammer to hit me with, and their profound disappointment was evident.

Other events came and went: the Queen opened the new and controversial (because expensive) Scottish Parliament building in Edinburgh in October 2004; Ya.s.ser Arafat died in November; in December I lost David Blunkett as Home Secretary, over accusations that he had fast-tracked a visa application for the nanny of his ex-partner.

I was really sorry for him. He had allowed himself to fall for someone who was wholly unsuitable and married, and who had also conceived their child. David had told me about it some months before, very honestly and with deep regret. He was long divorced himself, his boys were grown up, he got lonely; simple as that. However, this particular relations.h.i.+p was never going to work he was devoted to the baby, but the mother was not going to leave her husband, and the situation was plainly destabilising for him and impossible either to maintain or to keep secret. When it came out, I stuck by him but the media were going to invent something to get him out. There was going to be a conflict of interest. One was duly found in the visa application. It didn't actually amount to anything, but by then it no longer mattered. The pain and stress were making it hard for him to do his job. So he went.

We had an emotional farewell. I determined to try to bring him back after the election. I adored and deeply admired David, and also found his whole att.i.tude over his child he wouldn't give up on access, despite the threat of publicity if he proceeded very principled. He was a truly decent guy, a great political talent. He picked the wrong woman. Easy to do. Fatal in politics.

I was due to take a break in Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt over the new year. As I prepared to leave Chequers, I took a phone call about a tsunami in Asia on Boxing Day. I hesitated about leaving. It was likely that thousands had been killed, with British casualties bound to be among them.

I decided to go. I had been working flat out. Leo had barely seen me recently. I had just returned from yet another fairly gruelling European Council. I had an election coming. The fallout from the tsunami would in any event be handled on the phone. Sharm was nearer the relevant time zone. However, I knew I would be criticised for going. And I was.

The days in Sharm were divided between calls from early morning until late lunch and then relaxation later. We arranged for all the help we could. We got our foreign and consular services, and our forensics and police, to help the authorities in Indonesia and Thailand; and to look after the administrative challenge of helping families who were grieving or still forlornly searching for their loved ones. As it turned out, I knew the families of some of the victims, including d.i.c.kie and Sheila Attenborough, who had lost their daughter, granddaughter and their daughter's mother-in-law.

As ever in these situations, I was desperately sorry for the bereaved. When I spoke to d.i.c.kie who is just a superlative human being he was crying. I thought of how I would feel to lose Euan or Nicky or Kathryn his granddaughter was fourteen and realised the sense of devastation. My heart ached for him.

When I returned home, I had plenty to occupy me. One piece of excellent news was the defection of Robert Jackson, the Conservative MP for Wantage. Robert had been a don at All Souls College, Oxford and an education minister in the previous Tory government, and was totally onside with tuition fees, recognising them as an essential step forward for higher education. He had a rather upper-cla.s.s air to him that hid what was, in fact, a warm and delightful personality. I put Alastair (with whom I remained in close contact) on handling duty, and it all went pretty well.

Interestingly, in the light of what I did later, I organised a conference in London to support capacity-building for the Palestinian Authority and its new leader President Mahmoud Abbas, or Abu Mazen as he was known.

The truth is, I was still absolutely set on a strategy that had a twin track hard and soft. Hard: we see through Iraq and Afghanistan. Soft: we deliver Palestinian statehood. Whereas the international community, in its usual purblind way, saw disengagement from Gaza as a 'unilateral' Israeli act and therefore wrong, I was emphatic that it could be presented as lifting the occupation and removing settlements. For all the problems, therefore, we had no serious option but to go with it.

Ariel Sharon was an extraordinary man. He would drive you mad at meetings, just sitting there telling you about terrorism as if we in Britain had never heard of it; lecturing; hectoring; and above all, even when you agreed with him, continuing to talk as if you had just contradicted him. I used to walk out of meetings, saying to my officials, 'Does he think I'm French?'

But at the same time as being utterly maddening, he was a real leader. A big man in every sense. Really tough, uncompromising, and if he didn't want to be moved, unmovable. Someone who took no nonsense from anyone, including his own supporters. He made it as hard as possible to support his disengagement policy in Gaza. He did it in as alienating a way as could be imagined for international opinion. But as I pointed out in arguments with other leaders, so what? He has Israeli opinion to worry about, I used to say, and they've had four years of terrorism. They aren't going to do it in a way that looks as if it is helping Palestine or appeasing Western sensibilities. There's no disputing one simple fact: Israel has left Gaza, so let's make the most of it.

The London conference was a success, but I wasn't sure George's heart was yet fully in it, and Condoleezza Rice, newly appointed as Secretary of State, was feeling her way. With everything else and the election, I scarcely had time to focus on Palestine anything other than intermittently.

(Later Condi came to focus on the Middle East and did so with vigour and an effect that, had it not been for the convulsions of 2008 in Israeli politics, may well have succeeded. She is a remarkable human being, extraordinarily clever, committed and, if she has a fault, probably too decent for the world of politics. She is also a cla.s.sic example of the absurdity of people with experience and capacity at the highest level not having big political jobs after retirement from office. But that's another point!) The early months of 2005 were peppered with my internal notes, setting out election plans, going back over in minute detail the upcoming grid of statements, tearing my hair out at announcements from government departments at the most inconvenient moments. The Civil Service had really got into the groove of 'transparency' with the coming into effect, after several years' legislating, of the Freedom of Information Act on 1 January 2005.

Freedom of Information. Three harmless words. I look at those words as I write them, and feel like shaking my head till it drops off my shoulders. You idiot. You naive, foolish, irresponsible nincomp.o.o.p. There is really no description of stupidity, no matter how vivid, that is adequate. I quake at the imbecility of it.

Once I appreciated the full enormity of the blunder, I used to say more than a little unfairly to any civil servant who would listen: Where was Sir Humphrey when I needed him? We had legislated in the first throes of power. How could you, knowing what you know, have allowed us to do such a thing so utterly undermining of sensible government?

Some people might find this shocking. Oh, he wants secret government; he wants to hide the foul misdeeds of the politicians and keep from 'the people' their right to know what is being done in their name.

The truth is that the FOI Act isn't used, for the most part, by 'the people'. It's used by journalists. For political leaders, it's like saying to someone who is. .h.i.tting you over the head with a stick, 'Hey, try this instead', and handing them a mallet. The information is neither sought because the journalist is curious to know, nor given to bestow knowledge on 'the people'. It's used as a weapon.

But another and much more important reason why it is a dangerous Act is that governments, like any other organisations, need to be able to debate, discuss and decide issues with a reasonable level of confidentiality. This is not mildly important. It is of the essence. Without the confidentiality, people are inhibited and the consideration of options is limited in a way that isn't conducive to good decision-making. In every system that goes down this path, what happens is that people watch what they put in writing and talk without committing to paper. It's a thoroughly bad way of a.n.a.lysing complex issues.

At that time, the consequences were still taking shape and it didn't impact much in 2005. It was only later, far too late in the day, when the full folly of the legislation had become apparent, that I realised we had crossed a series of what should have been red lines, and strayed far beyond what it was sensible to disclose.

Meanwhile, we were busy getting the words right for the election. I decided eventually on the strapline 'forward not back'. I knew our strength was that, despite it all, we had a future agenda. I knew the Tory weakness was that under Michael Howard they hadn't really changed. 'Forward not back' was prosaic to the point of boring, but it was clear and a good banner under which to congregate the wide array of policy. All the way through, we were on a dual line: Iraq and the domestic agenda. Our opponents would try to focus it all on Iraq. We had to broaden it. I knew Iraq would make the public resentful and begrudging; but I also knew that they would be discomfited by an attempt to exploit Iraq as a reason for changing government. They knew the Tories had supported the war, and for the same reason as me. Michael's attempt to use Iraq showed that, deep down, he lacked a true political instinct.

We had the usual Gordon problem about the election. I had asked Alan Milburn to come back to help coordinate the election. This had caused a flurry of briefings against him and an attempt to unnerve Ian McCartney, who was doing a valiant job as party chairman. Ian was a great party man, a good organiser and loyal, but he wasn't a strategist. I tried to create a structure that enabled Alan to put together the right campaign, without undermining Ian. Alastair came back to help. Naturally Philip Gould was central. But it caused no end of bother with GB. Through Alastair and Philip we just about kept the show together, but I emphasise the 'just about'.

There was one other somewhat difficult and dangerous consequence. Alastair and Philip both thought it should be very much a dual TB/GB campaign. I was unpopular in many quarters; Gordon was a successful Chancellor; it made sense. But Peter Mandelson and Alan were strongly opposed, with Peter repeating to me that I was stronger than I thought and didn't need this. The disagreement between Peter on the one hand and Alastair and Philip on the other was at times very sharp.

For once, I wasn't totally sure what I thought. At one level, I knew the agenda was mine and felt really confident on policy. At another, I felt oppressed, and if I'm honest a touch demoralised by the sheer weight of the opposition and its very personal nature. As I said earlier, the term 'Bliar' had first been used in the 2001 election, but the saga of WMD had given the concept booster rockets. Despite the conclusions of the Hutton Report, despite the fact that anyone who wanted to could see the intelligence on the government website and judge for themselves, it was too good an opportunity for those who by then hated me; and I think for some 'hate' wasn't too strong a word.

It was partly that they felt angry at their own impotence. Tories in particular could see a third defeat on the horizon and they had never lost three times in a row before. Of course, just as with Labour in the 1980s, they lost for a reason and that reason was their own fault; but again just as with the Labour Opposition and Thatcher, the frustration boiled over into savagery. ('She's a dictator,' I remember people screaming at me once. 'No she's not,' I rather unwisely replied, 'she won an election.') Whereas Mrs Thatcher always had the main papers on board and rooting for her, I had key papers effectively licensing the very personal campaign against me. The Daily Mail Daily Mail, in particular, was vicious. As I say, Gordon was close to Paul Dacre, the editor-in-chief of the Mail Group. The combination of the two factors made it fairly toxic.

In the course of the ridiculous so-called 'Cheriegate' affair of 2002 in which Carole Caplin's partner Peter Foster became involved with Cherie's purchase of two flats in Bristol I crossed a threshold with Dacre. Usually, I let what the media said wash over me, irrespective of what it was. Sometimes I met journalists who had written something foul about me or even Cherie and I just said 'h.e.l.lo' cheerily, without being overconcerned. Also, it's amazing how quickly people can forget the publicity, whether good or bad, that acc.u.mulates around a public figure unless it is sustained and driven by an agenda, in which case it can be an irritation and occasionally it can do lasting damage. But often I would meet someone else in public life and say, 'How are you?' and they would look at me as if to say: 'You mean you don't know?' They would still be smarting from some wretched story that put them on the rack, but for me, as a person just watching it disinterestedly as it were, I would perhaps have permitted myself a 'tut' or a smile but in any event I would have moved swiftly on. I knew it would be the same when I was attacked, so I was neither paranoid about the media nor did I obsessively follow it. The stories would p.r.i.c.k me, but my recovery time was relatively fast.

In this particular story, Carole made a poor judgement in allowing Peter Foster into her life, as she has both honestly admitted and apologised for. Cherie should probably never have tried to buy the Bristol flats, but Euan was at university there and she thought they might be useful. The trouble is you can't really do that as the prime minister's wife, for no better reason than you just can't. There was nothing the least wrong in the purchase itself, or the manner of it. Peter Foster's role was pretty minimal. Cherie had met him for five minutes; I never met or talked to him. And by the way, you can't blame the Mail Mail for running the story; it was almost too good to be true. But as a result of one of those cla.s.sic Sat.u.r.day-afternoon calls in which a Sunday newspaper phones to get a response to a story at the last moment, so as to give the subject the least time to respond, I, by phone, got the wrong end of the stick from her, said Foster had had nothing to do with the purchase, pa.s.sed it on to Alastair and days later we were in the perennial media firestorm. Then, as more and more came out about Foster and his history, it turned into something really ugly. The for running the story; it was almost too good to be true. But as a result of one of those cla.s.sic Sat.u.r.day-afternoon calls in which a Sunday newspaper phones to get a response to a story at the last moment, so as to give the subject the least time to respond, I, by phone, got the wrong end of the stick from her, said Foster had had nothing to do with the purchase, pa.s.sed it on to Alastair and days later we were in the perennial media firestorm. Then, as more and more came out about Foster and his history, it turned into something really ugly. The Mail Mail was leading the way. That was its modus operandi, so there was no point getting upset about it. was leading the way. That was its modus operandi, so there was no point getting upset about it.

To counter the campaign against me, I decided in the election to deliberately face my critics. It wasn't easy and had to be carefully calibrated. There is a thin line between 'brave enough to face the music' and 'everyone hates him', but on balance it worked as a strategy, unpleasant though it was.

During the run-up to the election, we nearly had a vast panic over the approaching 'flu pandemic'. There is a whole PhD thesis to be written about the 'pandemics' that never arise. In this case, the WHO had issued a report claiming there would be 500,000700,000 deaths across the world. The old First World War flu statistics were rolled out, everyone went into general panic and any particular cases drew astonis.h.i.+ng headlines of impending doom. Anyone who caught a cold thought they were part of a worldwide disaster.

I'm afraid I tried to do the minimum we could with the minimum expenditure. I understood the risk, but it just didn't seem to me that the 'panpanic' was quite justified. And in those situations, everyone is so risk-averse that, unless you take care, you end up spending a fortune to thwart a crisis that never actually materialises.

However, the reaction of the system is perfectly understandable. The first time you don't bother is the time when the wolf is actually in the village, so you have to steer a path, taking precautions, and be ready to ramp it up if it looks like this time it's really happening. But oh, the endless meetings and hype of it all!

Anyway, we got over that. We were just about to start the campaign when Pope John Paul II died in early April. He had been a remarkable and hugely popular leader of the Catholic Church. We had celebrated Ma.s.s with him two years before in his own private chapel. He had been so solicitous, kind and concerned. He didn't agree with Iraq, but he understood the perils and pressure of leaders.h.i.+p, and when he spoke to me about it, he did so not to make a point but to give spiritual counsel. He was, of course, a theological conservative but with the true common touch.

When he died, literally millions took to the streets. World leaders went to St Peter's in Rome for the funeral. The Vatican is an amazing place. As you drive in, you are suddenly in another world. The Swiss Guards a tradition there since the early sixteenth century greet you and usher you in. It is grand beyond grand. The king of Saudi Arabia once told me it was the most palatial building he had ever entered (and he would have known a few). If you visited the Pope, in order to get to the audience room you would go through a series of antechambers, each grander than the last, until you finally greeted His Holiness. If the purpose was to impress, it succeeded. From Pope Gregory in the fifth century onwards, there had always been that curious mixture of the political and spiritual in the Vatican, and the same sense still resides there it is the headquarters of a religious organisation, yes, but also a power, to be engaged with and certainly not to be trifled with.

The funeral service was held on the steps of the cathedral. On high were the leaders. In the square the people were ama.s.sed. Everyone came. There was an amusing moment in the seating of the dignitaries. The Vatican decided to sit us all by alphabetical order. Unfortunately this put me next to Robert Mugabe, the UK being next to Zimbabwe. I was literally just about to take my seat when, in the nick of time, I spotted who was in the next chair, luckily at that moment talking to his neighbour on the other side. He hadn't seen me. I was on the point of starting the election campaign, and this would not have been the ideal launch picture. It was too ghastly to contemplate.

I capered off to the back steps, where the amba.s.sadors and security people and so on were a.s.sembled. This provided consternation among the priests doing the seating, who kept trying to drag me to the front row to take my seat. As the service was about to get under way, to my horror I saw Prince Charles enter and of course get ushered to the UK seat. I rushed forward, but it was too late, and he sat down bang next to Mugabe. At least royalty don't need to get elected.

A couple of days later, we launched the bid for the historic third term. We started as favourites, the polls showing us with a five-point lead or thereabouts, despite having had a difficult few months. There had been the continued rumblings and fallout from my decision to fight the election. Robert Peston a close journalist a.s.sociate of Gordon had recently published a biography of him which basically put up in lights the 'victim/betrayal' thesis, and this had reverberated for weeks. To be fair, I think the book had been supposed to coincide with his a.s.sumption of the leaders.h.i.+p and it then took on a different context, but it meant that the TB/GB divide was now common currency.

However, I felt very sure of our manifesto, our record and our ability to expose the frailty and thinness of the Tory campaign. The first visit was down to Weymouth, right in the heart of former true-blue Tory country, where we had won Dorset South for the first time in 2001.

The eventual result was actually less remarkable for its outcome or even the size of the majority, as for the lack of uniformity in the swing. In our two most marginal seats, of which Dorset South was one, the majority increased, an extraordinary result. In some places, we had a swing towards us. In others, we lost traditional Labour seats to the Lib Dems who campaigned rigorously against the war and on opposition to tuition fees.

At the core, the New Labour vote held firm. It was intact. But as it became clear that we would indeed be re-elected, so votes were peeled off from people who felt that they could safely vote Lib Dem in the secure knowledge they weren't going to get a Tory government.

Nonetheless, in what was a serious misreading of the result, the party became convinced that with a different leader, i.e. Gordon, we would have done better. The truth is with a different New Labour leader we may have done, certainly with one who could have made Iraq someone else's decision. But the real difference between 2001 and 2005 was in the 4 per cent loss to the Lib Dems, not in any significant swing to the Tories. This was, in other words, a cla.s.sic protest vote, easily recoverable in a third term in time for a fourth-term bid, provided we did not lose the core New Labour support that had stuck with us. The very lack of uniformity in the swing, therefore, was not a quirk it held, on a.n.a.lysis, a profoundly important political lesson.

So we got under way. The mood was OK, but soured by the decision of some to make Iraq the only issue which included a disproportionately large part of the media while for most of the electorate, Iraq played differently.

This was not because people didn't care about the war or its consequences they manifestly did, and by then we were losing soldiers with horrible regularity in the terror campaign being waged around Basra. It was rather that most people felt Iraq was a difficult decision. In other words, they had a keener appreciation of how tough it was to decide the issue than the black-and-white predilection of the media. Even if they disagreed, they understood the dilemma. They sympathised with the fact the leader had to take the decision. During the campaign, many people said to me they were glad they did not have to take it themselves. Also, as I said before, they distrusted the way my opponents used it, especially the Tories.

Other issues abounded, such as the Longbridge factory in the Midlands, right in the heart of swing territory, where the owners of the major and historic car plant were on the verge of bankruptcy. It all kicked off just as the campaign got under way. Here Gordon and I worked well and with visible impact, immediately getting up there, speaking to people, trying to sort it, clearly in charge and in gear, as it were.

My programme revolved around visits to schools and hospitals, to children's centres, to the whole infrastructure of public services in which we had invested ma.s.sively and where the results were coming through. You could see the bricks-and-mortar effect of the money. The statistics on school results, hospital waiting times and crime figures told of the benefits of reform. Ten-year-old pupils ranked third best in the world in literacy and the fastest improving in numeracy, with three-quarters of eleven-year-olds reaching high standards in reading, writing and maths. Less than four-hour waits in accident and emergency for 97 per cent of patients, and virtually no one waiting more than nine months for an operation. Overall crime as measured by the authoritative British Crime Survey down 30 per cent the equivalent of almost five million fewer crimes a year. Record numbers of police almost 13,000 more than in 1997 working with 4,600 new community support officers.

The fresh programme in the manifesto no longer seemed like a politician's wish list, but the next stage of an already fructifying and coherent plan. The people who worked in the public services felt we were on their side and felt, instinctively, the Tories weren't. So on the domestic agenda, we were strong.

The Tories had one good issue to beat us with: immigration. In our early years, we had had a real problem with asylum claims made by people who were really economic immigrants. The system to deal with such claims was, as I described earlier, hopelessly out of date. Eventually and after much bureaucratic agony, we had battered it into shape, but illegal immigration persisted as an issue. Britain was not the only country facing such a problem, of course, but I watched with dismay as progressive parties around Europe, one after another, got the immigration issue wrong and lost.

People on the left are, on the whole, people with immensely decent instincts on migrants. They loathe racism and know the issue of immigration is often a carrier for the racist virus. When people in Britain used to say they were against immigration, a goodly proportion would really be against a particular type of immigrant, i.e. a black or brown face. It was unspoken, but everyone knew it was there.

So the tendency for those on the left was to equate concern about immigration with underlying racism. This was a mistake. The truth is that immigration, unless properly controlled, can cause genuine tensions, put a strain on limited resources and provide a sense in the areas into which migrants come in large numbers that the community has lost control of its own future. In our case this concern was natural, given the numbers involved. It was not inspired by racism. And it was widespread. What's more, there were certain categories of immigrant flow, from certain often highly troubled parts of the world, who imported their own internal issues, from those troubled parts of the world, into the towns and villages in Britain. Unsurprisingly, this caused real anxiety.

Every time we regulated and tightened the asylum laws, I would get grief from well-intentioned progressives who thought I was 'conceding' to racism. I used to explain that it was precisely to avoid racism that we had to do it. The laws were a mess. The political challenge was to prevent subjective racism building up into a coalition that was mainstream. But time and again across Europe, right-wing parties would propose tough controls on immigration. Left-wing parties would cry: Racist. The people would say: You don't get it.

The Tories were desperate to push us into the same bind, so they began a high-profile a.s.sault on illegal immigration, claiming that it was not racist to be worried about it and hoping that we would say that it was. Of course, I insisted we did no such thing.

Instead, some way into the campaign I visited Dover, where unfounded asylum claimants were often lodged, and made a speech that directly took on the issue. Gwyn Prosser, the MP for Dover, was someone on the left himself, and canny enough to understand that if he wasn't armed with an argument that conceded there was a problem, he was not going to be re-elected. I praised the contribution of immigration to Britain, but also acknowledged the problem of illegal immigration. I described how we were going to tackle it. I attacked the Tories for raising the issue without having a policy to deal with it, i.e. they were exploiting the issue, not solving the problem. Rather to their surprise, I put ID cards at the centre of the argument, reasoning that some system of ident.i.ty check was the only serious way of meeting the challenge. Essentially, after that speech we shut down that Tory attack, and for once the media actually allowed an issue to be aired and debated. Because our position was sophisticated enough a sort of 'confess and avoid', as the lawyers say we won out.

However, all this did was leave our opponents, especially those in the media, with nothing to go on except Iraq.

The campaign had to be very carefully managed. Well, obviously, you say. But in this instance, we had to be more than usually careful. Wherever we went in the 2005 campaign, anyone who shouted or made a scene captured the news. Of course, the campaign then reacts by trying to ensure it doesn't get disrupted. Result: media and politics in a stand-off. We feel unfairly treated; they feel unfairly shut out or manipulated.

It was a nightmare for the party organisers, but they were a brilliant and deeply loyal bunch who were prepared to throw themselves in front of a pa.s.sing train in a heartbeat if it was of help. I had taken care to build a strong party machine. Although it was always going to be harder raising money for this campaign than in 2001, it wasn't that much harder, and Michael Levy, our chief party fund-raiser, had done superbly well, as ever. Our basic, centre-ground, reasonable, middle-opinion coalition remained solid, and the business community instinctively distrusted the Tories and didn't like the slightly nasty edge of their policies on Europe and immigration or the personal attacks on me. The Tories were well funded from Eurosceptic sources, but the modern, sensible money stayed with us.

Kate Garvey and the campaign managers also did a great job of preserving our energy, carefully ensuring that we didn't become exhausted. The TV inquisitions were bound to be challenging. And, self-evidently, the whole thing was really about me my record, my personality, my decisions. I was on the perch. I was the target. I was the one to knock off. All very obvious and natural, but it meant we had to be extremely careful. And we were.

I was also in a good deal of pain. As I found out later, I fought the entire campaign with a slipped disc. I alternated between trying to appear young and dynamic, bounding up onstage, moving fast, pacing with purpose all the usual rubbish and frequently suffering the most agonising twinges as I did so. If that happened, above all, I couldn't let my expression change. I was more or less continually aware that of the score of photographers who picketed my every move, at least four or five were only there for the bad picture. And, as Diana used to say, the picture is what counts. If you've ever suffered back pain, you know what I mean. There's nothing worse. Actually, there is for a public figure. Back pain is awful, but it is invisible. Visible illness is at all costs to be avoided, especially with our media. Broken limbs are OK, but anything disfiguring and, before you know it, Quasimodo is running for office. Not good.

So I would go from meeting to meeting, each event a risk, each encounter potentially explosive, each remark liable to be scrutinised, each facial expression a cause for either serenity or alarm, each smile a grimace if too small, cheesy if too large ... And they say political campaigns are overly manufactured. Well, they need to be.

The relations with Gordon were, believe it or not, rather good during the campaign. This was partly because we were together a lot, and I think this calmed him. We had an interesting debate, not quite a contretemps, about tax and spending. My view was that we had reached the limit of spending. We had increased National Insurance to pay for the NHS, yet even with the economy still growing I could sense that enough was enough. We had stayed within New Labour boundaries, but we were b.u.mping up against the fence at points; or so I thought. The third term had to be about making the money work. After all, we had increased investment in health, education and public services by amounts unprecedented outside of wartime. It was always one of the ridiculous things about the charge that we were not really a progressive government. The truth is we made a radical increase in public spending to cure the underinvestment of the Thatcher years; but it was not an end in itself.

Ed b.a.l.l.s was of the opinion that the public wanted even more spending and were prepared for the extra tax, by reference to polls that the Treasury had which I said was nonsense. On these issues, the public fib. They say they want increased spending, and in theory they do but in practice they think someone else should pay for it. However, there it is. As I used to say, the public aren't always logical, but that's their prerogative. They do expect their government to be, nonetheless.

During the campaign, I slowly but surely started to posture, to be in a position of saying: there are no big increases in tax to pay for more spending coming this time. After all, in 2001, we had fought on keeping income tax constant. We had kept the promise, but a little disingenuously since we had increased National Insurance to pay for the NHS. This was justified. But there was no way we could pull the same trick twice; nor should we try to do so.

Gordon was more inclined to keep all options open, but as the campaign progressed, he found, as I said would happen, that by doing so everyone a.s.sumed he was planning a fresh National Insurance hike, which he wasn't. So over time, perforce, he more or less a.s.sumed the same posture as me.

All in all, though, we got on fine and by the end of the second week the poll lead was extending. The strength of our forward agenda, its New Labour nature, the fact we were so manifestly on top of the policy debate all these were moving people towards us. By contrast, the Tory campaign looked a little paltry, shamefaced even. The Lib Dems were eschewing a highly personal campaign at a leaders.h.i.+p level because Charles Kennedy was essentially a decent bloke even though locally they basically plastered areas with leaflets of me and George Bush with words that the Socialist Workers would have been proud of.

Two-thirds into the campaign, it was clear we were going to win and win comfortably. As we hit the last days, the media, deprived of a close fight, decided to go on the offensive. People at the BBC were genuinely outraged by Iraq. As the campaign had gone on, they also became outraged that it wasn't dragging us down in the way they felt it should. It was of course a big part of the campaign, but it didn't dominate. They thought that was because we were so d.a.m.ned clever. In fact, as I say, it was because while people understood its importance, they also understood its complexity. They didn't ignore it, but they were wary of it determining the outcome.

The Mail Mail had been given a secret copy of the Attorney General's advice. Like all lawyers' advice especially where plainly there are arguments on both sides it was nuanced, explaining the pros and the cons and coming to a conclusion. We had published the conclusion that on balance the war was lawful, but in accordance with hallowed practice in this instance, for a very sensible reason the advice itself remained confidential to all except senior members of the government and the Butler Inquiry, which had been shown it on Privy Council terms. had been given a secret copy of the Attorney General's advice. Like all lawyers' advice especially where plainly there are arguments on both sides it was nuanced, explaining the pros and the cons and coming to a conclusion. We had published the conclusion that on balance the war was lawful, but in accordance with hallowed practice in this instance, for a very sensible reason the advice itself remained confidential to all except senior members of the government and the Butler Inquiry, which had been shown it on Privy Council terms.

The Mail Mail published excerpts essentially suggesting he had advised the war was unlawful. The BBC took it up. Although we released the entire thirteen-page doc.u.ment the next day, 28 April, they had the opportunity they wanted. Tragically, we lost another soldier shortly before the election day. The result was that the final ten days of the campaign were virtually submerged in Iraq. In desperation, the Lib Dems and Tories returned to the 'liar' attack. We lost 34 per cent in that final period as votes went to the Lib Dems. The published excerpts essentially suggesting he had advised the war was unlawful. The BBC took it up. Although we released the entire thirteen-page doc.u.ment the next day, 28 April, they had the opportunity they wanted. Tragically, we lost another soldier shortly before the election day. The result was that the final ten days of the campaign were virtually submerged in Iraq. In desperation, the Lib Dems and Tories returned to the 'liar' attack. We lost 34 per cent in that final period as votes went to the Lib Dems. The Mail Mail didn't really try to say: Vote them out. Instead it cleverly concentrated, as did the BBC, on effectively saying: Curb the majority. It chimed with the mood another three-figure majority would have been considered too much. So I suppose the public got what they more or less wanted. didn't really try to say: Vote them out. Instead it cleverly concentrated, as did the BBC, on effectively saying: Curb the majority. It chimed with the mood another three-figure majority would have been considered too much. So I suppose the public got what they more or less wanted.

However, as a result, election night felt more like a setback than a victory. I sat in Myrobella waiting for the exit polls. Gordon phoned to tell me Andy Marr, the BBC political editor, had told him that they thought it would be a hung Parliament. I really doubted this. Even with the huge focus they had given Iraq, I was sure Britain wanted the government to survive intact with a proper working majority. Also, I was sure that although in north London and elsewhere a certain type of Labour voter was going to defect, the more aspiring lower-middle-cla.s.s voter the core of New Labour were sticking with us.

Philip Gould phoned to say he thought we could get a majority of eighty. If we had, it would have been fine. Funny that. The difference between sixty-six what we got and eighty is only fourteen seats. In fact, if seven were changed, that would be the difference; and we had lost seven at least on the student vote over tuition fees. But the vote at just below 36 per cent was very low for a winning party, and it dampened my spirits.

As ever, I had the count to go through. In my const.i.tuency, one of the candidates was Reg Keys, the father of Lance Corporal Tom Keys who was among the six Red Caps killed by a mob in Iraq in June 2003. I felt profoundly sorry for him, sorry that he felt his son had died in vain, convinced that it was all for nothing. I wanted to reach out and talk to him about it; but I knew too that the cameras were ever-watchful for the scene that could define the election in the way they wanted.

We made our way down to the party headquarters to 'celebrate' the victory. Quite rightly, the party staff thought: Historic third term, majority of over sixty, what's the problem? So there began a rather curious disjunction between my mood (deflated) and theirs (elated).

However, I had another reason to be down. In the course of the night, as the result became clear, so the relations.h.i.+p with Gordon deteriorated sharply. I couldn't fathom why. Ostensibly, it was because he thought I was refusing to consult him over the new Cabinet, whereas actually I was only I was refusing some of his choices in the positions he wanted them. He made a huge thing of Geoff Hoon becoming chief whip, a post I thought Geoff was completely unsuitable for; he wanted Ed b.a.l.l.s, freshly elected, to go straight into government, which I thought inappropriate; and we had the usual rigmarole over Michael Wills, Dawn Primarolo and others whom I really didn't think right for government for various reasons, but whom I did try to accommodate because they were strong supporters of his.

The consequence of all of this was that as I reshuffled over the coming days by and large it was going fine I found that the PLP was becoming distinctly ungenerous in its thoughts. On the one hand I was taking congratulatory calls from the outside world, who naturally thought a third term a cause for general rejoicing, and on the other hand there was an increasingly fractious reaction from the PLP who had ended up persuading themselves it was all a bit grim.

Gordon's people and at this time they included those like Clare Short were out in the media more or less perpetually dissing me and saying we could have done better with another leader, and my people were on the defensive. Looking back it was ludicrous of course, but it was in part, as Peter had always warned, a result of the fact that we had run a dual TB/GB campaign. It allowed his folk to interpret the result as: we won because of our guy, but our guy had the albatross of the other person to deal with. In fact, while I had repelled some voters, I had also recruited others. It didn't necessarily follow that someone else could have done the recruiting, even if it was true they might not have done the repelling i.e. I was divisive. And though the media treated me as if I had lost, the fact is I hadn't. However, I allowed myself to be caught up in this mood, which was all a little crazy.

Then Michael Howard did me a good turn by announcing that he was quitting as leader of the Conservatives. It changed the mood; not entirely, but just enough. Suddenly people remembered the Tories had lost and we had won. The madness ebbed, and by the time I addressed the PLP on the Wednesday, things had quietened down somewhat, although a lot of static remained and again Gordon's people were hard at it. I realised that from then on, every day I remained was going to be a struggle.

Although the campaign was horrible, I had hardened during the course of it and it was also clear to me that I had grown up as a leader. The weakness, the fear, the desire to run away all remained, but crucially I had acknowledged these feelings. They were now my avowed companions, and because they were avowed, they were contained, no longer demons; there to be suffered, and there to be argued with and faced down too; the ordinary, natural feelings that any human being would feel in the same situation. Nothing to be ashamed or frightened of. Nothing beyond my capacity to control.

Now I was prepared to manage what I knew would be a continual fight with Gordon. I had to get the reform programme embedded (and whatever his manoeuvres, I judged Gordon wouldn't dare be in outright opposition); do all I could to settle Iraq, and if possible get our troops on their way out before I left; conduct successful presidencies of the G8 and the EU; if at all possible though I doubted it deliver the Olympic bid. And set out a programme that would serve as an agenda for a fourth term if Gordon was sensible enough to take it; and if he wasn't, my alibi for the defeat that I'm afraid I thought would be inevitable if he took over and moved a millimetre from New Labour.

There was also one other major event looming. The EU Const.i.tution fatally named from our point of view, and leading inexorably to our commitment to hold a referendum on it was going to be a dominant part of the first months of the third term. France and the Netherlands were due to hold their own referenda in May. The polls were unclear but I a.s.sumed France would still say yes; and if they did, the Netherlands might well follow suit. Our polls were resolutely against success and not many people believed we could s.h.i.+ft them. As ever, I was more sanguine. I thought we might just turn it into a referendum that was effectively: in or out. If France voted yes, Britain might just follow. My advisers disagreed, but I rather fancied mounting a really big public argument on an issue I felt strongly about and on which I was right. I could also see how, in the course of such a campaign, the progressive alliance fractured over Iraq might heal. So although plainly a tough challenge, I somewhat relished the fight.

As things settled down a little, I took a break in Tuscany in late May, staying with our friends the Strozzis at Cusona. I had a great time with Leo, able to spend proper moments with him. At five years old, he was getting to that fascinating age where you can almost see the brain sprouting forth. Except to the doting parents, babies are frankly pretty boring sweet and cuddly, but still a bit inanimate, if you see what I mean. From about age three onwards, they get interesting and remain like that up to around twelve, when the dark mists of h.e.l.l envelop them. Unbelievably, they emerge again as semi-civilised human beings around the age of twenty, you stop thinking you are a bad parent or there is genetic delinquency in the family, and realise they are still your children and you love them. There are exceptions, of course, but that's my experience.

Anyway, I digress. Cusona was lovely. There was suns.h.i.+ne and privacy, and since all the news focused on France and its vote, the eye of the beast was temporarily diverted, and I relaxed. Nicolas Sarkozy came over, at that time still a minister in the French government. It was clear that there was a battle royal going on over the future of the centre-right UMP party which he led, but it was also clear that he was certain he would win it.

Nicolas and I had certain things in common: energy and determination; impatience with the traditional categories of right and left; a deep dislike of doctrine and rigidity; we both liked to a.n.a.lyse problems by instinct rather than ideology; and we had both learned that the twenty-first century could not conform to the politics of the previous hundred years. However, we differed in one respect: he had superabundant self-confidence. There was not a glimmer of self-doubt. As we walked through an avenue of trees that led down from the villa where the Strozzis lived, he talked frankly and with complete conviction about his own victory: 'I will win. I will become president.'

From anyone else it would have sounded vain or even slightly mad, but he said it with a combination of charm and clarity that made it seem entirely factual. The British would have wanted to cut someone who talked like that down to size, but I could see that the French would go for it. It was an att.i.tude which had pa.s.sion, elan and also that touch of arrogance which in some small way defines France, and which in some small way I admire. I could see them looking at Nicolas and thinking: Now that's a president.

Towards the end of our stay, the news came through during dinner: France had voted no to the Const.i.tution. I knew at once I was off the hook. It was true I fancied the fight, but it was also true that had I lost, it would have been au revoir au revoir. You could almost feel the waves of relief coming over the English Channel and making their way down to Italy. I spoke to Jack Straw, who was absolutely undivided in his feelings. 'Great news,' he said.

'I was rather looking forward to a referendum,' I said.

'Then you're dafter than I thought,' he replied.

The referendum result was significant to us for another reason. On 1 July, we took over the six-month presidency of the European Union, which we had last held in 1998.

During my previous spell as president of the EU all of seven years before, I had been in the first flush of enthusiasm as a novice prime minister, new on the European scene, something of an unknown quant.i.ty to them and to myself. It was not one of the highlights of the first term. I was more interested in proving Britain had changed than in changing Europe. We were full of stunts but not strategy, and I rightly wince at some of the 'initiatives'. One bright soul had the idea that our presidency tie (each successive country had its own tie and logo to mark the presidency) should be a compilation done by schoolchildren of their images of the individual nations. I had no knowledge of this idea until I got a call from Romano Prodi, then in one of his periodic bouts as Italian prime minister. Romano could often be a little hard to follow, but on this occasion he was as clear as a bell. 'Hey, Tony, you insult my country. We are more than a pizza, you know. We have Rome, Florence, Venice, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Galileo, Verdi, Garibaldi, and now my nation think the world see us as a quattro quattro stagioni stagioni pizza. It is not right. It must be changed or relations between Britain and Italy suffer very bad,' etc. If I tell you that's about all I can recall from that spell as president, you will understand that it was not one of my more distinguished periods. pizza. It is not right. It must be changed or relations between Britain and Italy suffer very bad,' etc. If I tell you that's about all I can recall from that spell as president, you will understand that it was not one of my more distinguished periods.

Now, just after a third election victory with eight years of being prime minister under my belt, I was a different type of leader, and the challenges Europe faced had also transformed, qualitatively and quant.i.tively. For a start and partly due to strong British insistence the EU had enlarged to twenty-five member states, soon to be twenty-seven. It had been through an immensely divisive period over Iraq, where it had split more or less evenly in favour and against, but since France and Germany had been in the 'no' camp, that had been particularly painful. After years of internal wrangling, a consultation exercise had resulted in a Const.i.tution for Europe which now had been rejected. So: quo vadis? And to cap it all, there was a battle over the EU budget, then up for renewal.

In this last area, Britain had been in the thick of the debate and the disagreement. Essentially, the old British rebate was up for grabs, along with consideration of the common agricultural policy. The rebate was as highly politically sensitive for the UK as the CAP was for France.

All in all, this presidency, especially under this country, was going to be interesting, not to say explosive. As if to stir it all up even further, just before I took over we rejected the attempt by Luxembourg and its prime minister Jean-Claude Juncker to get a budget compromise. Jean-Claude was someone steeped in EU Councils, having been a finance minister since the 1980s. Although a small country, Luxembourg was a founding member state, and Jean-Claude was very well respected as an experienced and wise Council member. He had worked hard to put an agreement together, and had been sensitive to the British issue on the rebate. But I felt I couldn't pull the thing off. It was just the wrong side of the line. He was bitterly and justifiably disappointed. I was the party-p.o.o.per and he would have been quite within his rights to consider me a real pain in the neck.