It's actually fallen out of use a bit, but it was very big during the Brown years. It got some backlash for being A Wee Bit Sexist, which is sort of is (more 'trying to make feminism look silly and irrational'), so I've noticed a drop-off on Twitter and in the columns. It would very definitely have been in use in this 2008 meeting, however.
TLIAW: For Want Of A Paragraph
- Thread starter Meadow
- Start date
It's actually fallen out of use a bit, but it was very big during the Brown years. It got some backlash for being A Wee Bit Sexist, which is sort of is (more 'trying to make feminism look silly and irrational'), so I've noticed a drop-off on Twitter and in the columns. It would very definitely have been in use in this 2008 meeting, however.
Alex Richards
Donor
Just want to reiterate what everyone's saying, this is beautifully well written.
Aw, cheers, Alex. That's very high praise indeed.
The next update should go up this afternoon - it's the office Christmas party so I'm going to go and buy some drawing pencils for the receptionist I've been in love with for three years (that's a reference, guys) and also Roem is coming down to Croydon this evening - so I will need to get it out before too late tonight. Will try my best, I'm technically at work...
Just subscribing.
I remember in that summer of 2008, driving back from a client and listening to Nick Robinson on the World at One pap on about how Miliband was placing a marker down.... but he never did.
A series of bottling the 2007-2010 years. Brown and Miliband twice.....
I remember in that summer of 2008, driving back from a client and listening to Nick Robinson on the World at One pap on about how Miliband was placing a marker down.... but he never did.
A series of bottling the 2007-2010 years. Brown and Miliband twice.....
This Tory still uses it enthusiastically. And I'm a bit of a fan of Harperson.
Another really excellent timeline.
Sounds like you're getting prepared for "Battle of the Sofas"
Cheers,
Nigel.
Sounds like you're getting prepared for "Battle of the Sofas"
Cheers,
Nigel.
A long time after the Leader of the Opposition finished his breakfast - David Cameron was, at this moment, pouring himself a nightcap - the Prime Minister was still at work. Clenching the lid of his thick, black marker pen in his teeth, he pulled it off and began putting pen to paper.
"I'm happy where I am," said Ed Balls for the fourth time that night.
"I know," said Brown testily, scribbling down 'FCO - Margaret Beckett'. That had been a phone call he had not enjoyed, but now it was over, he could at least enjoy the tactical benefit it gave him. Relations between Margaret and himself had been strained for some time, more so after he effectively sacked her from the Foreign Office in the first place in order to promote Dav-
His train of thought collided with the buffers of a stabbing pain in his stomach. Well, a metaphorical one. His health was fine - contrary to the claims of the nastiest of online rumourmongers - but his emotional stability had seen better days. That that boy had betrayed him had been too much to bear. He had slept only one full night since - Sarah was getting worried.
It wasn't that Miliband had decided to take him on. Far from it. That was just another bump in the road, another insect to squash as he got on with making Britain fairer. No, it was the fact that the lanky git had looked him in the eye not two weeks ago and told him he had every confidence in his leadership. It was the fact that for months, he had turned down olive branch after olive branch, refusing any kind of 'drink at Number 10' to 'discuss any concerns he may have'. It was the fact that just over a year ago, when Brown had thrown his own hat into the ring, Miliband had kept his own squarely on his head.
But now, after being treated with respect, and given the responsibility for the UK's position on the world stage, the little twerp had decided he fancied the top job instead. Gordon's job.
Brown was under no illusions: he knew David was not 'one of his', and that he would always belong to Tony. But he had - naively, it now seemed - assumed that Miliband was a mature operator. Gordon had known he was a threat to him, so he'd given him a strong position inside the tent. Stability was ensured, and the country would benefit from a strong, united team at the top. Over time, he and David would form a strong working relationship, one built on mutual respect rather than whispered rumours and longstanding rivalries. Both men had things to offer the Party and the nation, and their differences aside, could work to make both better off. All this, Gordon had assumed.
Incorrectly.
He'd been in the car when he heard of the article. Damian had phoned Sue, and demanded to be put on to Gordon directly. After insisting very loudly - Gordon heard him, even though the phone was pressed to Sue's ear - he had got his wish. Brown had taken the news relatively passively at first, insisting to Damian that no, he had not received a letter of resignation, or even an email or phone call, and that therefore surely the article couldn't be that bad?
The 3G blackspot meant there had been a farcical period of about twenty minutes as the motorcade tried to get through traffic to the nearest motorway services, so that someone could run in and buy a copy of the Guardian. Gordon read the article while munching on a banana. Some of it had got stuck in his throat when he reached the sentence 'but if public opinion is squarely behind a change of direction, it is our duty to listen - and act'. Sue had helped him clean up his tie.
Still, he hadn't sacked David. Looking back, that was a mistake. He might've quashed the whole thing then and there if he'd come down harder than Khrushchev did on the Hungarians. But he'd allowed himself to be convinced - by Damian, no less - that this would've been a big error: proving Miliband's point about 'unadaptability' (whatever that meant) and putting him exactly where he wanted to be: the backbenches. Gordon supposed it could have gone either way, though he had been on the verge of unilaterally calling Miliband and telling him he was out when he received the letter taking the decision out of his hands yesterday night.
"I just don't know about Jim going to DfID," murmured Balls over Brown's shoulder as he worked.
"He's done a good job as Minister for Europe," Gordon replied. It was true. Murphy had grown a great deal from the young student politician he had been before his surprise 'if we thought you'd win, comrade, we wouldn't have selected you' victory in 1997. The lad had a future, and Blairite or not, he had stuck by Gordon - quietly - this week. Such loyalty ought to be rewarded.
"Are you sure Yvette will be alright with the move to the DWP?" asked Gordon. Balls stifled a yawn before replying - it was close to midnight.
"I think so. If you'd just let me call her..."
"No. This stays secret until it's done. Nobody gets called until we know for sure what's going to happen."
Balls frowned.
"But Margaret-"
"Wasn't already in the Cabinet. There's no need to replace her."
Ed nodded, then looked back down at Brown's sheet.
"Burnham? It makes sense, but I think you should consider some of the 'new blood' suggestions I made-"
"I'm sure you do, Ed," said Alistair Darling as he entered the room.
Silence fell. Brown rose from the table.
"You never like to knock, do you?" he said, holding out his hand. Darling shook it, and laid his coat across a chair. Confusingly, he was wearing a loose-fitting summer shirt, along with some shorts.
"I think when one is expected, it's just a waste of time," Darling said sweetly, before noticing Balls' incredulity at his attire. "I came straight from the airport. My wife is never going to forgive David Miliband, you know."
"I know the feeling," muttered Balls.
"Yes, yes," said Darling, not even trying to mask his distaste for Ed, "can you leave us to it now, please?"
Balls looked at Brown, appalled, but the PM gave a gruff nod. The Secretary of State for Children, Schools and Families swept from the room without another word.
"Thank you for coming back, Alistair."
"What makes you think I bring good news?"
"Your manner. You don't seem like you're about to push me in front of a train."
"Did David?"
That question hung in the air for an uncomfortable moment. Brown cleared his throat.
"Are you going to, then?"
"Going to what?"
"Push me in front of a train," Brown said briskly, "the papers say you're the only man who can end this cleanly. If I lose you, my support is officially dead, and the Chancellor and the Foreign Secretary will both have called for my resignation. There's no coming back from that. I do know that."
"That's reassuring."
"So, Alistair, if you'll forgive me," said Gordon with a sigh, "I'm going to offer you a drink."
Darling gave a look that put Gordon in mind of a man sentenced to be shot being unexpectedly offered a ticket to the Bahamas.
"You know how I take my whisky," the Chancellor said quietly. Gordon withdrew a bottle from the drawer.
"This is my first drink in some time," Gordon announced, "but I think we both need to calm our nerves."
"Are you still confident I'm not here to tell you the game is up?"
Gordon stopped pouring, looked up, and snarled.
"Just fucking tell me."
Darling, improbable in flannel and linen, straightened up.
"You have my full support, Prime Minister."
Gordon's heart rate returned to something relatively normal. With something approaching a smile, he walked across the room and handed a glass to Darling.
"Your taste for the dramatic will never stop irritating me, Alistair," he said as their glasses clinked.
"Sorry. I thought I had to make up for turning up in shorts."
Brown savoured the taste of the whisky - damn good stuff. He had poured himself only a finger, and did not intend to take any more. There was still work to be done.
"So what now?"
"I think I should go home, and come back tomorrow in a suit and tie."
"Enough banter," Brown said quickly, his smile gone, "if you're not here to knife me, you obviously came back to help me. How?"
"I'll publicly back you, I can issue a statement immediately or tomorrow morning."
"Do it as soon as we finish here."
"I'll also do the rounds for you with everyone I have sway with. A lot of the PLP are away now, but they'll all have had their phones on since Monday - and especially after today. Miliband, Purnell and Dougie will be on manoeuvres - that means we go on counter-manoeuvres."
"That's exactly what I've already been doing," said Brown.
"But not very well. And, coming from you, it's not that useful. You have other things to offer beyond phone calls and pats on the back. From an ally - one who they know has a lot to gain from jumping ship - it's powerful. It'll make them think you're the man to stand alongside."
"It's good to know someone in this country still thinks that," muttered Gordon.
"For goodness' sake, Gordon!" snapped Darling, flaring up, "you're a titan! A brutal, unsubtle one, but isn't that what titans are? There's no-one else in British politics who would've nationalised Northern Rock, and we both know there's going to be more decisions like that coming up if the wind keeps blowing the way it is in the States. I certainly don't want an overgrown Sixth Former calling the shots when the next crisis happens - and there are thousands, millions like me. You have support, Gordon, and you have supporters, too."
Brown found himself intensely moved by his Chancellor's outburst. Therefore, he turned his back and began staring out of the window. As calmly as possible, trying to keep his voice from breaking, he spoke.
"But do I have enough supporters where it counts?"
Darling stepped forward and pulled out a notebook from his suitcase.
"I've been running the numbers since Tuesday - that's when you should've sacked Miliband, by the way - and I got the chance to jot them down on my flight this evening. I don't think he can get to 71. Not before Conference, and not unless you start to spiral into a spiral of self-defeat. You haven't done so yet, and I know that's not your kind of thing. So as far as I'm concerned, we fight on: and we fight to win."
Gordon nodded fervently, then turned back around. Then, he smiled.
"Absolutely. We can do it, Alistair - face them down, and then take on the Tories. Maybe even show some magnanimity by shuffling a few plotters back into the cabinet just before the General."
Brown was probably getting a bit overenthusiastic now, and he even knew it himself. But Darling's words of support had fired him up, and by God, it had been weeks since he'd heard any good news.
"Maybe, maybe," Alistair cautioned, "let's see how things go. There is a way for you to come out of this even stronger, and then crush that posh little prick and his Tory mates into the dirt."
"You're absolutely right," Gordon said, now pacing with no real direction but a tremendous sense of purpose. "you're absolutely right."
"There is a 'but', Gordon."
The PM stopped dead in his tracks. His head jerked up as he locked eyes with Darling.
"I see," he grunted.
"I am supporting you for genuine reasons," began Darling, "but I won't pretend I'm considering my own benefit too. I know where the bodies are buried, Gordon. In return for this, I stay at the Treasury. If Balls starts sniffing around, I want an assurance you'll rein him in. No ifs, no buts."
Gordon frowned.
"I'll need your co-operation on the economy. I won't have the Treasury spun out as some autonomous authority, like..."
"Like when you were running it?" Darling chuckled. Brown scowled.
"You know what I'm saying."
"Gordon, I'm not going to take us into the Euro."
"Then it's a deal," Brown said heavily, "but this goes both ways - if I sense you're playing both sides, you'll find yourself begging in the street for a return to DfT."
Alistair swallowed hard, but nodded.
"Agreed."
The two Scots stared at each other for a few moments, both men taking one last chance to ensure they weren't being played. The silence was broken by a brisk interruption from an aide.
"It's a letter, Prime Minister. From the Minister of State for Europe."
Whatever colour had begun to return to Gordon's cheeks drained away as he fumbled with the envelope. In tense silence, his good eye travelled down the page for about thirty seconds. Wordlessly, he clenched the piece of paper in his hand, and his look at Darling confirmed the Chancellor's suspicions.
"Fuck them, Gordon," Alistair said quietly.
"Agreed," said Brown, viciously screwing up the letter.
Alex Richards
Donor
You know, I'm almost expecting Murphy to end up as leader of the Scottish Labour Party ahead of schedule at this point...
Good stuff.
Darling seems very assured here, and precisely the man Brown needs to help him steady himself. Whether Milliband succeeds or not, Darling will be of enormous assistance to Brown. I think Alex's prediciton about Jim moving North earlier than OTL could well be accurate.
I do like the look of the Guardian style images. Very nice touch.
Darling seems very assured here, and precisely the man Brown needs to help him steady himself. Whether Milliband succeeds or not, Darling will be of enormous assistance to Brown. I think Alex's prediciton about Jim moving North earlier than OTL could well be accurate.
I do like the look of the Guardian style images. Very nice touch.
I've always been turned off by the 'Boring Darling' meme, and was partly inspired by his 'who the hell is this guy and what has he done with Alistair Darling' debate he had with Salmond. There's a bit of dramatic license involved - I didn't want the first look inside the Brown camp to be two boring blokes being boring - but I also based it on his OTL 'I know where the bodies are buried' confrontation with Gordon (that happened some time after this IOTL). The man has a streak of steel in him somewhere, and while he's got a staid public image, I'm prepared to believe that in a scenario where he's the only man who can talk straight to a potentially mortally wounded Gordon Brown, he could find it in him to show off a bit. The world is full of examples of mice that find themselves able to roar in the right circumstances.
Basically, Geordie is right that Darling is very assured in this scene. For once, he's in almost complete control of a situation and he's not going to let that opportunity slip. In terms of his dialogue specifically, picture it thus: He's not delivering his cheeky thoughts in a sing-song Mandy voice, he's talking in his soft Scottish accent, like a passive-aggressive bank manager. I hope that makes it easier to visualise.
I used to buy into the "dull Darling" image too. Over the last 6 years that has definitely changed. The financial crash really seems to have lit a fire in him... Very interested to see what crash-fired Darling does with a Labour party civil war threatening everything he's worked for... I could see him becoming rather feared in the PLP.
Loving the TL so far. All the pieces seem spot on and are very entertaining - though with the Tory breakfast I don't have the experience to judge how spot on it actually was.
More, more!
fasquardon