DIARY
DEREK DRAPER Here goes my big mouth again; I have a confession to make. Usually when writing this Diary one has to rack one's brain to come up with half a dozen interesting tales to tell. The temptation is to exaggerate or relate something that, while amusing, actu- ally happened more than a week ago. I have no need for such antics. The problem is choosing the best vignettes from this `weekus horribulus' to share with you.
First though, a word about Camilla, my good friend (only joking, I've never met her). She was at a party at the weekend and one of her set told her they were surprised to see her. 'We thought you'd be keeping a low profile, darling,' they said, after last week's stories about her meeting with the Princes. 'The only person who should be keeping a low profile this weekend is Derek Draper,' our future Queen replied. (Inci- dentally, this royal prediction is supposition based on analysis of publicly available facts, not inside information, in case you're tempted to rush off to the bookies.) Ishould thank all those friends who offered support. Amid dozens of the most unfriendly pager messages it was wonderful to receive the odd message of support. I have to say, though, that I now split my friends into two camps: those whose sup- port came after Wednesday, when the tide began to turn after my 24-hour fightback, and those whose loyalty was professed ear- lier in the week when I looked fatally dam- aged. I was taken aback by some of those who phoned on Tuesday morning. To do so was, at that point, unwise and even danger- ous. One call in particular steeled me to go out and face the cameras. I will never say who it was from but I hope that one day I can repay such loyalty.
My encounter with Nick Cohen, the Observer's star political columnist, was probably the most surreal moment of all. He was 'minding' the fall guy the paper put on Tuesday evening's Newsnight when Mr Palast (my trilby-topped nemesis) failed to show. Afterwards in the greenroom I accosted Cohen. 'Nick, we've got mutual friends and we've socialised together. You even wrote that I Was the only person in New Labour worth having a drink with. I'm fascinated — genuinely — to know what you think I've done wrong.' Cohen looked up from his glass. 'I don't think You've done anything wrong,' he lisped. I couldn't believe my ears. 'Well, how do you justify what your paper is putting me through, then?' He marshalled the full weight of his ethical argument and replied, `Well, you're all a bunch of Tories.' I should admit that I haven't got a tape recording of these remarks, but I did make a contemporaneous note, and I had a wit- ness — a senior Newsnight reporter, not prone to wearing trilby hats.
Done competently and ethnically, lob- bying is an aid to democracy, not a danger. But Mr Palast has succeeded in putting `lobbyist' on a par with 'child molester' in most people's minds. Because no one stood up for the trade, last weekend's headlines were inevitable. 'Lobbyist faxed', 'Lobbyist had lunch', and so on, all take on scan- dalous connotations. Here's some more: `New Labour MP was lobbyist.' True. 'Lob- byists instructed by CEOs of FTSE 100 companies.' True. 'Cabinet ministers employ former lobbyists as special advis- ers.' True. All true, but so what?
Ihad to return to Newsnight on Friday as the whole affair was being hyped up again. The whole world seemed to be wait- ing to see if the Observer could produce a `smoking gun'. As I faced my grilling from Jeremy Paxman, I couldn't help but reflect on what he said a while ago about his inter- views. 'When I am talking to someone,' he explained, 'I have one thought in my mind: who is this bastard and why is he lying to me?' I only wished I'd had it in mind when I first met Mr Palast.
My media fightback was orchestrated from an Ikea table in the corner of my sit- `Drill . . . hacksaw . . . monkey wrench . . . ' ting-room. I sat there on Saturday, phoning every Sunday paper to try and monitor what was about to hit me. I knew I would only be certain that I had survived when all the papers had hit the streets around 9.30 p.m. All around me LWT were setting up a mini-TV studio in my flat, so that I could go live onto Melvyn Bragg's Channel 4 show, The Sundays. Alas, when it came to the 'test' the sound didn't work properly. On top of that a neighbour had called in Camden Council's noise inspectors. (No, not because of my big mouth but because of the sound of the LWT generator parked on our street.) The crew made a 'tough decision', as New Labour would call it. We piled into the producer's Fiat and raced to the studio. Halfway down the Farringdon Road we were stopped by the police, on alert for terrorist activity. 'Where are you going and why?' the officer asked. Eventu- ally he accepted our story and we arrived, panting, at the South Bank studios. The only thing that kept me calm was the front page of the Observer that I was clutching. Far from producing a smoking gun, the paper had failed to produce a gun at all. Unsurprising, given that what they had pre- sented as a fatal shot from my lobbyist's holster had turned out to be a boy racer backfiring in the distance.
Finally, just to show I have no hard feel- ings, I'd like to make a helpful suggestion to Will Hutton. I have discovered another institution worthy of investigation. It too is run by a mysterious trust. It claims to wield great influence over our political life. It expects ministers and advisers to be answerable to it. Worse than this arrogance is the way it operates. Top jobs are rarely advertised. People 'in the circle' talk of friends, allies and even lovers being given well-paid jobs. In short, the whole opera- tion exhibits all the worst characteristics of cronyism. Best of all, Will, you won't have to go very far. Just step out of your office and look around the Observer.
Rereading this before I send it off to Doughty Street I realise that I shall be accused of not eating enough humble pie. That is only because I have now got to try and rebuild my life. I'm still writing notes of apology to friends and colleagues whom I have embarrassed by my boasting and brashness. They know how sorry I am. But life has to go on. I shall give the final word to the Lancashire Evening Post. Their splash on Monday summed it all up per- fectly: 'I'll be back, vows Derek.'
Derek Draper begins a weekly political col- umn this Thursday in the Daily Telegraph.
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