ANOTHER VOICE

I invested heavily in Blair-bashing. Now it's time to put my money somewhere else

MATTHEW PARRIS

Had the Old Testament prophets been required to register their interests as mod- em political commentators do, their invest- ments in business and industry should have concerned the public less than their invest- ments in scenarios. 'Plague of frogs; ditto locusts, boils; seven fat years followed by seven lean years' ought to have been care- fully entered in the box provided, for entire careers as credible prophets hinged on such outcomes; whatever tug these holy men may have had on the sleeve of the Almighty would surely be employed to help their pre- dictions come true.

A commentator's professional interest in being proved right by those events which (however marginally) he may himself influ- ence is clear, strong, sometimes obsessive and arguably against the public interest. At their most potent, your Bruce Andersons, Hugo Youngs, Simon Heifers and Peter Riddells are the George Soroses of interna- tional reputation-speculation, able to talk up or talk down currencies in which, by the very nature of their job, they must have a personal stake. There is nothing corrupt in this; it is inescapable.

Vested interests are the less pernicious for being voiced, so let me make a clean breast of mine. Other political commenta- tors may feign regret or even sympathy for Tony Blair in his recent embarrassment. To me it is a source of relief. If Mr Blair had not turned out to be a fake, then, if norms of ministerial honour have any application to journalism, I ought to have resigned.

This was never personal. I suspect Mr Blair might prove a rather pleasant com- panion. He has certainly not been a bad prime minister. By no means a wicked or unlikable person, Mr Blair is just a well- meaning, snake-off salesman with a gift of the inspirational gab: an attention-seeker with some vague ambition to do good in the world but inclined to cut corners, and flaky underneath. Blair reminds me spookily of myself, which is probably why he always gave me the creeps and never fooled me for a minute.

I saw through him early: at his televised `coronation' speech in an auditorium near Russell Square, when he had just been voted Labour leader. The Times had asked me to go there and sketch the occasion. Within minutes Mr Blair started blethering about 'values', but, because moral philoso- phy does interest me, I could tell that he had not marshalled his thoughts at all and had little to say. I wrote something then about the abstract nouns bouncing off the walls of the lecture theatre and thudding into television viewers' sofas.

Thoughtful moderates who rightly judged Blair to be making a bold and important attempt to modernise the Labour party regarded my railing against him as mean- spirited. Friends, I remember, thought me ungenerous and sour, for that was a time when much of the media and some of the Conservative party were greatly impressed.

They carried on being impressed. Many distinguished political commentators fell quite in love with Mr Blair for quite some time, and billets-doux were exchanged in the newspapers. Some are only falling out of love as we speak, and wishing they could burn the correspondence. I, meanwhile, had set out my stall in a different place.

This is not as brave as it may seem. In journalism, anti-cyclicism pays. I began to find a professional niche on television, radio and in print as one of that small band of commentators ever ready to have a go at the Labour leader — thus 'balancing' the media's editorial output as they are required to do. Commissioning editors keep little lists of horses for courses, and my name was entered under 'Blair-bashers'. Let's not beat about the bush: there is money and media- opportunity in being colourfully against whatever is the flavour of the month. If one had the time now, one could develop a nice little sideline in being anti-Olympics (what a bore', etc.) or pro-global warming.

The more unpopular your point of view, of course, the more conspicuous your attachment to it is likely to become. For quite a long season, Bruce Anderson, Stew- art Steven and I formed most of the tiny posse of media people happy to defend John Major in print. I don't suppose any of us wanted an honour or a job from him, and I do think that (despite occasional wobbles) we genuinely believed our support to be merited, but many were the columns we extracted from our espousal of such an interesting position.

However, as investments go, and in terms of the final dividend, this one can be count- ed only a modest success. With hindsight it is allowed by many that Mr Major was more sinned against than sinning and that few of his policies appear to have been reversed by his successors; while two — his Northern Ireland 'peace-process' and his single-currency fence-sitting — appear in retrospect to show a certain dogged good sense. Nevertheless, I doubt whether Bruce, Stewart or I expect ever to be car- ried shoulder-high through the cheering crowds, to cries of 'Bless you, squire — you were right about that Mr Major all along!'

More seriously, I think that Times read- ers might have expected from their sketch- writer more fun at Mr Major's expense than I could find it in my heart to offer them. This was not partisanship on my part, for, though a Conservative, I never hesitat- ed to make fun of Margaret Thatcher and immensely enjoy making fun of William Hague, whom I simply refuse to take seri- ously. No, it arose from the mixture of a virtuous with a less virtuous motive: mercy, and an unconscious reluctance to damage my own career-investment in Majorism.

And now for Blair. All at once there seems to be a rush of seeing through him. One leaves for the sub-Antarctic with some- thing of a reputation for being an ill- natured and impertinent spoilsport, too juvenile and silly for Alastair Campbell even to bother to terrorise — and returns to find hacks fighting for their share of the finite supply of invective with which to attack the Prime Minister. There's a temptation to shout, 'Oi! You're on my patch', but the stronger urge is just to bask in it all, to stand back and mellowly observe the scene.

So, to colleagues who are recent arrivals to Blairoscepticism, I say, `Go for it, pal. Your turn now.' Already I grow bored with the sport.

Time for a new flutter on the reputation- exchange, so let me venture this. New Labour's spell is broken and can never be mended, but William's no wizard and I have yet to see the Tory wand. To Conser- vatives gathering in Bournemouth who think it's all coming their way, I say it isn't.

Matthew Parris is parliamentary sketchwriter and a columnist of the Times.