A lot of wankers, sorry bankers

An In the thick of it and Yes minister crossover

In a canteen at Whitehall two men were having lunch. Two men in the middle ranks of British politics. Very middle-ranking actually. Middle-ranking, middle-aged, middle-politics. Just about everything middle really! In fact, one, Brian, was so middle-ranking he never could make up his mind on the great political divide of the day. No, not between the PM and the leader the opposition, the PM and his own Chancellor of the Exchequer. Such was the nature of the politics of that party was that the PM and his no2 had an outright hatred of each other which did not help the smooth running of the country. Brian was non-descript looking, bald wearing a blue suit, though he had taken the jacket off for lunch and had a yellow tie over his shirt. Anyway, what were they discussing one of the great political issues of the nation? Taxation, foreign policy, the state of their party, the challenge posed by the energetic new, young, opposition leader or the little mentioned but growing scandal of MPs expenses? No, indeed. It was the colour of the wall-paper of their office in the forthcoming redecoration of their Whitehall department.

'Blue,'

'No way, far too Tory,'

'Red,'

'Too socialist. We were supposed to have jettisoned all that, remember!'

'Yellow, then Bernard,' Technically speaking Brian's pal, Berrnard was supposed to be a neutral civil servant, but he did owe some of his highish position to friendships with those in the governing political party. Bernard was suited like Brian but he was wearing his dark blazer which matched the colour of his trousers.

'Too bright, friend,'

'Stripey-grey,'

'Maybe that will do, Brian. A little dull perhaps though it is standard Whitehall issue.' As it happened the two could vote on this issue of mighty political importance having received recently an e-mail on the subject. A man hurried into the canteen and sat in front of them. This man was tall, had brown hair and rather thin but was wearing a brown blazer with his suit. His eyes shone like coals of fire when he was angry which was a lot of the time such as now. He was a rather different political animal than the other two. Malcolm Tucker, one of the most influential spin-doctors in British politics with the ear of the PM.

'What are you two cunts doing here? That's a fucking ninety minute lunch break you've had. Oh, Brian that little shit-head who's a member of the government wants you. He has a meeting this afternoon, ' Tuckers light-green tie flowed dramatically as he talked. Such a flowery form of communication came naturally to Tucker and having worked for him for months Brian was used to it by now. Tucker reinforced his words by banging his fist hard upon the table, spilling Brian's coffee.

'By little shit-head I take it you mean the Ministerr?' said Brian.

'That's right. Some toe-rag of an industrialist and a union leader are asking us for money. Well, the Minister is there too say, "no". I mean why do these wankers think that their pathetic problems have anything to do with us? We are a transparent administration.' This was Tucker's point of view, 'And we do not get leaned upon by special interest groups. Just because a few thousand jobs are at stake. Anyway, I would go myself, but I'm busy. I have to see the CEO of Asterys, one of our top supermarket chains. Have to keep sweet with them. Powerful people.' With a flourish Tucker departed.

Deciding it was about time he finished lunch, Brian went back to the Ministry. The recently merged, the governing party had a habit of tinkering with established organisations, Ministry of Administration, Communication and proper economic practice. Or, as some unkind sections of the media pointed out, improper economic practice might be a more appropriate name. Anyway, at the office, Brian met both his Minister, Jim Hacker, and the Permenant Secretary, Sir Humphrey Appleby.

Sir Humphrey was the first to speak. He didn't look happy, but not too annoyed, either. Sir Humphrey was tall, balding and bulky. He was one of the country's top civil servants and was certainly not above using his size to intimidate his staff - or even the Minister - to get his point across. He looked down upon Brian. 'Young man, I fear you have spend too long, in the fullness degree of time, too much of the aforementioned time upon the temporary relaxation of your departmental duties for which we pay you a monetary advancement,' said he a tad waffly as was his wont.

'Eerrrrmmm,' thought Brian trying to figure this one out.

'He means you've taken too long for your break,' the Minister helpfully explained.

'And, if like the working practices of non-governmental industry we had the means of imposing corrections in accordance to the remit of flexible working some form of disciplinary action would have to be taken'. This sounded a bit more serious and looked a little worried. 'But as it doesn't I'll just have to tell you not to do it again,' Sir Humphrey smiled and Brian relaxed. He obviously wasn't part of performance related pay.

Sir Humphrey continued, 'Anyway, I want you for this meeting. Shouldn't be that hard, but might require... work. Come along Minister. The Minister followed Sir Humphrey a little like a dog following its owner. The meeting wasn't that bad, though it's outcome was never in any real doubt. The people requesting Government money werent asking for much in fact, but the answer was still a no. Even the Minister didn't look too happy.

'They do seem a decent bunch. Can't we do anything for them?'

'I'm afraid not Minister. It is government money they are asking for and of course government intervention in the economy. You are supposed to believe in the free market after all. Would you like to go to the PM and say that you want to add to our already stretched budget?' Hacker shuddered at this prospect. The PM had a famous reputation for been 'Prudent,' He had in fact once said, 'prudent,' twenty times in a Budget speech whilst he was Chancellor. So Hacker agreed. 'We will stick to our current proposals to see them in six months time.'

'And in our priority list they are somewhere alongside aid to Guinna-Fusser,' said Hacker inaccurately.

'Yes, Minister!' grinned Sir Humphrey.

The following day, Tucker wasn't so happy. Brian looked up at 9.30 to see Tucker charge into the Whitehall office. But he did succeed in gaining the attention of both the permanent secretary and the minister. 'Ah, Mr Tucker good day,' this was Sir Humphrey naturally. He took a delight in emphasizing the 'Mr,' as though to point out Tuckers lack of any honorific. 'Good day. I trust our workings and humble additions to your policy thinking has had a satisfying if not even a positive influence upon current government thinking this morning?'

'Will you stop talking bollocks and speak fucking English.' Brian thought this was ironical considering the usual anti-English thinking, in private at least, of Tucker. 'I trust you about as much as I trust a madman with a knife and my testicles.' He shoved the palm of his hand into Sir Humphreys face. 'What did I fucking tell you to do to that fucking delegation? Tell them to fuck off, not give them a bit of fucking hope.'

'We did only what we normally do, Mr Tucker. They know they are not been taken seriously.'

'Ah, but fucking do they? You, you, you and you,' said Tucker pointing to everyone, even Brian's pal the under-secretary Bernard though Brian couldn't see what it had to to with him. 'need to know who runs this fucking country,'

'The Ministers of state of a democratically elected government?'

Both Sir Humphrey and Tucker laughed outright at this absurd suggestion. 'Loyal civil servants who are always here,' suggested Sir Humphrey.

'Fuck off. Your problem, Sir Humphrey, is that your Civil Service first division has lost its power over the years. You had influence because you were always here whilst the governments changed at every fucking election. Hasn't been like that recently though has it? We have had thirteen years of the other party followed by ten years of us. Harder to play the "you-will-be-out-at-the-next-election-card," when the governing party keep on fucking winning isn't it? Anyway, I'll tell you who runs this country, loyal special advisors who the PM favours because we've engineered three successful election campaigns for him.'

'That's the previous PM, surely,' said Bernard.

'Piss off,' answered Tucker as Bernard had touched on a sure point for the spin-doctor. Tuckers phone rang. He gave a little listen. 'It never rains but bloody well pours. Seems I have to now attend an emergency meeting with the head of one of our major banks. I wonder what they want? Anyway, remember the golden rule. No, and I mean no, new spending commitments. Can I make that any more absolutely fucking clear? Oh, and whilst you're at it make a good check on your department's transparency. I am hearing too much about MPs expenses. This story has already made the headlines of the rolling news channels. That's bad. I just don't like the sounds of it.' Which showed that to give him credit, Tucker did have a touch of political instinct about him.

Later that day Tucker entered the office again. Mildly as it happened. And the spin-doctor was almost nice and polite. At least for him. 'Ah, Minister, I wonder if I could ask for a small, "cough", favour.' On this occasion the office was fairly neat. At least with the introduction of laptops there wasn't wires hanging down behind every desk. It was only, sadly, in Tucker's eyes, Brian's desk that was a bit messy.

'Minister? Well, that's better than shit-head,' replied Hacker as Tucker's 'high,' opinion of him had reached his ears.

Tucker's smile became almost cat-like. 'I was wondering if perhaps your department could loosen its purse-strings just a little to help out the banking sector and maybe don't tell the PM about this.'

'Maybe. How much?'

Tucker's voice sank to a whisper. '5bn sterling.'

'No way that's nearly 10% of our departmental spending.'

'In that case we could have a problem as this sounds like being crucially important.'