Wednesday, July 27, 1994

Called by TB, who asks to see me in the shadow cabinet room, where everything is chaos. “Thank God you’re here,” says Cherie, who is in the outer office. “It’s bedlam, but now you’re joining us everything will be all right.”

TB explains that he’s looking for a really good press secretary: the best. Not just someone who understands politics in a strategic way, not just someone tough, not just someone who tells it how it is and won’t suffer fools gladly, but someone with chiselled features and drop-dead sexy eyes who will appeal to female voters. Frankly, says TB, there’s only one person who fits the description. Would I be interested?

I had been expecting this, yet I’m reluctant and say as much. I would have to give up my work at the Daily Planet, where I’m not just a mild-mannered reporter but have additional responsibilities in my alter ego as Superman. “That’s all very well,” TB says with exasperation, “but Princess Diana is threatening to leave the country if you don’t get the job.” Of course, if that happened the media would have a field day.

Friday, July 29, 1994 Neil Kinnock, who is a father figure to me, calls. He doesn’t want me to take the job. “Come over tonight and we’ll discuss it,” he says. I cancel my curry date with Alex Ferguson, Bill Clinton and Nelson Mandela, who have always been close friends and valued advisers.

Neil says he has no doubt I am the perfect candidate and could do much to build a more modern Britain, but do I really want to threaten my career as an international class triathlete?

Tuesday, September 20, 1994 Hit the ground running, but there is trouble over the new party slogan. JP has called TB to say he’s not happy with my suggestion of “Vote Labour”. JP says he feels uneasy. The words “vote” and “Labour” just don’t seem to sit happily together, he says. I tell him that’s bollocks and he agrees. Thursday, May 4, 1995 TB and Cherie at a dinner to meet Princess Diana. I waited in car. The next thing TB is tapping at the window and says, “Someone wants to meet you.” I get out and she’s walking towards me. I’m standing there, absolutely spellbinding, drop-dead gorgeous. I say hello, hold her hand firmly in mine, and she mumbles something, lost in my beauty.

After she says goodbye, TB groans. “We’d barely started the conversation and she says, ‘Your friend Alastair Campbell. I really, really like him. Do you think he’d go out with me?’ ” Friday, May 2, 1997 TB congratulates me on winning the historic first term for new Labour. Arrive at No 10, where Robin Butler, head of the civil service, is waiting. “Thank God it’s Labour,” he says. “That last lot were an utter shambles.”

Later Nicholas Soames calls. His vote in Mid Sussex is down by 15%, and he just wants to say thanks. He says he’s delighted that there are finally people in No 10 who know what they’re doing.

Of course, if the media find out that Labour has won the election they’ll have a f***ing field day.

Thursday, March 9, 2000 Up at 4am. Run marathon then round to TB’s office, where he wants to introduce me to a new member of the team. Arrive to find old man with long white beard sitting on the sofa. “Alastair,” says TB. “I’d like you to meet God. He’s going to be advising me in an informal capacity.” I take TB aside. “What the f*** is he doing here?” TB looks unusually nervous. “He’s the Almighty,” says TB. “He’s not just here – He is everywhere”. As usual, I am on to the implications straight away. “Look, I don’t care if he’s the f****** Pope, tell him to get rid of that bollocks beard. Beards are trouble. Look at Robin Cook.” Before I can go on, God is at my side and has His hand on my shoulder. “I’ve seen the way you operate,” He says. “It’ll be good to work with a proper professional for a change.” We talk for five minutes. He’s not a bad bloke, but He could mean trouble for TB. “Do you know what’ll happen if the media finds out about this?” I say. TB looks downcast and shrugs his shoulders. “They’re going to have a field day, aren’t they?”

Tuesday, March 6, 2003 The usual hysterics from Clare Short during cabinet discussion of Iraq. TB takes me aside to say that JP and JR are looking queasy, but he thinks God is staying solid. During the discussion, TB passes me a message about Clare Short. “She’s only making a fuss because she fancies you,” he says. I am discombobulated.

“Look, if we’re going to war let’s make sure the whole thing doesn’t go off at halfcock,” says JP towards the end of the discussion. A note comes from TB. “Did you hear that!!! JP said ‘cock’.” It’s the funniest thing since the Japanese said they were looking forward to TB’s erection. Wednesday, March 7, 2003 In car with TB, GB, JP and JS when we break down on the M1. TB wants GB to call AA, but GB says he’s not an AA member and demands we send for the RAC instead. JS supports TB, but GB will not back down. JP, as usual, must broker an agreement between TB and GB. If the media ever find out the PM, DPM, the chancellor and the foreign secretary were sitting in a layby on the M1, they’d have a field day.

Thursday, April 10, 2003 Almost a repeat of the GB toilet incident, in which GB gets stuck in the lavatory during a discussion about the leadership and has to phone TB to let him out. This time it’s TB in toilet and GB comes storming through, furious, demanding to know when TB will be resigning. “Come on out,” says GB. “I know you’re in there.”

“I’m sorry, Gordon,” says TB. “But I can only deal with one s*** at a time.” Friday, August 29, 2003 As I am about to leave Downing Street for the last time, TB beckons me to a television screen. “Look at this,” he says. “This is the modern Britain we have built together, you and I. Look at them. They’re young, they’re all colours, and see that one over there – nobody minds that he could be gay. I tell you, Alastair, the Iraq war won’t be my legacy. This will be my legacy.”

“That’s not your legacy, Tony,” I say, putting an arm around him. “That’s the Teletubbies.”

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