The Early Years

I’m a pretty good bloke. I think everybody knows that. I’ve always wanted to do my best for the poor, the needy and the socially awkward.

That’s why, at the age of seven, I invited the neighbours’ son to play even though he wasn’t at all popular. “Come on, Gordon,” I said, “let’s ride on these wooden horses.”

But Gordon was very clumsy. He fell off and was left sobbing in a heap on the floor. Typically, I reached out to him. “Do you think I would leave you crying,” I called, “when there’s room on my horse for two.”

Gordon got to his feet. “Oh no,” he said. “I don’t think sharing a horse is a good idea at all. It would be best if you handed over the reins straight away.”

After some time we agreed that I would ride for 10 minutes before making way for Gordon. But before his turn came, he was called home for tea.

A Delightful Dinner at Granita

Gordon obviously felt out of place in this smart Islington restaurant. He fiddled with his collar, he scowled at the menu and did that funny thing with his mouth.

“What are we going to have?” I wondered, trying to put him at ease.

“Oh no,” he replied, brusquely. “You’re not catching me out like that. You first.”

“I thought I’d have the plaice.” “That’s not fair,” he snapped. “You promised that if any plaice was available it would be mine.”

“Gordon, I’m sure there’ll be enough plaice for both of us.”

“That might well be the case,” he scowled, “but I want mine first.”

We then turned to the main business of the evening: who would become leader of the Labour party? As neither of us would give way, I suggested a compromise. We would draw from the packet of breadsticks. If I got the longest breadstick, I would be leader. If he got the longest, he would.

As I prepared to draw, I thought I recognised a figure at the window.

“Oh look, Gordon!” I said. “Isn’t that your friend Peter Mandelson?”

At that very moment, I drew the longest breadstick and I felt the hand of history on my shoulder. And do you know the funny thing? It wasn’t Peter after all. I must have been mistaken!

A Historic First Term

A first royal audience is always an ordeal, but I was happy to put the Queen at ease.

“Don’t worry about all that prime minister stuff,” I said, “you can call me Tony.”

"Tell me, prime minister,” she said, “what can one expect from a new Labour government?”

“Oh, I think you can leave all that technical stuff to me,” I said, “I mean, I’m not planning to start a war or anything!!!”

My Friend George

Knowing that talks with George Bush about a possible US invasion of Iraq would be frank, I took John Prescott with me to the White House. His combative negotiating skills would come in useful.

“You can always depend on our support when the frying pan’s in the fire,” he told the president. “We just want to ensure that we’re not stabbed in the back by any unexpected banana skins.”

“I know you guys are laying your wives on the line for this,” said the president in return. “If you’re definitely sending troops to Iraq, then we want you to come in with your eyes held high and your heads wide open.”

Frankly, I was finding some of the exchanges a little difficult to follow. “We’re definitely sending troops to Iraq?” I said.

“Good man!” said the president, showing us to the door immediately. “You won’t regret this.”

Times Recommends

• UK regional accents thrive against the odds
• ‘Scarecrow’ wind farms put rare birds to flight
• What an anti-climax: G-spot is a myth