MB Civic

Miles Kington: A government of all the talents needs a man like me

‘We are looking for non-party people with their own special skills. Even in such a long list, we find we have overlooked a few functions …’

Published: 02 July 2007
I went into a public call box to make a call yesterday, but before I could even touch the phone, it rang. I answered it.

“You must have a wrong number,” I said. “I’m afraid this is a public phone box.”

“Mr Kington?” said a voice.

“Yes,” I said, taken aback.

“Hold on. I have a call for you.”

Almost immediately, a Scottish voice came on and said: “Mr Kington?”

“Yes,” I said. “Look …”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you,” said the voice. “We think you may be useful to us.”

“Useful to who?” I said.

“Didn’t they explain what this was all about?”

“No.”

The Scottish voice sighed. If you can have a Scottish sigh.

“It’s about a government job. You know we have been selecting the Cabinet all this week?”

“Yes, but …”

“What are your impressions so far?”

I thought back to the one photograph of the new Cabinet I had seen. There had been so many people round the table, there had been no way the photographer could get them all in.

I said so.

“Yes,” said the voice, sounding pleased. “It’s a Ministry of all the talents all right.”

“Even without Paddy Ashdown?”

“Ach, he’s just a wee trouble-maker,” said the voice. “I’m well shot of him.”

“I thought he was a trouble-shooter,” I said.

“Comes to the same thing, it turns out. Now, Mr Kington, do you want the job or don’t you?”

“What job?”

“Did they not explain?”

“No.”

There was a pause. If you can have a Scottish pause.

“In this new Cabinet, we are trying to reach beyond the usual bounds of party allegiance. We are looking for non-party people who have their own special skills. And yet even in such a long cabinet list, we find that we have still overlooked a few functions.”

“Don’t tell me there is a missing Miliband brother you forgot to put in!” I said.

“No. The fact is that we are short on scapegoats. It has been brought home forcefully to me that in the early days of new governments, mistakes will always be made, and there will be a call for heads to roll. What I need is a small pool of selfless figures who are ready to sacrifice their career at a moment’s notice.

“I would like you to be one of that privileged circle. You will not take part in cabinet meetings. You will not even be allowed to attend them. But you will have the chance to stand outside a cabinet session as it takes place, and to be sent for to be told that you have resigned whenever necessary.”

I thought about it. It sounded like not much work for good money. A surge of public duty and pride swept through me.

“I’ll do it!” I said.

“Good man,” said the voice.

At that moment there was a banging on the door of my phone box. I looked out. It had started to rain. And there were two lads gesturing at me fiercely to clear out of the kiosk. I opened the door.

“I’m on the phone,” I said.

“We don’t want the phone,” said one of them. “We just want a dry place to smoke. Now, out!”

And so saying, he pulled me out of the cabin, while I was still holding the phone, and they both went in. They closed the door and lit up.

It wasn’t easy to talk into the handset with only two feet of flex.

“Are you still there?” I said. I thought I heard a mumble. “It’s early days,” I said, “but I have thought things over and I want to resign.”

I heard a click on the line. If you can have a Scottish click.