It takes a tough man to write tender prose, and an even tougher reader to slog through Alastair Campbell's diaries.
Here they are at last; the intensely-awaited memoirs of the slab-chopped, Downing Street bagpiper around whom the whole poisonous pathology of modern spin evolved. And they are, well... ever so nice about people.
Especially about amazingly popular Alastair, by whom almost everyone appears to be fascinated.
Take the late Princess of Wales. "I went back to the car and the next thing TB (Tony Blair) is tapping at the car window, and he says: 'Someone wants to meet you'. I get out and she's walking towards me, and she says, 'There he is, can I come over and say hello'."
And then... "She said hello, held out her hand and said she was really pleased to meet me." |
 |
|
 |
 |
|
The spin master’s diaries are finally here. But are they really worth reading, asks william langley |
| |
Or his important American pal George Bush, who is 'far more impressive close up', and of course Blair himself, of whom AC can scarcely utter a syllable of criticism.
In his introduction, the diarist writes: "What I hope this book does is help to paint a rounded picture of a man of enormous drive and vision, who was determined to use his time in power to make a difference and brought about a lot of change for the better. But it is a diary, not a paeon (sic) of praise."
Unfortunately, a paean of praise - not only to Blair but to the whole now-creaking New Labour project - is exactly what it turns out to be. A frequently disingenuous one too; by August 2000, by which time Campbell had been at Blair's side for five years and in Downing Street for three, he claims to have been 'discomfited' by hearing Blair praise Margaret Thatcher and observing that "I'm 
|
