If I were David Blunkett I wouldn’t want to be called a liar, or painted as a love-lorn teenager by the former Metropolitan Police Commissioner. But it’s the lying that I know will stick outside the Westminster village, especially now the biographer has weighed in, too. And he has me on tape.
Liar is a nasty word. It suggests an untrustworthy nature and I need to knock it on the head, especially if Tony’s got me in mind for one of the big offices. I can’t claim stress, either. I eat stress for breakfast.I might go all northern, pointing up my bluff, plain speaking side; remind people that I don’t do forked tongue southern b******s. I think it helps get me off the Kimberly rap.
Things get taken out of context and words said in the heat of the moment get turned into concrete assessment. Stephen Pollard probably got me at one of those moments, that’s all. I was right to distance myself from the comments in his book about Stevens. Like any two people facing critical judgment, we had disagreements. I’m sure his copper’s ego isn’t so brutal he can’t stand a bit of rough-housing from the elected representatives. I’ ll say it as a joke, but mean it seriously.
I’ll throw some blows through anonymous “friends”. They’ll say these people have books to promote. Stevens has even more: resentment to fuel. His tenure ended with him a laughing stock. All that stuff about me being confused and demoralised? Cod-psychology. What’s he know?
I’ll be above it all, mainly; too busy dealing with the present to finger point about the past, especially with somebody who’s probably never seeing another big job again. That’ll make me smile.