THE Prime Minister gave his monthly press conference yesterday. It has only been three weeks since the last one but I can see why he brought it forward. After all, Labour last week had its worst election result since 1911. It is the kind of thing that spurs prime ministers to reflect on what went wrong and to hold press conferences to let voters know that they have been listening.
Or so we thought. We gathered to hear his confession on the top floor of Downing Street in the state dining room. It was a hot day and, without so much as a fan to stir the air, the room was muggy enough anyway.
But by the time 100 journalists had trooped in and the television lights were turned on, the atmosphere had moved from drowsy through torpid to somnolent. Someone needed to get busy packaging that air and selling it as a tranquilliser.
Mr Blair strode in. I don’t think the Prime Minister is affected by the heat, powered as he is by an inner glow of righteousness. He was very tanned. (Was it the Georgia sun or has he been sharing tan-tastic sessions with Peter Hain?) His tie was almost violent, with diagonal stripes in shades of pink and puce.
The first thing he said was that he couldn’t stay too long as he had a lunch date. “So I’ll keep to the hour, if that’s OK with you,” he said. The press, already drugged by the air (we had to inhale) and mostly docile anyway, stared at him mutely.
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Tony Blair loves to seek consensus on everything, from press conference timings to invading Iraq. Of course, it is not really consensus. He has already made up his mind. He just wants us to agree. At every press conference, he goes through the charade of consulting us. “So how long do you guys want to go on for?” he asks, like we are all mates down the pub or something. There is a short silence and he says, as if someone has agreed, “OK, I’ll take a few more questions if that’s all right.”
No one has ever said anything and, truly, it would have been madness to start doing so yesterday. After all, we were all sitting in what amounts to a very posh sauna, with our clothes on. Mr Blair, having consulted us and received our presumed agreement, explained how he saw the election results.
He told us that he yearns for the domestic agenda. He can understand why Iraq has dominated things (I cannot think why) but now wants to concentrate on health, education, and winning the Europe argument. He is sure voters were not unhappy with what Labour is doing. Oh no, no, no. The election results could not be read as a rejection. Voters were only angry because Labour is not doing things fast enough.
“Now is not the time for a change of direction but it is the time for a change of gear,” he announced.
Mr Blair is very fond of gears but, as you may remember, he is not the safest of drivers. Last year we discovered he has no reverse gear and now he is changing up, we must assume to fourth or fifth. This means he is in a car that cannot reverse or slow down. It seems inevitable that Mr Blair will be flashed by a speed camera within days.
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He says that we want choice. Now I knew this was true about breakfast cereals and detergent but I had not realised that it was the key to Labour being re-elected. Mr Blair is adamant, though, and has ordered ministers to deliver asap (I’d like mine in purple, please). He says they must go “further and faster” in coming months. The speeding tickets are going to be a nightmare.