Book Review- A View from the Foothills- The Diaries of Chris Mullin

When trudging away during one of his brief stints in government, Chris Mullin is asked by his Private Secretary ‘Why don’t you make more suggestions on the policy documents?’. Mullin, who somewhat surprisingly given his profession, lacks personal ambition, replies that he is entirely reconciled to his current obscurity: ‘When I die...no one will ever remember that I was an under-secretary of state at the Department of Environment’.

A touch unkind perhaps, but you get the point: although Mullin thrice received a title, he did not covet them; indeed during his first ministerial incarnation as an underling for John Prescott (penance for what, he does not say), he came to the conclusion that he preferred life as a pugnacious and influential back-bencher to the world of red boxes and ministerial cars.

It is this rather weary attitude that does so much to endear Mullin to his audience. Indeed, one forgets that Mullin was once a firebrand: a campaigning journalist and member of the Bennite left. Instead, the reader comes to think of Mullin principally as reasonable, caring and straightforward member of Tony Blair’s Labour Party. And while Mullin has no truck with the focus groups and phraseology of New Labour, he is loyal to his leader- ‘The Man’.

The Iraq war is a notable exception. Mullin settles on the position that his support is predicated upon a second UN resolution, and when this doesn’t arrive- despite the pressure- Mullin sticks to his guns, and is better for it.  

Especially as this ‘transgression’ doesn’t cost Mullin his career. His final ministerial stint, covering Africa within the Foreign Office, is both the most harrowing and rewarding of his various assignments. Unfortunately, just as he was settling into the role the 2005 election brought things to a juddering halt: ‘I’m sorry Chris’ telephones ‘The Man’, ‘but I am going to have to let you go’. Nothing personal of course, just new faces required.

New Labour’s constant need for rejuvenation is just one of several irritable quirks exposed by our man in Westminster. The deference to almighty Middle England is duly noted, as is the often vacuous language that emanates from pollsters, civil servants and Number 10 alike. 

Then there is the issue of money. Mullin, who abhors both waste and materialism, attempts (with some difficulty) to extract himself from the ministerial car pool. Contrast this outlook with that of the Prime Minister’s wife, who upon learning of Mullin’s first demotion remarks, ‘you’re free- and poorer’. 

Beyond all that, Mullin is a friendly, warm companion who leads the reader through the zenith of New Labour with gentle humour and just the right mixture of idealism and cynicism. Yet the real strength of these diaries lies in Mullin’s writing style. Not only is he crisp and to-the-point but he has a fine ear for what truly counts. This, in conjunction with an acute awareness of his status and function, means that we are spared waffle and self-aggrandisement throughout. Hear, hear to that.