Heaven (A Prison Diary 3)

Doug is having second thoughts about giving up his job. The thought of driving eight hours a day for six days a week isn’t looking quite so attractive.

10.00 pm

I return to my room and finish The Diving Bell and the Butterfly by the late Jean Dominique Bauby. It is, as my son suggested, quite brilliant. The author had a massive stroke and was left paralysed and speechless, only able to move one eyelid. And with that eyelid he mastered a letter code and dictated the book. Makes my problems seem pretty insignificant.

DAY 143

SATURDAY 8 DECEMBER 2001

8.00 am

Normally the weekends are a bore, but after a couple of hours editing Sons of Fortune I start moving my few worldly goods across to the hospital. Although I’m not moving in officially until tomorrow, Doug allows me to store some possessions under one of the hospital beds.

1.00 pm

Among today’s letters are ones from Rosemary Leach and Stephanie Cole in reply to my fan mail following their performances in Back Home. Miss Leach, in a hand-written letter, fears she may have overacted, as the new ‘in thing’ is blandness and understatement. Miss Cole thought her own performance was a little too sentimental. I admire them for being so critical of themselves.

I receive seventy-two Christmas cards today, which lifts my spirits greatly. The officers have begun a book on how many cards I’ll receive from the public: Mr Hart is down for 1,378, Mr New 1,290 and Mr Downs 2,007. I select three to be put on the ledge by my bed – a landscape by that magnificent Scottish artist Joseph Farqueson, a Giles cartoon of Grandma and a Bellini painting of the Virgin Mother.

2.00 pm

Highlight of my day is a visit from Mary, James and Alison, who between them bring me up to date on all matters personal, office and legal. William returns from America next week, and, along with Mary and James, will come to see me on Christmas Eve. Mary will then fly off to Kenya and attend my nephew’s wedding. Mary and I have always wanted to go on safari and see the big cats. Not this year.

DAY 144

SUNDAY 9 DECEMBER 2001

9.00 am

Doug has an ‘away day’ with his family in March, so I spend the morning covering for him at the hospital.

2.00 pm

A visit from two Conservative front bench spokesmen, Patrick McLoughlin MP, the party’s deputy chief whip in the Commons, and Simon Burns MP, the number two under Liam Fox, who covers the health portfolio. They’ve been loyal friends over many years. I canvassed for both of them before they entered the House, Patrick in a famous by-election after Matthew Parris left the Commons, which he won by 100 votes, and Simon who took over Norman St John Stevas’s seat in Chelmsford West where the Liberals had lowered Norman’s majority from 5,471 in 1979 to 378 in 1983.

‘If you felt the Conservatives might not be returned to power for fifteen years, would you look for another job?’ I ask.

‘No,’ they both reply in unison. ‘In any case,’ Simon adds, ‘I’m not qualified to do anything else.’ Patrick nods his agreement. I’m not sure if he’s agreeing that Simon couldn’t do anything else, or that he falls into the same category.

We have a frank discussion about IDS. Both are pleased that he has managed to downgrade the debate on Europe within the party and concentrate on the health service, education and the social services. They accept that Blair is having a good war (Afghanistan), and although the disagreements with Brown are real, the British people don’t seem to be that interested. Patrick feels that we could be back in power the election after next; Simon is not so optimistic.

‘But,’ he adds, ‘if Brown takes over from Blair, we could win the next election.’

‘What if someone takes over from IDS?’ I ask.

Neither replies.

When they leave, I realize how much I miss the House and all things political.

10.15 pm

This is my last night on the south block. Despite a football match blaring from next door, I sleep soundly.

DAY 145

MONDAY 10 DECEMBER 2001

3.52 am