Lloyd Evans
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Am I not in danger of becoming the very thing I despise most — a talentless Z-list celebrity wannabe whoring myself around the TV airwaves just for the sake of being famous?
Mulling over one’s relationship with the godhead of fame is one of the defining characteristics of celebrity. Agonising about one’s true abilities is another. But unlike most celebs Morgan has plenty of talent. He’s handsome, sharp and quick-witted and he has a natural authority on television. His gift for nimble and devious cross-examination would have made him a formidable presence at the Bar. During a magazine interview for GQ he bamboozles George Galloway into admitting that the assassination of Tony Blair would be morally justified. His anger can be as intense as any satirist would wish and his flights of invective have a horrible force and compression. But his favourite targets, Cherie Blair and Kate Moss, are unworthy of his whetted nib. He records an encounter with Cherie at an awards ceremony. ‘She smiled regally, as the Queen did when I once met her — not a smile of warmth so much as a grimace of controlled revulsion.’ One of the defects of this book is that the people he skewered so viciously in The Insider (most notably the Blairs) will no longer speak to him, so his contacts here are less interesting and extensive. Of the senior Labour figures who are still on friendly terms it’s John Reid who comes across as the most relaxed and human. In 2005 when Reid was defence secretary he made a morale-boosting trip to Iraq. His speech to the troops began with a newly published poll. ‘The army’s approval rating is 88 per cent,’ he told them, ‘and politicians are on 7 per cent. However our combined rating is therefore a healthy 95 per cent.’ This easy humour contrasts rather grimly with Brown and his entourage. Morgan assures us that the private Gordon Brown is
relaxed, chatty, gossipy and extremely charming. Then I watch him on TV and he turns into one of the Thunderbirds speaking in a relentless high-speed monotone and doing one of the worst staged smirks I’ve ever seen.
Ed Balls and Alistair Darling are also, apparently, a couple of back-slapping fun-lovers when the cameras aren’t running. ‘But put them on Newsnight and it’s like an undertaker’s taken over the airwaves to announce mass euthanasia for anyone who laughs in public.’ Disturbing news for the Labour party which is about to fall into the hands of Brown, Balls & Darling. If this trio, which sounds like a gay cabaret act from the 1980s, is truly at its rock-’n-roll best behind the scenes then the solution is obvious. Keep them there. Permanently.
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