OFarrell - Things Can Only Get Worse?

John OFarrells first book was the bestselling memoir Things Can Only Get Better (to which this is the sequel). He is also the author of five novels: The Man Who Forgot His Wife, May Contain Nuts, This Is Your Life, The Best a Man Can Get and, most recently, Theres Only Two David Beckhams.

He has also written two bestselling history books: An Utterly Impartial History of Britain and An Utterly Exasperated History of Modern Britain, as well as three collections of his Guardian columns.

His books have been translated into thirty languages and have been adapted for radio and television.

A former comedy scriptwriter for Spitting Image, Room 101, Have I Got News For You, Murder Most Horrid and Chicken Run, he recently co-wrote the Broadway musical SomethingRotten!

@mrjohnofarrell

www.penguin.co.uk

NON FICTION

Things Can Only Get Better

Global Village Idiot

I Blame the Scapegoats

I Have a Bream

An Utterly Impartial History of Britain

An Utterly Exasperated History of Modern Britain

FICTION

The Best a Man Can Get

This Is Your Life

May Contain Nuts

The Man Who Forgot His Wife

Theres Only Two David Beckhams

TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

6163 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

www.penguin.co.uk

Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com

First published in Great Britain in 2017 by Doubleday

an imprint of Transworld Publishers

Black Swan edition published 2018

Copyright John OFarrell 2017

Cover design by Sarah Whittaker/TW

Cover photograph Getty Images

John OFarrell has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781473543171

ISBN 9781784162634

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the authors and publishers rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

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For Alf Dubs.

Who never gives up.

I was walking my dog down by the river in Oxfordshire not so long ago and a well-spoken old man stopped me. I recognize you! Youre that writer chappie!

Er, yes, I am a writer, yes.

OFarrell! he declared, sounding like one of my teachers at school.

Thats right

Yes, but what OFarrell? Whats your first name?

Oh. Its John.

John OFarrell! he said to himself, finally satisfied. Thats right! Very left wing!

I told this to my family when I got home, and they fell about laughing. You?! Very left wing! mocked my grown-up kids.

Well, Im quite left wing, I said, feeling a bit hurt. I mean, Labour Party and all that

Exactly! Youre soooo moderate. And my wife and kids laughed some more as they repeated the phrase Very left wing! to each other for their continued amusement. I tried to think of an example of a political stand I had recently taken to reassert my radical credentials. I boycotted the free Waitrose magazine when it started having a column by Pippa Middleton. No, they still werent convinced.

What was revealing about this was that I cared. I liked the idea that I might be considered very left wing. Its cool to be left wing; its not cool to appear moderate or ready to compromise. Any way you look at it, Che Guevara makes for a better student poster than David Miliband. Attending a school governors meeting is less thrilling than putting on a Vendetta mask and smashing the windows of Fortnum and Mason. (Personally, I think its pointless looting their windows; all their best stuff is way back inside the shop, sort of on the right as you pass the preserves.) Its so simple to be against authority. Its so much harder to represent authority yourself.

And so, when Labour at last came to power after eighteen miserable years, people like me suddenly found themselves feeling confused and disorientated. We were hard-wired for opposition. Id been in political prison too long, I couldnt cope with all this freedom and responsibility. I hankered for the easy certainties back inside. So even back in May 1997, I knew I was going to find it hard. But Tony, you didnt have to make it quite that hard.

After Labours landslide victory, I bought the BBC video of Election Night so I could enjoy that euphoric evening over and over again. And nineteen years on, I found that I still had it, the only VHS I never gave to the charity shop. There it is in a box in my loft, a film of dust over the New Labour leader as he waves to me on our greatest night. I have to rig up an old video-player to watch it again, the very format emphasizing that this is politics from another age.

Looking at that recording of our honeymoon, Tony, now, I try not to feel too much anger, too much bitterness; I just try to remember how happy we were together back then. We had the world at our feet; it seemed like there was nothing we couldnt do. I was so giddy with the excitement of it all, I never stopped to think that it was obvious it would end up leaving me so conflicted. Sticking to the Conservative spending plans for two years that should have been a clue. Why did I just let that pass? I ask myself now; how come you even had those spending plans in your jacket pocket? Who gave them to you? Whod you been talking to? You were supposed to delete all those phone numbers from your mobile the day we got hitched; Rupert, Silvio, Cliff Id thought you were through with mixing with those guys; this was about us now, this was supposed to be a new start. Did you ever stop to think about the compromises I made? It wasnt easy for me, you know. I took your name, though New Labour never sat easily with me. Waving plastic Union flags was not really my thing either, and then when you said you wanted us to do it The Third Way, I was shocked, I was embarrassed, I felt used, Tony. I leafleted for you, I canvassed for you, and now you are over there in America with Rupert and here I am, right back where I was in the mid-1980s, Labour in opposition and another pile of undelivered leaflets in my hallway.

When New Labour came to power I was in my mid-thirties; married with two small children in a semi-detached house in the London borough of Lambeth. Once considered as loony lefty but now reformed and sensible, Lambeth and I were a good fit. I had grudgingly accepted the changes Tony Blair had made to the Labour Party after so many political defeats and my growing realization that we were not going to get the Tories out simply by suggesting it loudly on marches. I didnt wear left-wing badges any more; I had transferred them to the lapels of the full-size Maggie Thatcher