Yes Prime Minister — Series 2 (Episodes 6-8)

📺 YPM 2.6 ~ 2.8

注意

以下剧本来自字幕文件（SRT）转换，可能包含 OCR 错误。YM 第一季没有可用的字幕文件。

格式说明

🎬 = 场景提示  |  ■ Hacker  |  ■ Sir Humphrey  |  ■ Bernard  |  ■ 其他角色

---

Do you think perhaps...
I mean, would it have been wiser,
you know, with hindsight...
— Was it a mistake...
— Yes, Bernard?
— You didn't have to agree to present the awards.
— Bill recommended it. Didn't you?
I didn't actually recommend it.
I just said the British theatre awards dinner
was televised live
and, as guest of honour, you'd be seen by
12 million people in a context of glamour and fun
and you'd be associated with actors
and actresses who give pleasure to millions.
— That's not a recommendation?
— Isn't it a bad idea to be associated with actors?
Their job is pretending to be what they're not.
If you're seen with them, people might realise.
— Go on, Bernard.
— Well, I... I mean, er, not realise...
...might suspect... might think that you were, er...
Not that you were pretending, er... entertaining...
— What was it you wanted to speak to Bill about?
— You said this wouldn't be controversial.
No other politicians are there. Actors and
actresses are usually nice to politicians.
They dish out flattery as eagerly as they lap it up.
— Do they?
— Sometimes.
— What about this?
— Yes, I'm sorry.
We didn't know how small the Arts Council grant
would be when we accepted the invitation.
You knew we were being criticised over the arts.
All governments are always criticised
for not giving enough to the arts.
It's how arts journalists
suck up to actors and producers.
That's how they get back on speaking terms
after giving bad reviews.
— And the grant was only finalised yesterday.
— Almost no increase for the National Theatre.
Its managing director will make a speech
introducing me at the dinner.
— Yes.
— Snide remarks, sarcastic jokes.
Attacking me for my meanness.
The philistine at No.10.
Live in front of 12 million people.
Yes, but Bill didn't know.
What about when I speak? A hostile audience.
Do you think there'll be boos?
Bound to be and we don't have to pay for it.
Not booze, Bernard, I mean boos. Boo! Ssss!
Send the Arts Minister along instead, so they can
all blame him. That's what junior ministers are for.
I can see the headlines. "Jim chickens out.
PM runs away from his critics."
If there was a major crisis,
you wouldn't need to go.
— Is there a major crisis coming up?
— Not really, Prime Minister.
Is there a distant crisis
that we could bring forward?
What sort of crisis would justify cancellation?
Pound plunges, small war in the South Atlantic,
nuclear power station catches fire.
I don't think any of those things
would improve my image.
It'd justify you staying away. I know!
What about the death of a Cabinet colleague?
Ooh. Is one imminent?
Er, no, but that would justify your absence
without damaging your image.
We can hardly hope for that
to fall on the right day. Well, not by accident.
— I need help.
— You do!
— You do?
— Got to make a speech. It could be embarrassing.
Prime Minister, your speeches are nothing like
as embarrassing as they used to be. In fact...
— Not the speech, Humphrey, the occasion.
— Ah, yes, indeed. Why?
It's to be to a hostile audience
of posturing, theatrical drunks.
— The House of Commons, you mean?
— No, Humphrey.
The annual awards dinner of the British theatre.
I'm to be their guest of honour.
You're worried that they won't honour their guest
in view of the small grant.
It's difficult to influence
the National Theatre's managing director.
— I'm on the board of governors.
— Are you indeed?
Perhaps you can tell me,
how do I make them feel that I'm one of them?
Well, surely you don't want them to see you
as a posturing, theatrical drunk.
Perhaps they do already.
It's on TV. I don't want a hostile reception.
With respect, Prime Minister,
if one is going to walk into the lion's den,
one should not take away the lion's dinner.
— So what's your advice?
— Give them more dinner.
Increase the grant to the Arts Council.
Only two million or so.
— It'd make it a fairly expensive dinner.
— Well, it is the Grosvenor.
As a governor of that subversive body,
you have a vested interest, don't you?
— In fact, a conflict of interests.
— How so?
That bloody place puts on plays attacking me.
They set "The Comedy of Errors" in No.10.
— Oh, Prime...
— Don't deny it. I know who they were getting at.
And a play attacked my nuclear policy. A farce.
— The policy?
— No, Humphrey, the play.
— Why do they do it?
— Well, it's very healthy, Prime Minister.
— Healthy?
— Yes.
Practically nobody goes to political plays
and half that do don't understand them,
and half that understand them don't agree,
and the seven left would've voted
against the government anyway.
It helps people let off steam
and you are seen as a democratic statesman
for subsidising your critics.
People who want to criticise me
should pay at the box office!
Oh, Prime Minister,
they'd never make enough money.
Plays criticising the government make
the second most boring evenings ever invented.
They insult... What are the most boring?
Plays praising the government.
— They insult me and then expect more money?
— Yes, it is a rather undignified posture.
Artists always crawl towards the government
on their knees, shaking their fists.
— Beating me over the head with begging bowls.
— Sorry to be pedantic.
They can't beat you over the head if they're
on their knees unless they've got very long arms.
— Get off the floor.
— Yes, I'm sorry.
— There are no votes in giving money to the arts.
— But terrible publicity if you take it away.
The arts lobby is middle class.
It's one of the few ways they get their tax back.
Mortgage tax relief, university grants,
lump-sum pensions, Radio 3,
and subsidised seats at the theatre,
opera and concerts.
You can't begrudge it us.
Them.
People can spend their own money. Why should
government money be spent on pleasure?
Nobody could call it pleasure. The point is,
we have a great heritage to support.
Pictures no one wants to see, music no one
wants to hear, plays no one wants to watch.
You can't let them die
just because nobody's interested.
— Why not?
— Well, it's a bit like the Church of England.
People don't go to church,
but they feel better because it's there.
The arts are just the same.
As long as they're going on,
you can feel part of a civilised nation.
There are no votes in the arts.
Nobody's interested.
Nobody's interested
in the Social Science Research Council
or the Dumping at Sea Representation Panel,
but government still pays to support them.
— They do some good.
— They don't, Prime Minister.
They hardly do anything at all.
— Well, let's abolish them!
— No, no, no, no!
They are symbols. You don't fund them
for doing work but to show what you approve of.
Most government expenditure is symbolic.
The Arts Council is a symbol.
— You're getting off the point.
— I'm sorry, Prime Minister. What was the point?
What was the point, Bernard?
Er, the point of what?
Oh, how to stop the managing director of
the National Theatre criticising you in his speech.
I suggest you have a quiet word with him.
Say the knighthood that usually goes
with the job is within the gift of the PM.
He said he couldn't care less about a knighthood.
Huh! Everybody says that about knighthoods
until they're dangled in front of them.
Don't they, Sir Humphrey?
He talked about your putting on plays
attacking him.
Did you point out
no one's ever submitted a play defending him?
Well, I'm not sure that would've helped.
What about next year's Arts Council grant?
Will they get the extra 30 million?
My dear Simon,
I couldn't disclose the figure in advance,
least of all to the MD of the National Theatre.
Have some of these.
Excuse me.
Only six? You're not serious?
That's the new diet.
Six breadsticks is the absolute maximum.
Is that gross breadsticks or net breadsticks?
— Net breadsticks.
— So what'll we get at the National?
— Only one?
— Shh, shh, shh.
How can we manage
on one and half million pounds?
— I don't know where you got that figure from.
— Look, you've got to help me. What can I do?
You mean, if the grant figure,
which of course we do not yet know,
were to be not just less than you told the press
was the absolute minimum to stave off disaster
but lower than the REAL minimum required
to stave off disaster?
— Yes.
— I can't help you, even though I'm on the board.
Let me be quite clear about this, Simon.
I am here to represent the PM's interests.
There are certain things
which would gravely upset him.
I must urge you, on his behalf,
not to contemplate them.
Good. What are they?
You'll be making the speech
introducing him at the awards dinner.
It would be a courtesy to send a draft to No.10
in advance.
— For approval?
— Well, let's say for information.
Now, the Prime Minister is extremely anxious
that the speech should not refer
to the modesty of the grant increase.
There are certain words he'd like you to avoid.
Miserly... philistine...
...barbarism... skinflint...
...killjoy.
He'd also like you to avoid all reference to
how much more other countries spend on the arts.
— What are the figures?
— Here you are.
To make sure you don't mention them by mistake.
I certainly won't mention them by mistake.
And thirdly, and most important of all,
he wants no comparison between
the extra money your theatre needs
and certain sums that the government
spent last year on certain projects.
— Such as?
— Well, let's say the figure were to be four million.
Purely as an example, of course.
The PM earnestly hopes that your speech
will not refer to the fact
that the government spent five million
on radar equipment for a fighter plane
that had already been scrapped.
Or that the Department of Energy had been able
to stockpile a thousand years' supply
of filing tabs.
Or that another department
had stocked up with a million tins of Vim.
Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.
— Thank you very much.
— Thank you so much. That was delicious.
— He never even goes to the theatre, does he?
— Well, he can't, really.
He's frightened of giving the cartoonists
and gossip columnists too much ammunition.
He couldn't go to "A Month In The Country" for
fear of starting rumours about a general election.
And he couldn't go to your production
of "The Rivals"
because so many ministers were after his job.
He couldn't go to "The School For Scandal".
Well, not after the Education Secretary
had been found in bed
with that married primary-school headmistress.
— I see.
— And then there was that play by Ibsen.
— Oh, dear, what's it...
— "The Master Builder"?
Hardly.
I was thinking of "An Enemy Of The People".
Say no more.

[ANNOUNCER]
Sir William and Lady Langthorne.
Mr and Mrs Simon Monk.
— No, no, it's me.
— Oh, sorry.
— I think that's the lot.
— We can stand down?
— Yes, Mrs Hacker.
— Thank goodness for that!
Nice you're taking such trouble over theatre
people, even though they're not important.
— They're extremely important.
— In what way?
Showbiz people have a hotline to the media.
If you're on "EastEnders",
the press want your opinion on everything.
— Why?
— Editors like to sell their papers.
Start an article with a picture of Dirty Den,
everybody wants to read it.
Start one with a picture of the Trade and
Industry Secretary, nobody wants to read it.
They all turn into supporters
after a few glasses of warm sherry?
Some do. That's why we dish out a couple
of OBEs and a knighthood every New Year.
Keeps them hoping. Stops them attacking the
government the next time they're on "Wogan".
Prime Minister, the Arts Minister's
rather anxious to have a word with you.
There's going to be trouble
when they find out how small the grant is.
We'll just have to brazen it out. Won't you?
— I think we'll have to try to find a bit more.
— We've been through all this.
— The theatre brings in tourists.
— Let the Tourist Board subsidise them.
They say they've better ways of attracting them.
We're subsidising bad ways of attracting tourists?
No, we've spent enough on the arts.
We'd have to spend it anyway.
It's a concealed way of preserving old buildings.
— How do you mean?
— All these theatres, art galleries and museums
are listed buildings we'd have to maintain,
and they're totally useless.
So we put in central heating and a caretaker
to make it look as if we're preserving the arts.
— Let's sell them.
— We can't. They're ancient monuments.
Hm, like the Cabinet.
Mind you, I'd sell THEM if I could.
Isn't it better to wait until the figure is published?
If I try to lobby him now, he won't say anything.
But you want him to DO something.
— But if I wait...
— Then the figure will be published.
Everyone will be committed to it
and they'll have to stick with it to save face.
To change government decisions,
do it before anybody knows they're being made.
— Isn't that rather difficult?
— Yes. That's what the Civil Service is for.
— To change government decisions?
— Well, only the bad ones.
That's most of them, of course.
— Do you really believe in the British theatre?
— Oh, yes, absolutely.
— Why?
— Well, it's one of the great glories of England.
— You mean Shakespeare?
— Shakespeare, yes, absolutely.
— Who else?
— Who... er...
Well... there's Shakespeare, of course,
and... er... Sheridan, Oscar Wilde, Bernard Shaw.
— They were all Irish.
— Well, Irish, English. Same thing then, wasn't it?
— Bernard Shaw died in 1950.
— Oh, I'm so sorry.
— Do you go to the theatre a lot?
— I'd love to, but you know how it is in my job.
Shouldn't the PM go,
if it's one of the great glories of England?
— Well, the Arts Minister goes. Part of his job.
— [MAN] Why?
— The PM can't do everything. Have to delegate.
— Going to the theatre is work?
Well, wouldn't like to trespass
on another minister's territory.
You can't feel ill
without clearing it with the Health Minister?
Not exactly.
— But what about when you were in opposition?
— It was much the same.
So when you say you believe in the theatre,
it's like believing in God. You believe it exists.
No, no, I'm a great supporter.
What was the last play you went to?
Last pl... er...
— I think it'd be "Hamlet".
— Whose?
Shakespeare's.
— Do you know who played Hamlet?
— Oh... er...
Henry Irving?
— Er, Sir Humphrey, could I have a word?
— Of course. Forgive me, Mrs Hacker.
Sir Humphrey,
I don't think the PM's enjoying himself.
He's not supposed to. Cocktail parties at No.10
are just a gruesome duty.
— People keep asking him questions.
— He should be used to that.
They weren't tabled in advance,
so he isn't briefed.
— He's not on the record.
— Yes, but people will think he's a philistine.
Good heavens!
— I was wondering, should we go and rescue him?
— All right, leave it to me.
We'll do what we can,
but there are many calls on the public purse.
— Inner cities, hospitals, kidney machines.
— Tanks.
— Rockets.
— H-bombs.
We can't defend ourselves against the Russians
with a performance of "Henry V".
Prime Minister. I'm so sorry, ladies.
— This isn't a drinks party, it's a siege.
— I was about to suggest
that you should talk to
the National Theatre's managing director.
— You want me to face another salvo?
— No.
I've tried to persuade him
to make the right sort of speech.
— Have you? Thank you very much.
— Not at all.
But you might have more success. Simon Monk.
— Ah, Mr Monk.
— Prime Minister.
— So you're going to introduce me at this dinner?
— That's right.
Any idea what you're... going to say?
Well... um... I suppose it depends, really.
Yes, yes... On...?
— On the size of the grant, I suppose.
— Of course, that's still under discussion.
Of course, but if it were to be generous,
I could talk about the way this government
has got its priorities right,
believing in Britain's heritage, what it stands for.
Terrific, terrific. Of course, if I can't...
That is, if the Arts Minister
can't cough up as much as you'd hoped.
Ah, well, that would be... rather difficult.
— You wouldn't want to make it political.
— Not for myself, of course not.
But my colleagues would expect me
to voice their feelings.
There are many calls on the public purse.
Inner cities, hospitals, kidney machines.
Yes. I thought perhaps the best way round it
would be to make it funny.
— Funny?
— Yes.
List ways the government spends the money
it can't afford for the arts.
Did you know that in one year
one London borough
spent �1 million on hotels for families
when it had 4,000 empty council houses?
Isn't that hilarious?
— Of course, local government.
— Yes, yes, but it is all government, isn't it?
The taxpayer pays the Rate Support Grant.
And did you know that another council spends
�100 a week on a toenail-cutting administrator?
One city was employing four gas-lamp lighters
eight years after the last gas lamp was removed.
That cost a quarter of a million.
Should get a good laugh.
Not to mention the council that spent �730
having two square yards of shrubbery weeded.
And the government office block scheduled for
demolition two weeks before it was completed.
That should go down rather well at the dinner
and make jolly good TV, don't you agree?
— So nice to meet you.
— I just hope you realise, Prime Minister,
that unless we get a substantial rise,
the National Theatre will collapse
and there'll be a huge empty building
on the South Bank,
a decaying monument
to this government's barbarism.
Where did he get those examples
of government waste?
I really can't imagine.
— The National Theatre may call my bluff.
— What is your bluff?
— That I'm willing to risk their bluff.
— What's their bluff?
— Their bluff is they think I'm bluffing, whereas...
— You are.
I don't know now.
— You mean you're playing blind man's bluff.
— May I just clarify this?
You think the National Theatre
thinks you are bluffing.
They think you think THEY are bluffing,
whereas your bluff is to make them think
you are bluffing when you're not.
If you are,
your bluff is to make them think you're not.
Their bluff must be that they're bluffing because
if they're not bluffing, they're not bluffing.
Thank you, Bernard. An invaluable contribution.
What is your policy? Will you risk their refusing
to continue if you don't increase the grant?
I shall just have to go on re-stating my policy,
I think, until... until...
Until you know what it is.
Dorothy, you've got to help me.
This is a hot potato.
If I don't do anything,
it could turn into a banana skin.
— A hot potato can't become a banana skin.
— What?
If you don't do anything,
a hot potato just becomes a cold potato.
May I make a suggestion? I have a plan.
— A plan? Yes, good. What?
— Call their bluff.
Sell the National Theatre building. It's a prime site.
It's on the South Bank overlooking St Paul's.
— Sell it? To whom?
— To a property developer.
— We'd get �30- or �40 million for it.
— But we wouldn't have a National Theatre!
We'd have sold the building, not the company.
The National Theatre gets �7 million a year.
Nearly half goes on the upkeep of the buildings.
That could go into productions by all
the subsidised companies all over the country.
Monk said he didn't think they ought
to have to spend their grant in that way.
He said the theatre should be about plays,
not about bricks and mortar.
— Where would they put on their plays?
— There are plenty of theatres all over the country.
— They could rent them like any other producer.
— Dorothy, this is brilliant!
The theatre's about plays and actors,
not maintaining buildings.
And it'd make the company genuinely national.
And we could give the �3 million
to put on their productions.
The government would still make a net profit
of over �30 million!
Nobody could call me a philistine then!
Not unless they knew you.
— Prime Minister, you remember Simon Monk?
— Ah, Mr Monk, yes.
— This is very bad news about the grant.
— Surely not. It's gone up.
— Nothing like enough.
— Enough for it to be unnecessary for you to...?
— I'm afraid not.
— Oh.
I was hoping to do something
really significant next year.
You said you had to spend
nearly half your grant on upkeep.
— I have a plan to relieve you of that.
— Really? That would be marvellous.
Wouldn't it? And it'd make the National Theatre
really national.
— What do you mean?
— I'm thinking of selling the National Theatre.
— Selling it?
— I knew you'd be pleased.
— That way we can save �3 million on upkeep.
— This is impossible!
No, it's easy.
We've had a terrific offer for the site.
— The National Theatre must have a base.
— And it will.
You could have inexpensive offices
in Brixton or Toxteth... or Middlesbrough.
What about the theatres, the workshops?
You could hire them. Put on productions in the
West End or the Old Vic or provincial theatres.
Become strolling players again
— instead of... civil servants.
— But that would be disastrous!
Surely not. Didn't you say the theatre
wasn't about bricks and mortar?
Yes, yes, but that was...
Look, the National Theatre must have a home!
And so it will. Lots of homes.
All the subsidised theatres
would be called national theatres.
There'd be the National Theatre at Glasgow,
at Sheffield, at Bristol, and so on.
And that three million can help them all. You'd
be the London branch of the National Theatre.
— That'd be popular with the whole profession.
— Barbarism!
— Spending money on actors instead of buildings?
— Yes. Well, no, no...
— Um...
— Anyway, it's just one of my options.
I may decide against it... or I may not.
I could outline it in my speech... if necessary.
— It all depends.
— On...?
Have you decided what you'll say
in your speech yet?
Yes.
Oh... er... well... not finally.
I wondered if those jokes about
government waste were really very funny.
Of course, it's your decision.
I'm sure you understand me.

🎬 [GAVEL BANGED THREE TIMES]

Mr Prime Minister, my lords,
ladies and gentlemen,
pray silence for Simon Monk, Esquire,
the managing director of the National Theatre.
Mr Prime Minster, my lords,
ladies and gentlemen...
You will have read of the grant
for the Arts Council and the National Theatre.
I know many of us are... disappointed
by the amount.
We'd have all liked it to have been larger,
but this is a time of national stringency
and we must think in terms of national needs.
There are many calls on the public purse.
Education, inner cities, health...
kidney machines.
We should be glad that any increase has been
possible and grateful to our guest of honour
whose personal intervention made even
this small breadstick possible... er, increase.
Ladies and gentlemen, to our guest of honour,
the patron of the arts, the Prime Minister.
— My lords, ladies and gentlemen, the toast is...
— Excellent speech, don't you think, Humphrey?
...the patron of the arts, the Prime Minister.
— Yes, Prime Minister.

[ALL]
The Prime Minister.
— The Chief Whip and Party Chairman to see you.
— Take a seat. I'll be right with you.
Bernard, take a seat.
I want you here for this meeting.
— Isn't this a party matter?
— It's also a government matter.
— It's about our education policy.
— The government's or party's?
— It's the same thing.
— With respect, they're not the same thing.
— That's why we want the meeting.
— It seems...
Bernard... sit!
Stay.
What's the problem?
— Education.
— What can I do about it?
— You're the Prime Minister.
— Yes, I know.
I have no direct control over education.
I don't control the curriculum or exams. I don't
control the choice of head teachers. Nothing.
The voters hold you responsible for everything.
You do have influence.
I'm fed up with it. When I became PM, I thought
I'd have power. And what have I got? Influence.
I've got no power over the police, the rates,
EEC directives, European courts, our courts,
the judges, NATO.
— What have I got the power to do?
— Lose us the next election.
Which you will if you don't tackle education.
The voters want something done
about low academic attainment.
— Sex education!
— I'm not against sex education.
I'm not against children being taught the facts
of life in class, but not homosexual technique!
— Or heterosexual technique, come to that.
— Where should they learn it?
Behind the bike sheds like we did!
Did you?
Never mind sexual technique.
Some of our schools are teaching
more Hindi than English.
I know English is more important,
but I daren't say so or I'd be accused of racism.
When I met the Ethnic Awareness Council,
I happened to glance at my watch
when a black woman delegate was speaking
and I was accused of racist body language.
And sexist.
— I get the message. What do you want me to do?
— Get a grip on education.
Get Henry to do something
about the Department of Education.
— They've got him house-trained.
— Sack him.
I can't have another Cabinet convulsion.
— Then invite the opposition leader's wife here.
— What can she do?
Start measuring up for carpets and curtains.
Yes, right, fine. This afternoon?
— Bernard, I believe the PM wants to see me.
— Yes, Sir Humphrey.
— What's his problem?
— Education.
Well, it's a bit late to do anything about that now.
— No, no, the education system.
— I see.
— Bit late to do anything about that either.
— He thinks he'll lose the next election.
— Worse things could befall the nation.
— He can't ignore facts.
If he can't ignore facts,
he's got no business being a politician.
Anyway, Bernard, he's got nothing to worry about.
The education system does all
most parents require of it.
Keeps children out of mischief
while they're at work.
That paper the Party Chairman had suggests
the comprehensive system is breaking down.
Bernard, I never thought to hear such language
from a loyal member of the Civil Service!
— Have you been got at by the enemy?
— You mean the Russians?
No, Bernard, I mean the Prime Minister's
political advisor - that Wainwright female.
— Comprehensive education ought to be validated.
— Of course, but not invalidated.
But if it was introduced to improve standards...
Whatever gave you that idea?
— You mean it was to get rid of class distinction?
— Precisely!
— So that all children...
— Children?
— Who mentioned children?
— I just...
The Department of Education
never mentions children!
No, no, no, no, Bernard. It was to get rid of
class distinction in the teaching profession.
Improve the living standard of teachers,
not the educational standards of children.
Bring the NUT teachers up to the salary level
of their rivals in the National Association
of Schoolmasters in the grammar schools.
— But the...
— When there is a Labour government,
the Education Department says
comprehensives abolish the class system.
When there's a Tory government, they say
it's the cheapest way to provide mass education.
To Labour, we explain
that selective education is divisive
and to the Tories we explain that it is expensive.
That way, we have a happy relationship with the
NUT and we educate our own children privately.
— But if the government wants change...
— The teaching unions don't.
Isn't it our job to persuade unions
to accept government policy?
No, it is our job to get the government
to accept union policy.
Since government change policy all the time
and unions never change their policy at all,
common sense requires that the government
be brought in line with the unions.
Yes, Prime Minister?
Oh, fine. He can see you now.
Sir Humphrey, he's very worried that he seems
responsible for something he can't change.
Yes, I'm sure. Responsibility without power -
the prerogative of the eunuch
throughout the ages.
— Prime Minister.
— Good morning. What were you saying?
Nothing. I understand you're worried
about the local education authority.
— No, the Department of Education and Science.
— Indeed? I think the DES does a splendid job.
Look what's happened to education.
This is a question from a Religious Studies paper.
"Which do you prefer - atom bombs or charity?"
Even maths is politicised.
"If it costs �5 billion a year to maintain
Britain's nuclear defences
"and �75 a year to feed a starving African child,
"how many children
could be saved from starvation
"if the Ministry of Defence
abandoned nuclear weapons?"
That's easy. None. They'd spend it all
on conventional weapons.
In any case, it's just a sum.
Five billion divided by 75.
But children aren't learning to do the sums.
The local education authorities might argue
that they don't need to. They have calculators.
They all need to know HOW it's done. We were
all taught basis arithmetic, weren't we?
Were we? What's 3,947 divided by 73?
Er... Oh, I'd need a pencil and paper to do that.
No, never mind that.
— I could do it when I left school.
— Now you'd use a calculator.
That's not the point. Look at Latin.
Hardly anybody knows that now.
Tempora mutantur, nos et mutamur in illis.
What?
— Times change and we change with the times.
— Precisely.
— Si tacuisses, philosophus manisses.
— What does that mean?
If you'd kept your mouth shut,
we might have thought you were clever.
— I beg your pardon?
— Not you, Prime Minister. That's the translation.
No one would have thought
Sir Humphrey was saying that about you.
Go away, Bernard, please.
I can't believe it. You had a strict academic
upbringing. Are you denying the value of it?
What's the use of it? I can't even call upon it
in conversation with the PM of Great Britain!
Education in this country is a disaster.
We're supposed to prepare children for work.
Most of the time they're bored stiff.
I should've thought that being bored stiff
was an excellent preparation for work.
The school leaving age was raised to 16,
but they're learning less.
We didn't raise it so they'd learn more
but to keep teenagers off the job market
and hold down unemployment figures.
Are you saying there's nothing wrong
with education?
Of course not.
It's a joke. It's always been a joke.
By leaving it in the hands of local councillors,
it will remain a joke.
Half of them are your enemies
and the other half are the sort of friends
that make you prefer your enemies.
— What are you saying?
— That education will never get any better
as long as it's subject to all that tomfoolery
in the town halls.
Imagine what would happen
if you put defence in their hands.
— Defence?
— Give councils �100 million each
and ask them to defend themselves,
we'd have a civil war in three weeks!
— You're being silly.
— Am I? That's what's happened to education.
And why? Because nobody thinks education
is serious the way defence is serious.
So that's why civil defence
is in local authority hands?
Of course. Because everybody knows it's a joke.
You just don't leave important matters
in the hands of those clowns!
And as you've left education to them,
one must assume that, until now,
you have attached little importance to it.
It is important.
It could lose me the next election.
Ah!
In my naivety, I thought you were concerned
about the future of our children.
Yes, that too. After all, they get the vote at 18.
Then, Prime Minister, then centralise.
Take it away from the local councils.
Put it under the Department of Education,
then you could do something about it.
Do you think I could? Grasp the nettle,
take the bull by the horns?
You can't take the bull by the horns
if you're grasping the nettle.
Oh, really, Bernard?
By grasping the nettle with one hand, you could
take the bull by one horn with the other hand,
but not both horns
because your hand isn't big enough.
If you did take the bull by one horn,
it would be rather dangerous because...
Well, it was just a mixed metaphor
and since we were discussing education, I...
— [BUZZER]
— Thank God!
Yes? Your political advisor's outside.
— Send her in, Bernard. Humphrey, thank you.
— Thank you.
— You've given me much food for thought.
— In that case, Prime Minister, bon app�tit.
Dear lady.
— Yes, Dorothy?
— My notes for your tour of the north-west.
Visits to hospitals and factories.
— Drumming up votes in marginal constituencies.
— No!
— Why not?
— I'm coming with you if it's a government tour.
If it's canvassing marginals,
I can't come and the Treasury can't pay.
It's a government visit. It's coincidence
that all the stop-offs are in marginals.
— Well, that's all right, then.
— That's OK.
What can I do about education? Quickly.
— You mean do or appear to do?
— Appear to do. I can't do, obviously.
Well, in the short term, we could get you on TV
associated with something good and successful.
— Is there something?
— I had thought of this for your schedule.
— You could fit it in.
— St Margaret's School Young Enterprise Scheme.
It's set up its own manufacturing company. They
make cheeseboards, paperweights, toast racks,
sell them and track the operation
in their business-study classes.
— They involve local businessmen. Parents help.
— Does it cost a lot?
— No, it makes a profit.
— Isn't it teaching them to be rather grasping?
— No, they give the money to local charity.
— Fine, I'll do it.
Make sure the TV crews have plenty of time
to cover me... er... cover the event properly.
Write me a speech with a snappy,
20-second piece for the news bulletins.
— That should win back a few seats.
— Prime Minister.
Er, give a lead to those responsible
for the nation's education, Bernard.
Of course, Prime Minister.

🎬 [NEWSREADER]

Finally, the PM visited St Margaret's School
on his north-western tour.
The school has set up
a manufacturing business
where the children make a variety of goods
for sale in the local community.
The children do their own sales and marketing
and use the experience they gain
as a basis for their maths and business studies.
The Prime Minister was presented
with an example of the school's output.
In conclusion, I must congratulate you
on all the hard work, the discipline
and the success of your enterprise.
You've set an example in British education
which other schools would do well to follow.
We need more schools like St Margaret's
and I shall always treasure your present.
No Prime Minister ever lost a seat
if he could help itl

[NEWSREADER]
And that was
the six o'clock news from the BBC.
— I thought that was OK, didn't you?
— Fine.
— My joke went down well.
— MY joke!
Better than Channel 4 coverage. They didn't
describe it as the PM's tour of the north-west.
They said, "Jim Hacker touring
the marginal constituencies."
— That's true, isn't it?
— But they shouldn't say it. It's biased reporting!
— Reporting the facts?
— Nothing wrong with visiting the marginals.
— What they said was still true.
— It was still biased to say it!
I'm not interested in your paranoia.
I was interested in that school.
— Parents queue up to get their children into it.
— Pity they can't all get in. Coffee?
— Lovely.
— Why can't more parents send children there?
— No room.
— There is. School numbers are falling.
— That'd mean poaching the other schools.
— So what?
The other schools would have to close.
Great! St Margaret's could
take over their buildings.
— Darling, that wouldn't be fair.
— Who to?
— The teachers in the schools that had to close.
— Good ones could teach at the popular schools.
What about the bad teachers?
It wouldn't be fair on them.
What about the children,
or are the bad teachers' jobs more important?
Darling, it's... it's no good. Who's to say
who are the bad teachers? It just wouldn't work.
— Why not?
— Well... it wouldn't work.
— Why not?
— What do you mean?
Suppose schools were like doctors. In the NHS,
you choose which doctor to go to, don't you?
— Yes.
— And he gets paid per patient.
Why don't we do the same with schools?
Have a National Education Service.
Parents could choose the schools
and the schools get paid per pupil.
— Exactly!
— There'd be an outcry.
— From the parents?
— No, from the Department of Education.
— I see. And who has the most votes?
— The DES would block it.
— Fine, get rid of them.
— What?
— Get rid of the Department of Education.
— I don't understand you.
Get rid of it, abolish it, remove it, expunge it,
eliminate it, eradicate it, exterminate it!
— Get rid of it!
— Get rid of it?
— Yes.
— I couldn't do that.
— Why not? What does it do?
— I could do that.
Local government could administer the lot.
We could have a Board of School Inspectors.
The rest could go to Environment.
I could send that house-trained idiot Henry
to the House of Lords.
Golly. I wonder what Humphrey will say.
Whatever he says,
I want to be there when you tell him.
To witness the clash between the political will
and the administrative will?
I think it'll be a clash between the political will
and the administrative won't.
— You sent for me, Prime Minister?
— Humphrey, come in. Sit down.
I want to bounce an idea off you. I've realised
how to reform the educational system.
Excellent, Prime Minister. [CLAPS HIS HANDS]
I'm going to let parents move their children
to any school they want.
You mean after application, scrutiny,
tribunal hearing and appeals procedures?
— No, just move them whenever they want to.
— I'm sorry. I don't quite follow.
This government will let parents decide
which schools to send their children to.
Prime Minister, you can't be serious!
— I am.
— But it's preposterous!
— Why?
— You can't expect parents to make these choices.
How on earth would parents know
which schools are best?
— Which school did you go to, Humphrey?
— Winchester.
— Was it good?
— Oh, excellent, of course.
— Who chose it?
— My parents, naturally.
Now, that's different, Prime Minister.
My parents were discerning people.
You can't expect ordinary people
to know where to send their children.
— Why not?
— Well, how could they tell?
They could tell if their kids
could read, write and do sums
and if the exam results were good.
— Exam results aren't everything.
— True.
Parents who don't want an academic education
for their children can pick progressive schools.
But parents have no qualifications
to make these choices.
Teachers are the professionals. Parents
are the worst people to bring up children.
They've no qualifications, no training.
You don't expect untrained teachers to teach.
The same should apply to parents.
— Before having children, they should be trained?
— No, that's no problem.
They've all been trained to HAVE kids.
Sex-education classes have been standard
for some years.
Perhaps we could do better.
Before people can have children, we should
make them sit exams - written and practical.
Perhaps both. Then they could be issued
with breeding licences.
Oh, very droll, Prime Minister.
No, but I'm being serious. It's looking after
children that parents are not qualified for.
That's why they have no idea
which schools to choose. It couldn't work.
What about the Health Service? People choose
their doctor without medical qualifications.
— Ah, yes, well, that's different.
— How?
Well, doctors are...
The patients aren't parents, dear lady.
Oh, really? What makes you think that, Humpy?
Not as such. In any case, as a matter of fact,
I think letting people choose doctors
is a very bad idea, very messy.
Much tidier to allocate people to GPs, much fairer.
Then everyone has an equal chance
of getting the bad doctors.
— I see.
— In any case, we're talking about education.
With respect, Prime Minister,
I think that the DES will react with some caution
to your rather novel proposals.
— You mean they'll block it.
— They will give it urgent consideration
and insist on a thorough and rigorous examination
of all the proposals
allied to a detailed feasibility study
and budget analysis
before producing a consultative document
for consideration by all interested bodies
and seeking comments and recommendations
to be included in a brief
for a series of working parties
who will produce individual studies
which will provide the background
for a more wide-ranging document
considering whether or not the proposal
should be taken forward to the next stage.
— You mean they'll block it.
— Yeah.
— No problem.
— We thought you'd say that.
— We have a solution.
— Oh, yes?
We'll abolish the DES.
— I'm sorry?
— We'll abolish it.
— Abolish it?
— Why not?
Abolish Education and Science?!
— That'd be the end of civilisation as we know it!
— Only the department. Education will flourish.
— With no government department? Impossible!
— Departments are tombstones.
The Department of Industry
marks the grave of industry,
the Department of Employment,
that of employment,
the Department of Environment,
that of the environment.
And the Department of Education marks where
the corpse of British education is buried.
What does the DES do? What's its role?
I hardly know where to begin!
It lays down guidelines, it centralises
and channels money into education authorities,
University Grants Committee, it sets standards!
— Does it set the curriculum?
— It would like to!
— Select and change head teachers?
— Maintain school buildings?
— No...
— Set exams?
— No...
— Does it choose the children?
— How does it affect what a child does at school?
— It supplies 60% of the cash.
Why can't the cash
go from the Treasury to the schools?
Do we need 2,000 civil servants
to funnel money from A to B?
The DES also creates a legislative framework
for education.
Not much legislation. Environment could do that.
They deal with other local authority matters.
You can't be serious!
Who'd assess forward planning and staffing
variations, variations in pupil populations,
density of schooling required
in urban and rural areas?
— Who'd make sure everything ran properly?
— 2,500 private schools
seem to solve these problems every day
without any help from the DES.
They respond to changing circumstances.
— Supply and demand. It's easy.
— Who would plan for the future?
Education today is what the department planned?
Well, of... No, of course not!
— Is there anything else that the DES does?
— Well, it... it...
Well, we don't need it, then, do we? QED.
Quod erat demonstrandum.
I really... Quite unthinkable.
Once they start abolishing whole departments,
the very foundations of civilisation crumble.
— Barbarians at the gates.
— The return of the Dark Ages.
Did anything like this crop up
when you were Cabinet Secretary?
No. We let them amalgamate departments,
but that worked very well.
Yes, quite. You keep the existing staff
and you put in an extra layer
of coordinating management at the top.
Exactly. But you have to stop the liquidation
of the Department of Education, Humphrey.
Have you tried discrediting
the person who proposed it?
No point. It was the Wainwright female,
so he's passing it off as his own idea.
— Discrediting the facts behind it?
— It's a political idea, so facts don't come into it.
— Massaging the figures?
— No figures are involved.
But it's hard to get the Prime Minister
to see that it's a bad idea.
Of course. It's actually a very good idea.
It just mustn't happen.
I wonder if we oughtn't to play along with it -
in the interests of the nation's children.
Never mind the nation's children.
What about our colleagues at the DES?
— Of course. Sorry.
— Let's be clear about this.
The only people who'll like this idea
are the parents and the children.
Everyone who counts will be against it.
— Teachers' unions.
— Local authorities.
— Educational press.
— And, of course, the DES.
— So what's the strategy?
— Unions can be counted on to disrupt the schools.
And go on TV saying
the government are causing the disruption.
Good. Local councils will threaten to turn
the constituency parties against the government.
The Department of Education will delay
every stage of the process
and leak anything
that embarrasses the government.
We can help with that
at the Campaign for Freedom of Information.
Thank you, Arnold.
Ah, thanks.
But what are we actually... Thank you, Billy.
What's our argument?
Well, obviously, that this new proposal
will destroy our educational system.
— Everybody knows it's destroyed already.
— Well, we will say...
Sorry, the press will say that it's government
interference in the DES that destroyed it
and that this new plan will make things worse.
— Will that do the trick?
— It always has in the past.
— But this time the political pressure is stronger.
— You must find a political weapon to fight it with.
What political weapon
did you have in mind, Arnold?
I? That is your concern, Humphrey.
Your chance to prove yourself worthy
of the high office to which you've been called.
— The PM's ready to see you.
— What's it about?
— The abolition of the DES, I'm afraid.
— This is going to be bloody.
— There's a minor matter I need your advice...
— Is it important?
— Not important but urgent.
— What is it?
You know that enterprise school the PM visited,
when they gave him that stool?
It's just come to light that the wood
they were using was stolen.
Bernard, this is hardly...
Stolen?
Yes, it was government property
stolen from a YTS workshop last year.
How shocking.
It was referred to the DES,
as the theft came to light at a school.
They don't know whether to prosecute.
Sorry to bother...
Don't mention it, Bernard.
Show me in.
Come in, Humphrey. Come in, come in! Sit down.
Only one item on the agenda today -
the abolition of the DES.
Actually, if there's only one item, it's an agenDUM.
I don't think the Prime Minister's
got as far as the second declension.
I don't mind your scoring cheap debating points
since you've already lost the battle of the DES.
— The DES will be very upset.
— Does it matter since they'll cease to exist?
The process will take a few years.
They'll fight tooth and nail.
— What can they do to me?
— They're a formidable department.
— I am a formidable Prime Minister.
— Indeed you are.
But you might still need their cooperation.
Cooperation? From the Department of Education?
Don't make me laugh!
Fine, fine. I'll tell them to go ahead
with the prosecution, then.
— What prosecution?
— Oh, it's hardly worth bothering you with.
That enterprise school
where you were televised last week.
— Yes?
— The profits... A model for other schools...
Yes, yes, go on.
— The profits were the proceeds of theft.
— Theft? What do you mean, theft?
I mean removing goods without the knowledge
or consent of the owner with the intent of...
I know what theft means. What do YOU mean?
Well, the stool that they gave you
was made from wood appropriated
from the local YTS workshops.
— What do you mean?
— It was nicked.
By two of last year's pupils.
— A pair of nickers.
— Thank you, Bernard.
The YTS want to prosecute.
Now, the Department of Education
could stop them.
You know, return the wood and hush it up.
Millions saw me on TV saying
that school was an example!
Well, it is a sort of example.
They mustn't prosecute!
I hope the Department of Education won't leak
the fact that you're covering up for crooks.
— You must tell them not to prosecute.
— That would need their cooperation.
I can just see the newspapers -
"Jim's enterprising crooks.
"The Prime Minister has sat on the fence
for so long that now he's become one."
Persuade them not to prosecute.
It's very difficult to persuade people to cooperate
if they are actually under a death sentence.
— Death sentence?
— If you're abolishing the department.
Oh!
Oh, that!
No, that was just... a vague idea...
...of Dorothy's.
An idle thought. Nothing serious.
— You're sure?
— Positive.
Splendid, Prime Minister.
Shall we now continue with the agendum?
Agendum? Oh, yes!
We have no agendum.

[RHYTHMICALLY]
We have no agendum today!
Business concluded. All right, Humphrey?
Yes, Prime Minister.
Ah, Bernard,
how is our great statesman this afternoon?
— Very cheerful.
— What has he found to be cheerful about?
— Well, at Question Time he did very well.
— In whose opinion?
Everyone was impressed with his answer
on tapping MPs' phones.
— I heard about that, but regrettably not from you.
— I didn't see any point.
I coordinate all government security.
Why was the question not referred to me first?
— It was an unforeseen supplementary.
— A foreseeable unforeseen supplementary.
It was a good answer. "Much as I respect
and value the opinions of this house,
"I have no desire to listen to honourable members
for any longer than I have to." Got a good laugh.
— From you.
— Yes, and from his own party.
Ones hoping to be promoted
or afraid of being sacked?
That's just about all of them.
I gather he denied that he'd authorised
the bugging of an MP's phone.
Well, yes. Well, he hasn't, has he?
Has he? He has? Crikey!
It's all here, Bernard, including the transcripts.
Shall we... um...
Can't we wait? He doesn't get many moments
of unalloyed pleasure.
I suppose he gets all he deserves.
— Prime Minister.
— Ah, come in!
— I want to talk about PM's Question Time.
— I accept your congratulations!
— Wasn't I brilliant? Didn't you think so?
— Well, I wasn't there, but...
— Wasn't I brilliant, Bernard?
— Er...
— Your replies will not be quickly forgotten.
— Let me tell you what happened.
The first question was about that cock-up over
the shortage of prison officers. Masterly reply!
I said, "I refer the honourable member
to the speech I made on October 28th."
— Did he remember what you'd said?
— No.
Neither did I, come to that. Still, it shut him up.
The next one was, "Did the Department
of Employment fiddle the figures?"
Restructure the base from which the statistics
have been derived without telling the public?
— Exactly. Fiddle the figures.
— Of course they do.
I know they do.
I said I'd found no significant evidence of it.
— You haven't looked.
— And we haven't shown you.
Well done. Then we went on to a googly about
the Dept of Energy's plans for nuclear waste.
— He wanted me to admit Cabinet was divided.
— Well, it is.
I know. So I said,
"My cabinet took a unanimous decision."
You threatened to dismiss anyone
who wouldn't agree.
It certainly made them agree unanimously.
My back benchers were cheering my every word.
Oh, yes, then we had a question
about why our new anti-missile missile
was scrapped as obsolete
the day before it came off the production line.
— And how did you wriggle out of that one?
— That was my masterstroke!
My reply was sheer genius.
I said our policy had not been as effective
as we'd hoped. Clearly we had got it wrong.
— You admitted that?
— Yeah. Brilliant!
Took the wind right out of his sails!
Honesty always gives you the advantage
of surprise in the House of Commons.
The PM was also asked when he would request
the resignation from the responsible minister.
I said, "When he makes a mistake
that could've been seen at the time
"and not with the benefit of hindsight."
They were on their feet cheering, stamping,
waving their order papers!
I gather there was a question
about the bugging of an MP's phone.
— Yes, I got a terrific laugh with that. I said...
— Bernard told me.
— I said, "Much as I respect..."
— Bernard told me.
Oh. Well, anyway, that was stupid.
Why should we bug Hugh Halifax's phone?
One of my own administration!
Where did they get such a daft idea?
— Sheer paranoia.
— The only thing is...
Why should we listen in to MPs?
Boring, stupid, ignorant windbags!
I do my best not to listen to them.
And he's only a PPS. I can't find out what's
going on at Defence. What could he know?
So I gather you denied that
Mr Halifax's phone had been bugged?
It was the one question to which I could give
a clear, simple, straightforward, honest answer.
Yes, unfortunately, although the answer
was clear, simple and straightforward,
it is difficult to justifiably assign to it the fourth
of the epithets you applied to the statement...
...inasmuch as the precise correlation
between the information you communicated
and the facts insofar as
they can be determined and demonstrated
is such as to cause epistemological problems
of sufficient magnitude as to lay upon the logical
and semantic resources of the English language
a heavier burden than
they can reasonably be expected to bear.
Epistemological? What are you talking about?
You... told a lie.
— A lie?
— A lie.
— What do you mean, a lie?
— I mean, you...
...lied.
I know this is a difficult concept
to get across to a politician.
You... er... [MUTTERS]
Ah, yes, you did not tell the truth.
We ARE bugging his phone?
— We were.
— When did we stop?
Um... 17 minutes ago.
— Well, you can't call that lying!
— What is the opposite of telling the truth?
I mean, there was no intent.
I'd never knowingly mislead the House.
— Nonetheless you have done so.
— It wasn't my fault. I didn't know!
— You are deemed to have known.
— Why wasn't I told?
The Home Secretary
might not have felt the need to inform you.
— Why?
— Perhaps he didn't know either.
Or perhaps he'd been advised
that you did not need to know.
— I did need to know.
— The fact you needed to know
was not known at the time
that the now-known need to know was known.
Those that needed to advise the Home Secretary
felt that the information he needed
as to whether to inform the highest authority
was not yet known,
so there was no authority
for the authority to be informed
because the need to know
was not known or needed.
What?
— We could not know you'd deny it in the House.
— I would if I didn't know and were asked.
We did not know you'd be asked
when you didn't know.
I was bound to be asked when I didn't know
if I didn't know!
— What?
It was thought that it was better
not to inform you.
Halifax is one of your government team.
It was thought it was better not to create distrust.
— We only tell you when you should be aware.
— When's that?
You should now be aware
because you've denied it.
It would've been helpful if I'd been aware
before I denied it.
If you had been aware before you denied it,
you wouldn't have denied it.
— But I needed to know!
— We do not always tell you about bugging.
At times we need you not to know.
— Why did you decide I didn't?
— I didn't.
— Who did?
— Nobody. It was just nobody decided to tell you.
— It's the same thing!
— On the contrary.
To decide to conceal information from you
is a heavy burden for any official to shoulder,
but to decide not to reveal information to you
is routine procedure.
Humphrey, I need to know everything.
— Everything?
— Everything.
Very well.
Stationery deliveries this week.
Four dozen packets...
No, Humphrey, Humphrey, don't be silly.
I mean important things.
Who should decide what is important?
— How can you defend this cock-up?
— As you said in the House, we got it wrong.
— YOU got it wrong.
— I am merely a humble servant, a lowly official.
— The Home Secretary made the decision.
— Any reason I shouldn't ask him to resign?
You should only ask him to resign
when he's made a mistake
which could've been seen at the time
and not with the benefit of hindsight.
The trouble has arisen because of
your error of judgement in making this denial.
— What?
— You shouldn't have denied what you didn't know.
That was your fault.
You admitted keeping secrets from me.
The system works perfectly well
as long as the PM tells the Civil Service
everything he's going to say before he says it.
Lf, precipitantly, he says something without first
clearing it with us, he has only himself to blame.
You must not say anything without clearing it.
With respect, PM, you must learn discretion.
— There was nothing to be discreet about!
— There's always something to be discreet about.
Anyway, why are we bugging Hugh Halifax?
Is he talking to the Russians?
No, the French, actually.
That's much more serious.
— Why?
— The Russians already know what we're doing.
But the French are our trusted allies,
whatever you think of them. And who doesn't?
No, Prime Minister, actually the French
are our mistrusted allies.
That is why talking directly to the French
is regarded as an act of treason
by the Foreign Office... who authorised it.
— I don't know.
— You... don't know what?
— Who authorised it. Who authorised it?
— Is there an echo?
— Who authorised this bugging?
— The Foreign Office! I've just said.
Anyway, the less said the better.
Wouldn't you agree, Prime Minister?
— About what?
— About everything.
One cannot refuse to appear
before a House committee.
— No, sir.
— One shall have to tell them everything.
— Everything they can find out from other sources.
— Precisely.
But they are likely to ask me if the PM has ever
authorised the bugging of an MP's telephone.
So how should a loyal public servant reply?
Er, you could say it was a question for the PM
or the Foreign Secretary or the Home Office.
Or it was a security matter -
can't confirm or deny.
If I dodge the question,
do you know what the next question will be?
Why will I not give the same clear denial
that the PM gave the House yesterday?
— Ah.
— What should I say then, Bernard?
Well, you could say the Prime Minister
knows more about it than you do.
Then they'd know I was lying.
— So... what will you do?
— I don't know, Bernard.
I thought you should be aware of the dilemma.
— Would you like a glass of sherry, Bernard?
— Oh, yes, thank you. Sweet.
There's only dry.
Incidentally, Bernard, the BBC rang this morning.
— The BBC know about it?
— No, of course not.
They want to interview me for a documentary
they're making on Radio 3
about the structure of the government.
Gosh. You won't do it, will you?
— Why not?
— They may want you to say things.
That is quite normal on radio.
No, no, I mean interesting things. Controversy.
On the other hand,
one has a duty to put the record straight.
— You mean you want to do it?
— Well, not for oneself, of course.
No inclination for petty vanity,
you know, being a celebrity.
— But... one can be too self-effacing.
— I thought we were supposed to be faceless.
They don't show your face on radio.
They've said if I don't do it,
Arnold has said he would.
Perhaps that would be better.
Arnold? For myself, I would rather not do it.
But one's sense of duty compels one
to see that Arnold
is not held up as an example of a top civil servant.
You'll need clearance from the Prime Minister,
but that won't be a problem.
— How do you know?
— Well, it's on Radio 3. Nobody'll be listening.
— Ah, Prime Minister.
— Humphrey.
The Cabinet agenda, Prime Minister.
— Is it today you do your interview?
— Oh, yes.
— Any problems?
— Oh, no, no, no.
I have some experience
in dealing with difficult questions.
If you're evasive or confusing on the radio, they
edit you out. You've really got to say something.
— Say something?
— Something simple and interesting.
Simple and interesting.
Perhaps you could advise me, Prime Minister,
particularly if the questions are aggressive.
Even better. That puts listeners on your side.
— I may have to answer them.
— Why? You've never answered my questions.
No, no, no, that's different, Prime Minister.
Ludovic Kennedy might ask me
some perceptive questions.
His researchers mentioned that lots of people
are interested to know
why so much power is centralised in my hands.
Lots of people?
Hardly anybody's ever heard of you, Humphrey!
— Perhaps they meant lots of Radio 3 listeners.
— That's a contradiction in terms!
If he does say that lots of people want to know
the answer to that question, say, "Name six."
That'll fix him.
He'll never be able to remember more than two.
Oh, excellent, Prime Minister. Any more tricks?
Tricks, Humphrey? This is technique.
Attack one word in the sentence. Like frequently.
"Frequently? What do you mean, frequently?"
Or attack the interviewer. "You've clearly
never read the white paper, have you?"
Or else ask your own question.
"That was a very interesting question.
Now let me ask you a question." See?
Oh, thank you, Prime Minister.
That reminds me, I have shortly
to appear before the committee
to answer questions
about the alleged bugging of an MP's phone.
Yes. Yes, Bernard told me. Well, you'll just
have to confirm what I said in the House.
— But that would be lying.
— Well, nobody'd know.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave.
You must.
Otherwise it'll look as though I was lying.
Humphrey, you have a loyalty.
To the truth.
I'm sorry, Prime Minister, I cannot become
involved in some shabby cover-up.
Whereas there must be some element of shared
responsibility for the governance of Britain,
as between the legislators on the one hand
and the administration on the other,
the precise allocation of cause to consequence
or agency to eventuality in any particular instance
is invariably so complex as to be
ultimately invalid if not irresponsible.
I see, but could you be a bit more precise?
How far is the Civil Service to blame
for the level of unemployment?
Yes, of course, unemployment is a single name
applied by the media
to what is a wide range
of socio-economic phenomena
whose most politically visible manifestation
happens to be...
— Could you be a little bit more precise...
— I'm so sorry, Mr Kennedy.
You've asked me the question.
Do allow me to answer it.
There happens to be a current frequency
of weekly registrations
on the National Unemployment Register
which is deemed to be above
what has been held to be an acceptable level.
But even separating out the component causes,
let alone allocating responsibility for them,
is a task of such analytical delicacy
as not to be susceptible of compression within
the confines of a popular radio programme.
Sir Humphrey Appleby, thank you very much.
If that was a popular programme,
what would an unpopular programme be like?
Thank you, Sir Humphrey. Absolutely splendid.
My pleasure. Was I all right?
Couldn't you have said a bit more
about unemployment?
— Such as?
— Well... the truth.
— [HUMPHREY LAUGHS]
— Why do you laugh?
Oh, my dear Ludo,
nobody tells the truth about unemployment.
— Why not?
— Because everybody knows you can halve it.
— But how?
— Cut off all Social Security
to any claimant who refuses two job offers.
There's genuine unemployment in the north,
but the south is awash with layabouts,
many of them graduates living off the dole
and housing benefit
plus quite a lot of cash they pick up
without telling anybody.
— You mean moonlighting?
— Well, sunlighting, really.
Most employers will tell you they're short-staffed,
but offer the unemployed a street-sweeping job,
they'd be off the register
before you could say "parasite".
This country can have as much unemployment
as it's prepared to pay for in Social Security.
No politicians have got the guts to do anything.
— [LUDOVIC] Oh, I do wish you'd said that.
— [HUMPHREY] I'm sure you do.
— Sir Humphrey...
— Oh, come along.
— What's this for?
— The BBC have just sent me this tape.
Apparently, it's part of my interview.
They say it's particularly interesting.
— Your interview?
— You're surprised I said something interesting?
No, no, it's just that I thought you intended
to say nothing, as always. I mean...
Switch it on, Bernard. You may learn something.
... Ludo, nobody tells the truth
about unemployment.
— Why not?
— Because everyone knows you can halve it...
Cut off all Social Security to all claimants
who refuse two j'ob offers...

🎬 [WINDS TAPE FORWARD]

No politicians have got the guts to do anything.
Sir Humphrey, that wasn't you, was it?
— Yes, Bernard.
— But how could you say such things?
Is there any more?
— Yes, Bernard.
— As damaging as what we've just heard?
More damaging.
I believe I referred to... parasites.
— How could you be so indiscreet?
— The interview was over!
— We were just chatting! It was off the record!
— It was on the tape!
Oh, my God, I've just realised! Blackmail.
— Blackmail?
— Read that.
"Here is a copy of your off-the-record
part of the interview. Very interesting.
— "We will contact you shortly."
— What do they want of me?
The BBC? Licence fee up 50%?
— Maybe it's a private blackmail by the producer.
— Maybe.
Doesn't he know I'm a poor man?
Maybe he hasn't read you live in abject poverty
on 81,000 a year.
— What am I going to do?
— Keep your mouth shut in future.
And so must you! Don't breathe a word
about this to anyone! Anyone!
— My duty to the...
— [SPLUTTERS]
Oh, Bernard, what am I going to do?
Well, put out a press statement
expressing sympathy for the unemployed.
— Sympathy?
— You may be joining them any moment.
— Yes, Bernard?
— Excuse me, are you busy?
I am. I'm expecting Humphrey. I've got to decide
what to tell the Cabinet about this bugging.
Do I tell them the truth...
or do I tell them what I told the House?
Perhaps you should behave to the Cabinet
as you would expect them to behave to you.
You're quite right.
I'll tell them what I've told the House.

🎬 [COUGHS SIGNIFICANTLY]

— Something else?
— Yes, there is something you need to know.
— Need to know?
— Yes, it's about Sir Humphrey's broadcast.
— Boring?
— Initially, yes.
Then it livened up
as he became more and more indiscreet.
Humphrey? Indiscreet?
He thought the broadcast was over.
He was chatting, but the tape was still running.
— He fell for that old dodge?
— Yes.
You should always treat every microphone
as if it were live. Doesn't he know that?
— He hasn't done a lot of broadcasting.
— What did he say?
We could halve unemployment,
but the government hasn't the guts.
— What?!
— He didn't know he was being recorded.
And the BBC has the original? You know what
this means. All over the papers. Do something!
I already have. I had lunch with the producer.
He and I were at Oxford together.
He never intended to release the tape,
so I got him to give me the indiscreet bit
from the master tape.
This is the original?
Does Humphrey know you've got it?
— Shall I tell him?
— Why?
— I think he'd like to know.
— I'm sure he would.
But does he NEED to know?
Ah, somebody needs to know, but now you know,
Sir Humphrey doesn't need to know.
You need to know Sir Humphrey doesn't know,
but he doesn't need to know you know.
Thank you, Bernard,
I couldn't have put it less clearly myself.
— Like to hear the tape?
— Can you play this?
Oh, no, not that. I got him to give me a copy.
Oh, no, hold on a minute.
I think this deserves a wider audience.
— I think Humphrey ought to hear this.
— [BUZZER]
Yes?
Oh. It is Sir Humphrey.
What a happy coincidence.
Ask him to join us, Bernard.
Will you hold on a moment? Prime Minister,
I did tell you all this in confidence.
And I respect your confidence.
— This is serious, you know, Bernard.
— Oh, er, yes, Prime Minister.
Sir Humphrey.
Ah, Humphrey, come in, come in, come in!

🎬 [CHUCKLES]

— How did your broadcast go?
— Oh, very well, very well.
— What did you say?
— Oh, nothing in particular.
I pointed out some of the difficulties
in allocating responsibilities
as between politicians and civil servants.
— But you were discreet?
— Why do you ask?
— Were you or weren't you?
— Yes.
— Yes, you were or yes, you weren't?
— Yes.
— Humpy?
— Wouldn't you expect me to be discreet?
— Of course.
— There you are, then.
Good. Well, that's all right, then.
Why do you ask?
It's just that the BBC sent me a tape.
— A tape? What tape?
— A tape of your broadcast.
I thought we might listen to it.
— No, no, no, no, no!
— Why not?
— It isn't interesting.
— Not interesting?
— The Cabinet Secretary talking to the nation?
— Not VERY.
You mean you were too discreet?
Play it, would you, Bernard?
Nobody tells the truth about unemployment.
— Why not?
— Because everyone knows you can halve it.
— How?
— Cut off all Social Security
to all claimants who refuse two j'ob offers.
There's genuine unemployment...
— Humphrey!
— I'm terribly sorry. I didn't know!
— The interview was over!
— The indiscretion!
— The irresponsibility! Any more?
— No.
— Yes.
— Play it, Bernard.
... be off the register
before you could say "parasite".
This country can have as much unemployment
as it's prepared to pay for in Social Security.
— No politicians have the guts to do anything.
— You said that?!
It was Mike Yarwood.
I'm in somewhat of a difficulty
as to know what to do about this.
I need advice. Perhaps I ought to play it
to the Cabinet, get their reaction.
— Oh, please!
— Or the Privy Counsel.
— Or... Her Majesty?
— Oh, God!
Do you realise what damage it would do
if it got into the papers?
I could say I got it wrong!
I've checked and it isn't true!
— But it is.
— I could say it isn't!
— Nobody can prove it, it's never been tried!
— You'd tell an untruth in public?
— Yes, for YOU! We can issue a clarification.
— You've already made yourself very clear.
Prime Minister, a clarification is not to make
oneself clear, it is to put oneself in the clear.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave.
Give me the tape, would you, Bernard?
Now I've got something to tell you.
This is a copy,
but this is the original, the master.
— You mean...
— They were retrieved from the BBC.
By whom?
Intelligence.
So... no one else will ever know?
That rather depends on what I choose to tell them.
Of course, I could just hand over the tapes or...
...I could hold onto them while I consider
the security and disciplinary implications.
I certainly have no intention of joining
"some shabby cover-up".
Oh, that reminds me, have you decided yet
what you'll tell the Privileges Committee?
Oh, yes, yes, Prime Minister. I've decided that,
in the interests of national security,
that, um, the only honourable course
is to support your statement in the House.
And say that Hugh Halifax's phone
has never been bugged?
— And say I have no evidence...
— No!
And say the government has never authorised
the bugging of MPs' phones.
And say... the government has never author...
Supposing they find out the truth?
You'll just have to say that nobody told you
because you didn't need to know.
— Agreed?
— [SIGHS]
Splendid. That's settled, then.
May one have one's tapes back?
Tomorrow.
After the Committee on Privileges.
All right, Humphrey?
Yes, Prime Minister.