John Prescott has had a hard time of it lately. In fact, with attacks from all sides – journalists, the Tories, his own party – it is something of a wonder that he has resisted both a call for his head and a call to arms. For John Prescott does not back down from such situations, and it is a sign of the weakening of the Labour Government that he has not, in his own British Bulldog way, come out fighting. Yet.
Had almost any other male member of the Cabinet ended up in the situation ‘Prezza’ now finds himself in, a Ministerial Resignation On Personal Grounds would have been on the cards; a petulant, but most importantly quiet, backdoor exit. An army of government spin doctors would have caught the poor sod (“He jumped, m’lud”), and even though all the King’s horses and all the King’s men couldn’t put his reputation back together again, Humped-Her Dumped-Her would enjoy a comfortable retirement on the backbenches. But Prescott is a tough egg to crack, and as a number of sources have suggested, he won’t go down unless he takes Blair with him.
Considering he survived the backlash from a number of his own atrocities, it would be relatively unfortunate for the Prime Minister if his downfall was brought about by a loose-cannon of a deputy. Yet the fault is as much Blair’s as anybody’s, for it was he who reduced Prescott’s governmental importance to the political equivalent of Theo Walcott. In short, Prescott has nothing to do. Having been stripped of his duties as Head of Transport, Environment and the Regions, he is now little more than a stand-in to run the country when Blair is abroad. ‘Run the country’ is a suitably vague term – in such a temporary role, Prescott’s actions as acting Prime Minister are severely limited. Essentially, all he has to do until the boss returns is claim responsibility for any successes, deny responsibility for any calamities, and smile.
It is more than likely that this is the cause of the recent scandal surrounding the temping PM playing croquet on the grounds of his grace-and-favour estate. Prescott wasn’t doing anything wrong – he just wasn’t doing anything. And this is probably exactly what Tony Blair asked of him. Upon leaving, Tony’s final words may well have been, “Do as little work as you like, John – just don’t balls it up. Actually, just stay as far away from No. 10 as possible.” And he did. He retreated to his six-figure sum kennel and patiently waited for his master to return.
Boredom quite possibly explains Prescott’s affair with his secretary, too. Naturally, we cannot blame such an offence solely on a lack of things to do, but it certainly wouldn’t have been a case of ‘Thanks for last night, but I have to go before I’m late for work.’ (In any case, it would have been gentlemanly of Prezza to escort the lady the next morning to her adjoining office; this is, of course, if they weren’t already there. But such talk is probably best left to the Daily Star.) It seems likely that there was some encouragement on Ms Temple’s part, but one would hope flirting with the boss was not a habit of hers, especially as her previous employer was the sadly-departed Mo Mowlam. The mind boggles.
The croquet affair will undoubtedly further damage John Prescott’s reputation. An overwhelmingly female proportion of public opinion already demands a forced resignation after his desecration of the Temple, and the croquet incident will fuel accusations that he needs a real job of some description. Whether this will be the end of him is another matter. If Prescott’s biographer Colin Brown is right in saying he will hang on until Blair stands down, he could remain Deputy Prime Minister for some time yet. There certainly seems no reason for haste on the back of the latest scandal. Playing croquet is not a sin; indeed, it is a quintessentially New Labour pastime. It attempts to appeal to all social spheres, but while being intrinsically linked to the socialist working-classes (mallet and sickle), croquet is associated largely with the bourgeois middle and upper-classes – like a less elitist polo. Nobody really likes it.
Croquet has a fascinating history in politics. Like Terry Wogan, croquet was invented by the Irish in the 1830s before being taken by the English to be enjoyed by the aristocracy (this is completely true). A less known fact is that an early form of the game existed in ancient Roman, and was particularly enjoyed by the Emperor Nero, who allegedly ‘played croquet while Rome burned.’ Throughout history, major figures such as Henry VIII and Charles Darwin are thought to have played croquet, which has now developed into the form we see John Prescott playing today. He is not alone in his love of the game: French politician Jacques Chirac used its popularity in France to win a Presidential election over Jean-Marie Le Pen with the controversial slogan ‘Vote For Croquet, Not The Fascist’.
Prescott should not be fired for playing croquet when he was meant to be governing the country in Blair’s absence. His affair with Ms Temple, however, may mean he gets the chop. There is an old joke being bandied about lately, namely: How Is John Prescott Like A Purchase From Ikea? A Couple Of Screws In The Wrong Place And The Whole Cabinet Falls Apart. It would be more accurate, but less amusing, to say that even after reshuffle nearly all the screws are in the wrong place, and without a solid base to support them, but this may be missing the point.
It is safe to say at least that Prescott is not the only culprit. There have been calls for his resignation, but a more sensible act would be to remove the office of the Deputy Prime Minister altogether, bestowing the honour of Deputy upon another senior Cabinet member who has duties of his or her own. The ‘her’ is not just included for purposes of female equality: Constitutional Affairs Minister Harriet Harman has demanded there be one PM and two deputies, of whom one must be a woman. This would be unlikely to solve any problems, but if another secretary affair did occur, it would provide a more pleasant mental image than that of John Prescott in his pants.
