Whipping boys

There’s been a lot of speculation about which characters in my book, Whips, are based on real people.

The thing is, I honestly didn’t set out to draw specific people. Even the shambolic ex-PM, rattling around the speaking circuit, writing poorly researched hagiographies of his favourite historical figures, was conceived while politicos and media types were touting ten more years of Boris Johnson. Perhaps I’m a mystic.

Anyway, I did set out to group the different types of MPs I’ve come across into individual caricatures. That way, everybody gets an airing and nobody’s entirely exposed. A new kind of collective responsibility.

So here is my list of ‘types’ (just the main ones, of course – listing the full splinter groups and offshoots would require the entire magazine).

Try-Hards – Need someone to do a media round to polish the biggest turd the Government has laid this year?

No problem – the try-hard likes pain. They’ll take the party line and just keep saying it, without deviation or hesitation, their large, unblinking eyes staring down the camera lens.

Batter them at Question Time, skewer them on Newsnight. Water off a cuck’s back.

They’ll ask whatever easy, sycophantic questions are needed at PMQs on the day the PM is facing calls to resign. They go to every single event they’re invited to and like to keep up with the Chief Whip, pressing their suit for a ministerial post somewhere in the next reshuffle.

They know they can deliver on whatever the agenda is. Just give them a team of civil servants, some time at the despatch box, a microphone and a teeny-weeny bit of power… It’s all great experience for the jungle/ice rink/dance floor/jail.

Spams – Have you ever looked at a full list of Members of Parliament? I bet there are a lot of names on there you’ve only vaguely – or perhaps never – heard of.

A recurring theme in Whips is an interchangeable assortment of Davids whom you never meet but who are dutifully trotting through the voting lobby the way they’re meant to.

In real life there is a bit more variety. They are called things like Graham and Stuart, too. Not bad people, but not setting the world alight with their oratory, ideas or charisma. Spam because they constitute a fair amount of the meat in any Parliamentary room but their presence is essentially just matter.

Spam also because this generally matches their complexion. Their numbers are especially important for leadership contests, where they are surprised to be singled out for wooing when all the media attention is devoted to landing the endorsement of a handful of big beasts.

Ex-Professionals – Just imagine.

You finally leave work in the Square Mile, where you carefully avoided the more spirited elements of Christmas parties and work ski trips at your investment bank/law firm/insurance brokerage because you had political ambitions and you wanted to be able to say you’d not even seen cocaine.

Then you get to Parliament and all the same outrages are happening here! Only there’s no proper HR department to get everyone straightened out. It’s annoying to be competently on top of your brief only to be overtaken by swivel-eyed loons on loyalty or partyunity grounds. And where on earth is everybody getting their suits made?

You’ve got ambitions to be Chancellor – but a cool one. It feels good to tell your friends you’re fiscally conservative but socially liberal. The Budget will be your Glastonbury. And if it doesn’t quite work out, it’s nice to know you can return to make piles of cash again – and who knows, maybe give the blow a go in Ibiza.

Bright Balliol Chaps – If I’m making an intervention in the Chamber, you know it’s going to be good. Why else would I waste my time?

I was one to watch at the Union – not that I still think about that, of course –and I’m still a pretty good speaker. Anyway, I’ve got plenty to be getting on with, thanks to my latest book. Very, very highbrow non-fiction. Plus I’m learning Mandarin. And writing my column. There’s some talk about podcasts. National treasure, here I come…

It’s fun to be a sounding board for my more shamelessly ambitious friends. Some are giving up their club memberships in their bids for power. What are they going to do – survive on House of Commons plonk? Good luck.

I’m not all about Pall Mall, of course. Some of my dearest new friends are Red Wallers. Occasionally it gets written up that I have Cabinet ambitions, but I think I’d rather pass on the team sports unless, of course, the team in question is led by me.

Good Eggs – They exist, trust me. Perhaps they don’t get as much airtime in Whips as they should, but that’s simply because the rotten eggs are far more fun to satirise.

Good eggs do make brilliant protagonists, though. So take heart that they find their time in the sun. In my experience, the good eggs are faultlessly polite and pleasant to deal with, regardless of how junior or unimportant you seem. They dish out advice freely, work hard and spend as little time as possible on Twitter.

They are willing to do media when it is necessary, and tend to be good at it, but are not incentivised by column inches. They have great ideas but are courteous about relaying them to people, working behind the scenes with their colleagues to write policy papers and research with think tanks.

They are diligent constituency MPs, are incredibly loyal and abhor psychodramas. Somewhat as with the spams, if you are a party leader and lose the good eggs’ confidence, you’re finished.

Absolute Grims – Sex pests. Gropers. Bullies. Fraudsters. Cheaters. Liars.

The grims make up a tiny proportion of the House of Commons, but their sleaze has undermined the credibility of the entire place.

The spectrum is wide, from dodgy expense claimants and the annoying, drunken slobberers at party conferences, to tax-avoiding fraudsters and the perpetrators of serious sexual assault.

There isn’t a particular formula for these people. Some arrive as rotters, while others cave in to the corrupting influences of SW1.

How they are exposed also varies –and always shocks, not least because they are often overlooked as a result of their membership of one of the above groups.

I once read that roughly one per cent of the population are psychopaths, but this increases to ten per cent in business and politics.

How do you keep them out of Parliament? Being an MP is a strange, tough existence and it’s hard to sift out the psychos and retain the sincerely brilliant.

The good news is that, in Whips, there are a few ideas on how to get rid of them once they’re discovered…