Books: Genital indispositions and a talent to abuse

Lucky George: memoirs of an anti-politician by George Walden Allen Lane, pounds 17.99, 391pp: Roy Hattersley casts a cool eye over the gossip and mischief peddled by a Very Superior Person who never made it past the lower slopes of power

I AM not a great admirer of George Walden. He will not mind and it does not matter. For he admires himself enough for both of us. I am perfectly prepared to believe that he is a superior person. Indeed, there is much evidence to support that view. But superiority is best observed and admired by those who recognise it in others. Mr Walden is far too eager to exhibit his own talents. It is impossible not to suspect that his autobiography was written with that intention. It is called Lucky George, but its subtext is Clever George, Endearing George, Amusing George.

One anecdote typifies both the elegant style and the narcissistic spirit of the book. While working in the Foreign Office as a "temporary research assistant", it was suggested that he apply to join "Her Majesty's Diplomatic Service proper". He reached the final board and was "duly turned down" because he made "the most primitive of mistakes" by telling the truth about his languid lack of commitment to diplomacy. At first he assumed that - because of a German girlfriend - he was regarded as a security risk. When he was made a permanent research assistant, he felt only relief. "It was comforting to know that I had been rejected not for being a potential KGB sleeper but merely for myself."

It is clear enough how Mr Walden expects readers to react. So I shall not disappoint him. How could the Foreign Office be so stupid as to reject such a gifted candidate?

Thanks to the German girlfriend, our hero contracted what he describes as a "genital indisposition". His account of the illness is just one example of his disposition to discuss genital matters. We are spared few details about Mr Walden's early love life - including the brief period when he was a professional gigolo. Since I best remember him offering the House of Commons his elevated opinions about the state of the nation, his stories of encounters with the lady whose skin was as crinkly as a crocodile-leather belt caused me only embarrassment.

In case readers of second-rate intellect miss the point, Part Two is called "Flying High". And so Mr Walden did, once he became a regular diplomat - as First Secretary in the Paris Embassy, then as Private Secretary to David Owen and, after Labour's 1979 defeat, to Lord (Peter) Carrington.

During his time in the Foreign Secretaries' Private Office he saw a good deal of the Royal Family and he offers much useful advice about how to get on with the Queen. No doubt, in preparation for the great responsibilities which he will one day inherit, the Queen is even now giving the Prince of Wales advice about how to get on with George Walden.

Although he had only a brief relationship with David Owen, Humble George is eager to record several errors of which he was guilty during the meeting of true egos - including eating breakfast when he should have taken notes. He also had a problem which the autobiography does not admit. According to the text, when Owen was Foreign Secretary, Walden believed that Denis Healey was still Secretary of State for Defence. In fact, he was Chancellor. He had left the Ministry of Defence ten years earlier. It is not the only error in the book. Michael Portillo is elevated to the status of Old Harrovian. Portillo is an alumnus of a Harrow local authority secondary school.

During his time with Lord Carrington, Walden witnessed great happenings. That is Lucky George's justification. He was in The White House for a meeting between Margaret Thatcher and Ronald Reagan when the Foreign Secretary passed the Prime Minister a note: "Margaret, you are talking too much". However, the Foreign Office did not satisfy him and he decided - mistakenly, as he admits - on a parliamentary career. He was chosen as Conservative candidate for Buckingham - according to his account because of his children rather than because of his merits. The reader is under no obligation to accept his self-effacing explanation of his selection. Clearly, the author does not believe it himself.

Walden modestly explains that "avoiding becoming an Ambassador was not the only thing that drove me into politics". He was convinced "that Mrs Thatcher was trying to change things" and that change was desperately necessary because "terminally complacent Britain was heading into an abyss".

Much to his credit, when he arrived at Westminster, he was not (unlike many other soi disant intellectuals) taken in by Enoch Powell. He recognised that "Powell appealed to bigotry and was to find his spiritual home in the rancid politics of Northern Ireland".

He was also right about why the pedlar of "incendiary simplicities" was so admired by parliamentary colleagues. The nauseating adulation made Walden "aware of how deeply in love the House of Commons is with itself". There are passages in Lucky George that so bravely express important truths that they should not be diminished by the author's habit of stepping back to admire himself.

George Walden achieved office as Under Secretary of State at the Department of Education and Science, and brief fame for his demands that the government unite private and public schools by expanding the scholarship system. During his time at the DES, he worked under Keith Joseph and Kenneth Baker and "admired both of them" - an unusually catholic distribution of affection. Junior office was not a sufficiently attractive experience to persuade him to remain in government. After he resigned, David Mellor "sounded him out over lunch about returning... perhaps at Major's instigation". He turned the Prime Minister down although he graciously conceded that he "had nothing against him".

But then he had nothing against Margaret Thatcher. Indeed, he came into politics to march behind her banner. Now, however, he is content to tell stories about her drinking too much and beginning to look her age. Such anecdotes - interspersed with insults to old friends - are necessary to sell biographies by people who have never exercised real power themselves. But it reduces their work to the level of a hardback gossip column and reveals the true nature of the author.

When George Walden became an MP, his old boss, David Owen, gave him a piece of advice. "Either lick their arse (sic) or kick them in the balls". Lucky George does not reveal who were to be the victims of Owen's proposed aggression. Walden seemed happy to apply the formula to the world in general. In doing so, he proves how unattractive some sorts of talent can be.