Interesting Times

Day 2 at the GLA and probably one of the weirdest days of my working life. Having railed against Blair, Clarke and Jowell over the last few months in this here blog, I've come embarrassingly close to them all, something I would probably find amusing and entertaining were it not for such an unwelcome reason. Today capped it all, though, as we were herded down to the ground floor for an unspecified reason. Being all new-boy keen (and new-boy unoccupied) I ended up amongst the first three to get there, and was asked to queue up for the book by some security guys. It became abundantly apparent that Tony Blair was on his way to sign the book of condolence and we had, as one of the security chaps had put it, been drafted in as rentacrowd.

This was a difficult situation. I'd thought about signing the book, of course, but not to the extent that I'd thought of what I would put in the book. Suddenly I was put in a situation where I really ought to sign it, and to do so directly after the Prime Minister. Part of me, I will admit, wanted to place some pithy cryptic criticism as close as I could to Blair's message, but saw that it was not really the time or the place. But as I stood there I did wonder with a real bitterness, whether this happened in Iraq, or Israel, or Palestine whenever a bombing occurred, or whether a book of remembrance remains open for the victims of global capitalism, or of trade sanctions. No-one wants to play the numbers game with these sort of atrocities, and I would never choose to belittle the losses that we suffered on Thursday, but nevertheless they do remain small in comparison to the sites of other conflicts. That said, a death is a death is a death.

Tony came along, looking tired and haggard, was shepherded to the books, sat down and allowed his creative ruminations to be photographed. Then the moment I was dreading, the shaking of hands. Happily I have an innate ability to go all stiff and official-looking when involved in these kinds of ceremonies. I'm one of those people who can't walk around HMV without being asked questions about the stock. Because to my left I had two security guards, and I was emanating an unwillingness to shake hands with Blair and an aura of officialdom, Tony decided to start his handshaking with the guys standing to my right. Or perhaps it was merely that he didn't want to shake hands with someone wearing a black shirt? (Straw and Mugabe anyone?) Either way I've secretly enjoyed the fact that I've been snubbed by the PM, and possibly on TV to boot.

When I finally did reach the book, I went for something faintly platitudiness, but heartfelt nonetheless. No-one gains from mud-fighting, least of all at funerals. On returning to my desk my line manager informed me, light-heartedly, that I'd signed the "wrong book". My message went into the visiting dignitaries book, so I'm sharing scribble space with the England Cricket team, the Princess Royal, Ken, Jowell, Clarke... And there I was thinking we were all leveled in the shadow of what has transpired. Certainly in this act of remembrance we were all in it together.

While waiting to sign, while composing my words, I came up against a further dilemma, which was whether to say "I" or "We"; should I write about my thoughts or our thoughts. The former is egotistical, the latter presumptuous and less sincere. But this dilemma was faced in the quiet, away from any public attention - to face similar niggling issues in the glare of the world's media, and to have to make really serious decisions as well, is something I would not envy, and although I agree with very little of what Blair is currently about, I'll give him sympathy enough of that.