Exclusive Preview (Part 2): The Alastair Campbell Diaries – Extract: Iraq – The Eve Of War.

by richardhutton

Part two of our exclusive preview, drawn from Alastair Campbell’s recently disclosed journals.  

 What was the atmosphere like within the halls of power on the eve of the invasion? Alastair Campbell’s personal diaries provide a fresh insight into these disturbing events; ones which allow the reader to gain an understanding of the period like no other.  

The following extract is based exclusively upon the most credible sources: Alastair Campbell’s personal diaries; the BBC journalist John Simpson’s The Wars Against Saddam; and the Fox News pundit Bill O’Reilly’s Those Who Trespass[1].

19th March 2003

7:13pm

‘You rotten bastard!’ Cherie shrieked as she burst through my office door, waving a sheaf of grimy papers at me. ‘How could you do this to me? How? How?’
‘Do what?’ I asked.
‘You know bloody well what! This always happens whenever Tony’s with you!’
‘Well, in all fairness now, it was only the once’ I replied; not entirely truthfully.

There was his wedding night, for instance.
And the engagement party the year before.
Actually, there was the christening of his niece as well.

‘He knows very well he shouldn’t go to war. He knows it’.
‘Oh. The war – right, well, yes’.   
‘I told him to stay away from that George Bush. Him and his gang.  But you – I expect better from you, Alastair. You’re a grown up’.
‘I’m a man’ I replied. A man; here with this agitated woman.
‘Yes; well…’ Cherie quipped, looking away.
‘You know, I did try to dissuade Tony from going to war, Cherie. Really, I did. Honest. He was just so set on it – he was just so decisive and assured. It seemed like there was nothing I could do to convince him of his folly’.

Wrong word; and didn’t Cherie make me feel it.

‘Folly? His folly? He told me what happened, Alastair!
How you helped him make his case!’
‘Did he tell you anything else?’ I enquired tentatively.
‘He told me everything, Alastair. Everything’.      

I held my breath. Cherie has an awful temper; and an excellent aim with blunt objects.
Hell hath no fury like a Prime Minister’s wife scorned; less still one whose husband literally sexed-up a dossier.

‘All about the UN, and the half-assed journalists; and Charles Kennedy’s crapulence’.
‘Now come on – we never even mentioned his irritable bowel…’
‘His drinking habits, Alastair. You know what I’m talking about’.

The dossier fell from Cherie’s hand. She stood still a moment, looking tired, and worn. The slight lines around her mouth seemed somewhat darker. It made me realise I hadn’t seen her smile – her beguiling, terrifying smile – for several days now.

‘I tell you…’ she began; ‘it comes to something when the drunkest member of parliament is the one speaking the most sense’.
‘But he’s Scottish’ I replied. ‘He could perform surgery drunk’.
Cherie looked askance.
‘That’s not the point and you know it. What will it mean for Tony? When he was elected Prime Minister, we never thought he would actually have to do anything’.
‘Well don’t worry – nothing’s changed’.
‘How can you say that? We’re going to war’.
‘It’s only soldiers who’ll be sent overseas; and if it all goes wrong for them, we’ll blame the Americans’.
‘I blame them already’.
‘So do I. So do I, Cherie. They misled your husband; and now he’s got himself into a right mess. It’s up to us to get him out of it’.
‘But how? We’re on the eve of war!’
‘It could be worse’ I demurred.
‘How? How could it possibly be worse?’
‘It’s only Iraq’
‘What?’
‘Well, I mean, at least its nowhere important’.
‘That’s not what I was talking about! I meant how could it be worse for me? How often does Rupert Murdoch usually call Prime Ministers’ wives, asking them to pose topless with an American flag?’

I didn’t mention the fact that Murdoch had propositioned me in like manner. I had declined, of course; out of necessity. But a thought occurred.

‘I know,’ I began. ‘It certainly is a tragedy. And it could have terrible consequences for Tony’s career. Or at least his parliamentary standing. I did tell him that. I really did’.
‘Then why didn’t he listen? Why didn’t he listen Alastair? Why?’.

Cherie was obviously frantic; and I could think of only one way to relieve the tension.
I slapped her, hard, across the face. Once, twice – that’s all it takes to make a hysterical woman see sense; and succumb to my charms.
Cherie recoiled, and looked coyly at the floor – at the same rug Tony and I had laid the dossier upon before…well, anyway, I noticed Cherie had begun to pull her earlobes gently. It was a nervous habit of old; and it aroused me no end.

‘But what am I supposed to do?’ she asked imploringly.
‘You need to relax, mon Cherie. You just need to calm down’.             
‘You’re going to have to be strong for me, Alastair. For me and Tony’.
‘I’ll be anything you want me to be, baby. Everything’s going to be alright. Everything’s going to be just fine’.
‘But how can you be so sure?’
‘Because I’m Alastair Campbell, baby. And I’m just that good’.
‘Prove it. Prove it to us, Alastair – to me’.

And so I proved it, reader. 

Cherie was now wearing only brief white knickers. She had signalled her desire by removing her shirt and skirt, and by leaning back on the couch. She closed her eyes, concentrating on nothing but my tongue and lips. I gently teased her by licking the areas around her most sensitive erogenous zone. Then I slipped her knickers down her legs and – within seconds – my tongue was inside her, moving rapidly”.

And that is where the extract ends. The following day, Britain and America invaded Iraq; and the rest is recent history.  


[1] Dialogue is pure conjecture.

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