Affairs of State

I'm still a bit gobsmacked by this Edwina Currie/ John Major mad passionate affair story going around. What a hoot!! And there was me thinking that only American Presidents were getting any.

I remember at the time Edwina Currie was seen as a bit of glam on the Conservative Party scene. It might sound barmy now, but back then the Conservative Party were majorly respectable and seriously pompous. It was led by the most depressing and autocratic woman on the planet, the fabled Margaret Thatcher. She might be a Barbara Cartland figure of political fun these days, but back then she was Britannia, Boadicia and Cruella De Ville all rolled into one.

She ran a team of ruthless politicos who were Oxbridge's Revenge - Class warriors of the upperclass variety, whose drive to crush organised labour would frequently spill over into pure sadism and spite. Most ended up in the House of Lords in recognition of their achievement.

Political sex seemed to haunt Thatcher's self-satisfied cabinet. It had a touch of the court of Elizabeth I about it, with ambitiousTory toadies vying to take on the roles of Earl of Essex or Sir Walter Raleigh. A few of them couldn't keep their trousers on - and the likes of Cecil Parkinson, David Mellor and Jonathan Aitken all let their dicks do the talking, wrecking promising careers in the process.

David Mellor, a plonker of the highest order, probably dealt with it a little better than most. His squeeze was a leggy model with a fancy name, and the newspaper revelations of cavorting about in a Chelsea football shirt were hilarious. Mellor did what they all do - paraded a stoical trophy wife and a bewildered family on the doorstep for the press to snap - but later basked in the newly racy reputation. And yes, he's that annoying toerag on post-match radio, who saddos driving back from Torquay vs Hartlepool ring up to complain about dodgy offside decisions. (What is it about the BBC and the fallen angels...you just know Jeffrey Archer's destined for Governor General there...and I'll give you one guess who pays Edwina's wages right now...)

To put it bluntly, the PM and his ugly cabinet will always get a shag. The women too. Look at all that fuss about Virginia Bottomley, who at one point rivaled Madonna in the tabloid shaggability polls. Even Edwina Currie had her moment. As a Minister of Health she was a cross between Cilla Black and a Christmas tree, and she probably had half the backbench eating chips out of her knickers.

Who would have thought that the backbencher to fall for her hardest would be Thatcher's eventual successor, John Major. Now this guy is one of the original invisible men of English history - up there with Andrew Bonar Law, Neville Chamberlain and James Callaghan as the most undewhelming Prime Ministers of the century. Only now, he's mysterious and interesting, a man of hidden depths and passions. Sad middleaged female columnists will be falling all over themselves to admit a long standing crush on the feller.

To be honest I'd barely noticed he existed. Edwina Currie resigned from the Health Ministry job over a ridiculous salmonella in eggs gaff and fell off the political radar almost instantly. Sales of eggs were way down until Delia Smith suddenly made then hip again, but by then EC was a just a small bit of fluff on the Conservative Party record. Mind you - you can't miss Eddie Currie if you go anywhere near Radio Five Live of a weekend, where she's become the late night bouche-du-jour, interviewing minor blips on the political scene in between plugging her latest bodice-ripper. Yes, she writes political potboilers that will doubtless now be drooled over by slack jawed political correspondoes looking for parallels between her fictional tales of sordid rumpy in the commons corridors and the real thing.

Major meanwhile comes right out with it and insults his former lover in a futile effort to distance himself from the fall out. In describing the passionate four year affair as the most shameful event of his life he has virtually guaranteed that EC will publish every last detail of the whole story. She's on the warpath and she's a right to be. She's kept this under wraps for a long long time - a remarkable thing given that she seems to be a walking gossip factory.

She could have blurted the whole thing to a slavering red-top tabloid for millions and brought Prime Minister John Major's political trousers down at any time. Such a revelation during the final stages of the Post Thatcher leadership campaign would have guaranteed Michael Heseltine as this country's Prime Minster. He's a very lucky feller that Edwina has kept this a secret for so long. Major owes Edwina big time, and seems to have forgotten this in his rush for political cover. Now there's a loose woman scorned it'll be a Channel Five Movie by bonfire night, and all over the papers for the next millennium. Johnny "Currie and a Shag" Major, This Is Your Life.

Ironically, as self-pubicist publicist Max Clifford has already pointed out, this has probably done more to raise John Major's profile than he could have ever hoped for. Yesterday he wasan old grey puppet on Spitting Image repeats, and the post-Thatcher soft option. Now he's the House Of Commons shagbag and a bit of a glam figure in his own right.

A new wave of reporters will now start to look at the suspiciously scandal free Blair Babes and wonder if there's more going on in those late night cabinet sessions than meets the eye. A strong whiff of Profumo has been blowing down the old corridors of power for quite a time now, and the law of averages says that there's another juicy scandal just waiting for the right Tabloid offer.

Tony Blair's spin doctor will be working hard to keep this latest sex and politics tale firmly focussed on the opposition back bench where it seems all sorts of unmentionable stuff is going on. "No scandal in Tony's cabinet, so don't even go there" will be the message. But as another smirking glamourpuss once said, "He would say that, wouldn't he..."

Blogga.