- we've got form, we go way back to when he was a somewhat loutish junior executive and I was a secretary who clawed her way up to analyst in a merchant bank - Lazards, aka Lazard Brothers. In those days I was known by my colleagues to be rather left-wing - I worked there during the Miners' Strike in 1985, so the Support the Miners badge was a bit of a giveaway.
I just didn't like him - it was as if he exuded some sort of vibe that repelled me. I had very little contact with him, just passing in the office, going through doors, occasionally sharing a lift perhaps. There were plenty of people there with political views like his, and I never had a problem with them. It really wasn't about his politics, although people presumed it was. If there is such a thing as a natural antipathy, I seemed to have it. Perhaps it was mutual, he always behaved in a supercilious, patronising way to me and other women there. Nowadays I would see that as youthful insecurity, feelings of inadequacy etc. I was probably suffering some of the same things, neither of us was particularly suave or urbane in those days.
One Christmas, after I'd become a "financial analyst" some of my secretary chums had invited me to have a glass of wine in one of the offices with them. Needless to say, it was against the rules to drink at work, but no one had ever bothered much about that. We were sitting chatting when Andrew Mitchell sauntered in - he said something patronising, he probably called us "girls" which I find annoying (unless it's a woman talking about her equals, and even then, I'd rather they didn't). But mostly, he seemed to be there just to annoy, he had come in to interrupt our leisure time, to get our attention. I was holding a party popper - I shot it straight at him, hit him square in the chest, he half-staggered back - he was genuinely shocked.
"Now you know what a pheasant feels like" I said - a bit of a non sequitur, but I guess I was having a dig at his class interests. There was a lot of weekend shooting amongst the directors and executives in the autumn and winter.
I left, I followed his career in a desultory way - I met his constituency agent at a drinks party in Ireland once - he told me a couple of stories. Later my sister and her husband became very friendly with Andrew and his wife, a GP, and when he became Development Minister he seemed mysteriously to now be on the side of the poor and I even agreed with him about certain things. I wondered if he had improved and whether perhaps I had misjudged him, but I never met him again.
Today's incident, calling a policeman a pleb rings entirely true - of course he talks like that, a lot of people do in private. He was feeling irritable, he let rip. There but for the grace of God go I. It's all very well David Cameron giving us the nice paternal lecture "be nice to the police, they do a difficult job". We can all nod and say "yes Daddy" - but the individual's relationship with the police of is a highly class-based issue. It's no secret that many of the upper class despise the police, resent the fact that people from lower middle or working class backgrounds have any authority over them. The police know this, they aren't complete idiots. Andrew Mitchell and others think they are better than the police, than their secretaries, than the rest of us. Presumably the people who voted for the Tories agree.
The most famous evidence of Tory toffery is the Bullingdon Club photo - which was suppressed, could not legally be used, since the image it showed of youthful elitism didn't help the Tory claim to be "down with the masses" - I'm not sure if elitism is the best word - it's more an image of superiority and confidence. They are 20 year olds - they are dressed in something close to a military mess uniform. They are not with us - they could well be against us. Mitchell's swearing at a policeman is Bullingdon on a bike, a dynamic version of the picture. We masses can half sympathise, we would all like to shout at policemen sometimes - only we don't dare, we might find strange boot-shaped marks on our faces when we woke up. Mitchell, because of his social class, is largely protected from that, so he has the confidence to shout at the police, he doesn't see why they have authority over him. He is the Government, the ruling class, he is the superiority and confidence of the Bullingdon Club 30 years on - in action.
(Yes, I do know that AM was at Cambridge and not a member of the Bullingdon Club but I'm sure he would have wanted to join if he'd been at Oxford)
I just didn't like him - it was as if he exuded some sort of vibe that repelled me. I had very little contact with him, just passing in the office, going through doors, occasionally sharing a lift perhaps. There were plenty of people there with political views like his, and I never had a problem with them. It really wasn't about his politics, although people presumed it was. If there is such a thing as a natural antipathy, I seemed to have it. Perhaps it was mutual, he always behaved in a supercilious, patronising way to me and other women there. Nowadays I would see that as youthful insecurity, feelings of inadequacy etc. I was probably suffering some of the same things, neither of us was particularly suave or urbane in those days.
One Christmas, after I'd become a "financial analyst" some of my secretary chums had invited me to have a glass of wine in one of the offices with them. Needless to say, it was against the rules to drink at work, but no one had ever bothered much about that. We were sitting chatting when Andrew Mitchell sauntered in - he said something patronising, he probably called us "girls" which I find annoying (unless it's a woman talking about her equals, and even then, I'd rather they didn't). But mostly, he seemed to be there just to annoy, he had come in to interrupt our leisure time, to get our attention. I was holding a party popper - I shot it straight at him, hit him square in the chest, he half-staggered back - he was genuinely shocked.
"Now you know what a pheasant feels like" I said - a bit of a non sequitur, but I guess I was having a dig at his class interests. There was a lot of weekend shooting amongst the directors and executives in the autumn and winter.
I left, I followed his career in a desultory way - I met his constituency agent at a drinks party in Ireland once - he told me a couple of stories. Later my sister and her husband became very friendly with Andrew and his wife, a GP, and when he became Development Minister he seemed mysteriously to now be on the side of the poor and I even agreed with him about certain things. I wondered if he had improved and whether perhaps I had misjudged him, but I never met him again.
Today's incident, calling a policeman a pleb rings entirely true - of course he talks like that, a lot of people do in private. He was feeling irritable, he let rip. There but for the grace of God go I. It's all very well David Cameron giving us the nice paternal lecture "be nice to the police, they do a difficult job". We can all nod and say "yes Daddy" - but the individual's relationship with the police of is a highly class-based issue. It's no secret that many of the upper class despise the police, resent the fact that people from lower middle or working class backgrounds have any authority over them. The police know this, they aren't complete idiots. Andrew Mitchell and others think they are better than the police, than their secretaries, than the rest of us. Presumably the people who voted for the Tories agree.
The most famous evidence of Tory toffery is the Bullingdon Club photo - which was suppressed, could not legally be used, since the image it showed of youthful elitism didn't help the Tory claim to be "down with the masses" - I'm not sure if elitism is the best word - it's more an image of superiority and confidence. They are 20 year olds - they are dressed in something close to a military mess uniform. They are not with us - they could well be against us. Mitchell's swearing at a policeman is Bullingdon on a bike, a dynamic version of the picture. We masses can half sympathise, we would all like to shout at policemen sometimes - only we don't dare, we might find strange boot-shaped marks on our faces when we woke up. Mitchell, because of his social class, is largely protected from that, so he has the confidence to shout at the police, he doesn't see why they have authority over him. He is the Government, the ruling class, he is the superiority and confidence of the Bullingdon Club 30 years on - in action.
(Yes, I do know that AM was at Cambridge and not a member of the Bullingdon Club but I'm sure he would have wanted to join if he'd been at Oxford)
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