I had two problems over the rebate, both significant for how our relationship with Europe under my leadership could develop. The first was the near-hysterical sorry, correct that truly hysterical behaviour of the Eurosceptic media. Papers with a combined daily circulation of around eight million a situation unique in Europe in terms of pervasion were totally, wildly and irredeemably hostile to Europe, misrepresented what Europe was doing and generally regarded it as a zero-sum game: anything that pleased Brussels was bad for Britain. The Murdoch papers were especially virulent. Much of the media had become like that under Mrs Thatcher, and in time I came to see the sentiment she engendered as the single worst legacy that she bequeathed Britain (though on the whole she was undoubtedly a great prime minister).

The myth developed and abounds today that she was always like this. She wasn't. In 1979 and 1983 particularly, she had been the pro-Europe candidate for prime minister. At the time the Mail Mail was in favour, as was the was in favour, as was the Telegraph Telegraph. But when Mrs Thatcher turned sceptic, she infected her media supporters and by 2005 it had become a leitmotif of a large part of British journalism.

In general terms, for me, Europe was a simple issue. It was to do with the modern world. I supported the Europe ideal, but even if I hadn't, it was utterly straightforward: in a world of new emerging powers, Britain needed Europe in order to exert influence and advance its interests. It wasn't complicated. It wasn't a psychiatric issue. It was a practical question of realpolitik.

I regarded anti-European feeling as hopelessly, absurdly out of date and unrealistic. It was also the product of a dangerous insularity, a myopia about the world that I thought affected adversely the whole psychology of the country. It was a kind of post-empire delusion.

It was bolstered over a time when the American right who rather despised European feebleness on foreign policy (and the Brussels bureaucracy was of course a byword) got together with the British right and constructed an argument that was a plaything for the US but a dangerous cul-de-sac for the British. This was the idea that somehow we should remain close allies of the US in contradistinction to being key partners in the EU.

Of course, this was a delusion as well. The US was so much more powerful in terms of economics and politics than the UK that such a dependence suited them but not us. It was also absolutely apparent to me that if we had reach in Europe, we were treated more seriously in Washington.

Moreover, in the rest of the world a Britain semi-detached from Europe was regarded as odd, part of British eccentricity, something to be amused by, a 'good old Brits' type of thing which I really detested. I recall visiting Lee Kuan Yew the smartest leader I think I ever met in Singapore in 1995 when I was Leader of the Opposition. He was something of a bete noire for the left. Rather to his surprise, I didn't ask him about democracy in Singapore. Since I had heard tell of how clever he was and any fool could see what he had achieved in Singapore was one of the greatest creations of modern political imagination, I asked him simply: Tell me how to win and how to govern.

He grunted, paused for a moment and then basically laid it out for me. His advice on governing was: keep the Thatcher reforms but get rid of this madness on Europe. 'I've told Margaret she's crazy on this,' he said. 'Britain can't afford to be out of Europe in the world as it is today. It's just not realistic.' Much later, the wonderful Indian prime minister Manmohan Singh told me the same thing. The Chinese were too polite and formal to say it quite so plainly, but it was obvious that's what they thought too.

Quite why Britain had taken this Eurosceptic att.i.tude so much to heart was a curious question. My theory but this may be total nonsense is that our problem with Europe is that we didn't invent it; or at least weren't a founding member. Then when Harold Macmillan sensibly decided we should join, de Gaulle said, 'Non.' This, combined with the strong imperial feelings that still lurked beneath the surface of the British psyche part superiority complex, part insecurity complex gave us a national narrative about the EU that was deeply unhelpful.

Of course, Europe had its own delusion: that the way to make Europe stronger was simply to integrate its decision-making processes. In other words, 'pro-European' opinion was in favour of more qualified majority voting, more powers to the European Parliament, more areas for European legislation, etc. It was a focus that was essentially const.i.tutional, and this didn't help either. It became, in time, a way of avoiding the real issue affecting European strength: how to make strong policy decisions that took Europe in the right direction. People wanted endless debates about the technical framework, tending to shy away from the core political questions: to liberalise our economy or not; to be strong players in defence or not; what sort of foreign policy, and so on.

What all this meant was that the British delusion a prejudice was sustained by objective material it found in the European delusion. There were criticisms of Europe that were entirely valid, but none of them should have resulted in our separating ourselves from Europe. They gave the Eurosceptics solid and well-founded points to make about Europe's direction, and their negativity more or less dominated the British debate.

Also, by this time the British rebate had a.s.sumed a mythical, almost cult status in the 2005 budget negotiation. To challenge it was like introducing Darwin to an ardent creationist. In the early years, Britain had paid a disproportionate amount under the then basis for calculating contributions to the EU budget. In 1983, Mrs Thatcher secured a rebate on a complicated formula, but with a simple purpose: to reduce the UK contribution and make it more proportionate. She had dug in hard; and this had become part of hallowed mythology.

As Europe enlarged, the formula which at that time had barely compensated Britain for the unfairness worked in such a way that it then became unfair to the others. This was not hard to see. The figures were there. Agreed. Clear. In pounds, shillings and pence. Or euros.

But none of this mattered in the UK debate. The rebate was untouchable. To question it was to betray the nation. To a.n.a.lyse the figures was itself to push Britain down the slippery slope. The Spanish Inquisition would have afforded more leeway to an apostate.

I said there were two problems with the rebate issue. The other was Gordon. He was taking a very hard line and I knew he would have to be carefully managed. There were already numerous reports suggesting he was having to 'stop' me giving it all away. Needless to say, Rupert Murdoch's papers were in full flow. So I thought it was going to be a darn sight easier to navigate my way through if I were the pilot. The Luxembourg deal was not a bad one; it wasn't quite good enough; I could do better. And I could do it with much greater facility if I were in charge of the negotiations. It was a real gamble of course, and it raised the stakes of my own presidency hugely. If I failed it would be very d.a.m.ning, but if I succeeded it would be a big achievement.

On 22 June, just after the Luxembourg summit had ended without agreement, Jean-Claude addressed the European Parliament as the outgoing president. I was due to address them next day as the incoming president. Jean-Claude, who the MEPs thought had been very badly treated, got a rousing reception. He was a true European. He had been let down by Perfidious Albion. He had fought the good fight, and the European Parliament, a bit like the Labour Party, likes nothing more than a valiant loser. He got a standing ovation, gave a very federalist address and basically accused those who didn't agree of undermining Europe.

It wasn't a great scene-setter for my visit the following day. Having heard from the shocked and outraged father of the kidnapped maiden, so cruelly violated, they were now going to listen to the person what did it.

It was a very significant occasion for me. I was a three-time election winner (which made some admire me, and some resent me especially on the left, since they took the view that a progressive leader who won elections was therefore almost certainly unprincipled); I was, after Iraq, a divisive figure; I had not got Britain to join the euro. Though my general posture was pro-European, I took care not to go beyond what was reasonable for British opinion. This meant I was slagged off by the right for being pro-European and by the left for being insufficiently so. But it allowed me to govern and to move things forward where I could.

And so I did, and with Jacques Chirac launched Europe's common defence policy. As president in 1998 I had actually chaired the Council which brought the euro into being (I was being a trifle facetious a few pages ago), and managed to negotiate the appointment of Wim Duisenberg as president of the European Central Bank a mess of a negotiation, by the way, where French pride ran into Dutch obstinacy and collided with German interests, represented by the great (but by then somewhat fading) Helmut Kohl. I had been instrumental in the Lisbon process, the first serious attempt to put European economic reform within a coherent framework of action, with limited but still real success. I had weaved my way through three major European treaties Amsterdam, Nice and the Rome Const.i.tutional Treaty all of which could easily have pushed Britain back to the margins of Europe where we had languished from 1992 to 1997. Instead, Britain remained pretty much at the heart of things.

Most of all, in June 2004 I had organised opposition to the French/German demand that the Belgian prime minister Guy Verhofstadt become president of the Commission, and instead got Jose Manuel Barroso appointed. This was the first time that the twin-engine motor of Europe had been stalled in respect of such a big issue. My relationship with Gerhard Schroeder never recovered. Jacques Chirac took it more philosophically. But Barroso was plainly the better choice if you wanted Europe to reform in a non-federalist direction. However, the point is that without that relationship with other leaders, without Britain being mainstream and not marginalised, it would never have happened. It was, in fact, a real object lesson on why it is important to stay at the centre of things. As a result of being in the middle, we could achieve. On the periphery, counting for nothing, we achieve nothing.

Of course, there was also the fact that I was criticised by the pro-Europe lobby for not being sufficiently 'courageous' in taking Britain into the euro. In truth, this was nothing whatever to do with courage or the lack of it. Nor was it to do with Gordon's opposition. At first, indeed in 1997, he had been the one wanting a more pro-single-currency position and I was resisting. My problem with the euro was very simple. In principle, I was in favour and for me the politics were clear: better to join and be full players in Europe's economic decision-making. But I also knew that the politics were also very clear in another direction. It is, after all, as I used to say to my folk, an economic proposition. It is called economic and monetary union. Unless it was economically plain that it would be good for Britain, it was simply not politically sellable, i.e. the political problem was the economics. The trouble was the economic case was at best ambiguous; and certainly not beyond doubt. At the time of the 2001 election, I thought it conceivable the economics would shift decisively in favour and I was absolutely determined that if they did, I would chance it all on a referendum. My disagreement with Gordon was that he was expressing himself negatively on the euro. I was always saying, Even if we don't join and maybe especially if we don't, for reasons of diplomacy always sound positive. If the economics had changed, I would have gone for it. They didn't. And for me, that was that. (Just for the record, it is also completely untrue that I offered to stand down if Gordon agreed to try to take us into the single currency.) So, in summary, I had a record which gave me supporters and detractors, but right at that moment on 23 June 2005, the latter outnumbered the former.

The speech ended up as one of my more important ones. I wrote it myself, sat at my desk early in the morning in my Brussels hotel. It was one of those that just flowed. I picked up my pen, and wrote until it was finished.

As I stood up in front of the EU Parliament, they were ready to jeer. Mind you, after the House of Commons at PMQs, it was like being in a girls' school playground after serving a long stretch in a high-security prison.

I knew what I wanted to say. I had thought about it for years, and this was my chance. For me, Europe was ripe for a debate over cla.s.sic third-way politics. It was pinned between those who talked of social Europe, which basically meant more regulation, and those who wanted Europe to be only a market and nothing else. So: sceptics versus federalists. Essentially I said that the purpose of social Europe and economic Europe should be to sustain each other, and that 'the purpose of political Europe should be to promote the democratic and effective inst.i.tutions to develop policy in these two spheres and across the board where we want and need to cooperate in our mutual interest. But the purpose of political leadership is to get the policies right for today's world.'

I then went on to set out Europe's challenge: how to change in a changing world in which not just the US but China, India and the emerging powers would play an ever bigger role, as nations far outweighing individual European nations in size, population and thus, in time, influence.

I praised Europe. I also mocked the pretensions of the endless const.i.tutional focus, pointing out that each time we said that the purpose of such an obsession was to bring us 'closer to the people' we lost even more of their support. I then set out an agenda for change, based on big policy decisions and direction.

Of course, I was hugely a.s.sisted by the fact that due to the French and Dutch rejections of the Const.i.tution in the referenda, it could hardly be argued that the present politics of Europe was working. That Europe was in crisis couldn't really be disputed, and this fuelled my argument for change.

The speech made a big impact, and resulted in the first decent publicity I had had in Britain for years (though that was for bad reasons as well as good, since Eurosceptics also liked it). It reverberated around Europe and became the talking point.

In the questions in the Parliament that followed the speech, I also gave them a bit of PMQs showmanship, slapping a few of them around a bit (their colleagues always like that), putting down the UK Independence Party mavericks (demonstrating you could take on the British sceptics), and generally making jokes and delivering put-downs that entertained the crowd. Danny Cohn-Bendit, the 1968 Paris revolutionary, was due to speak after me. I told him I used to listen to his speeches in the old days, and now he had to listen to mine, which was progress. They all liked that and it flattered him.

In time the effect wore off, naturally, but it set the stage well for the presidency. What could have begun very inauspiciously ended up with people intrigued and willing to give it a go.

Of course, the hard fact remained we had no budget deal. Europe's politics were also about to undergo a big change in leadership with the September election in Germany. Gerhard and the SDP fought back really hard from being way down in the polls and very nearly did it, but Angela Merkel just came through to become the new Chancellor.

As I say, my friendship with Gerhard had dimmed. He got over Iraq, but he was furious over Guy and the presidency of the Commission. At the dinner where Guy's appointment was blocked, he rounded on me in a very personal way. I tried to explain that Guy was not someone whose direction for Europe I could agree with. It wasn't personal on my part. Gerhard made it clear: it was on his, and that was that. It was a pity. He had many really significant leadership qualities, which I admired.

I had spent time with Angela before the election. The truth is and I fear this was becoming increasingly the case in my relations with the European centre right we had more in common with her than with the German SDP. The SDP were very close to Russia, and although Gerhard was a reformer, his party wasn't. Their view of the European social model was very traditional. Angela would see the need for change. I liked her as a person also. She seemed at first rather shy, even aloof, but she had a twinkle that swiftly came through. I thought she was honest and instinctively a kindred spirit, and we got on well.

Her arrival made somewhat ungainly by the protracted German coalition negotiation after her narrow victory was a major new factor in the budget deal. It also bore on another critical challenge: relations with Turkey. Under its new government, Turkey had been making significant strides towards Europe. The government was controlled by the Islamist AK Party, contrary to the secular mould of Turkish politics. The prime minister Tayyip Erdogan, however, and the then foreign minister, Abdullah Gul, were sensible, forward-looking men who, frankly, at least at that time, were the easiest Turkish politicians I had met. They were smart, knew what they wanted, were anxious to come into Europe and, what's more, reasonable on Cyprus.

Europe had worked out a position that was in favour of Turkish EU membership in the long term, but it was going to take time. There were criteria for accession; they should be met to allay the nervousness of European countries with large Turkish migrant populations like Germany; and they gave Turkey's modernisers something to aim at. So, in principle, yes; in practice, very much in the future. But that was OK. It just about held together.

The reason for the reluctance was partly that EU membership had only recently enlarged and people wanted time to digest, and partly that Turkey, a nation of over 70 million Muslims, was clearly une autre chose une autre chose. The point was not that EU leaders were anti-Muslim, though among the population no doubt that sentiment was present. But, plainly and actually reasonably, this would be a major change in the nature of Europe and had to be got right.

I was and am in favour of Turkey's accession. I want Turkey looking west and Europe looking east, and, handled correctly, Turkey's membership would do us all good. It is very dangerous for us and for them to push Turkey away, because it would appear to underscore the fact that Judaeo-Christian and Muslim civilisations cannot coexist. The implications of estrangement are very large. After I left office, Turkey was politely but firmly pushed back in the direction of something less than full membership. It is a perilous mistake for both parties.

At the end of October, I held an informal EU summit at Hampton Court Palace. Unusually for such meetings, it produced an agenda on issues like universities, research and development, energy and innovation, on which a new European budget should sensibly concentrate. Europe was at risk of falling behind, and I attempted to lay out a programme that focused on areas that would be vital to Europe's compet.i.tiveness in the future.

But the budget remained as the only real issue, and the UK rebate was the point most talked about. The more it was discussed the harder it was for me since, as I say, even talking about it was tantamount to political blasphemy. The French would raise it in a real 'pulling your nose' way, and did so constantly. I sparred back with some anti-CAP rhetoric.

As the budget of course also spanned the whole of EU expenditure, here's where the complexity set in. This really was a zero-sum game. It was a fixed budget, so someone's gain meant someone else's loss. In this arena every country had an active interest, with the new members wanting EU money to develop, and the old members looking to hang on to whatever concessions history had tossed them.

It was a nightmare of detail, political cross-currents, national pride, presidential and prime ministerial ego, all played out in vivid public technicolor. After the December summit, which would be the final negotiation, each partic.i.p.ant would have to go back home to cheers or tears. They would all spin like crazy to get the cheers, but each nation's media was prepared to believe the outcome should merit tears. I was stuck in the middle and very obviously, because of Britain's position on the rebate, parti pris parti pris.

The negotiations involved hours, days and, in the later part of the year, weeks of painstaking discussion. I became a veritable expert on the intricacies of structural and cohesion funding, on the Spanish preoccupation with Ceuta and Melilla, on the Swedish and Dutch formulae for their rebate on the rebate, on what the average French farmer might earn, on what the German Lander Lander might tolerate, and of course on the details of the appropriations in respect of each crucial policy area of EU spending. might tolerate, and of course on the details of the appropriations in respect of each crucial policy area of EU spending.

I was blessed with a great team led by my EU adviser in Number 10, Kim Darroch, and the UK Brussels representative, Sir John Grant. They were utterly brilliant, the British Civil Service at its best, immensely creative, willing to think outside the box (and there was a legion of boxes) and with a deep network of contacts in member states.

The final negotiations were set for 1516 December. It was clearly going to be an all-nighter. Like a giant jigsaw with myriad pieces, if the contours of one piece were changed, suddenly another five wouldn't fit. Around a third of the total budget had to be reallocated in favour of the new members. That meant all the old members, including Britain, had to pay more.

European councils meet on the fifth floor of the Justus Lipsius building in Brussels. The meeting rooms are so ghastly that you always have an incentive to agree and get out. The country holding the presidency has a suite of rooms just off the main corridor, where you sit and see nation after nation, listen to their leaders complain, cajole and threaten as you a.s.sess what is bl.u.s.ter and what is real, what can be conceded and what has to be confounded, and when it is right for the president to turn menacing.

No nation likes to be taken advantage of, but no nation likes to be fingered as the cause of failure. So throughout every successive wretched meeting in that boring and soulless room, you are calculating when to advance, when to retreat and when to defer.

My strategy was this: make an ally of Angela and share credit for success with her that could settle down her Chancellorship and make her well disposed; sort the Spanish and the Italians; champion the Poles; deal with the French. And then slip in our own piece of the jigsaw right at the end, when everyone wanted an agreement and wanted to go home.

We got a deal which actually left Britain paying roughly the same as France for the first time. The UK media called it a betrayal, but frankly they would have done that even if I had led Jacques Chirac in chains through the streets of London. And by then I was past caring. We preserved the rebate, tied its demise to the CAP and agreed a break in the budget period where both could be reformed. Though I shouldn't say it, it was close to a minor miracle.

I had had the most frightful time with Gordon throughout, however. He was essentially insisting that France accept the demise of the CAP, and in public statements was a.s.serting this in terms that enraged the French. Actually, he didn't merely want them to disown the CAP, but also sort of apologise for ever having supported it. In a funny way it helped me, because I was able to say: see my problems? Now are you going to be reasonable? So we did a kind of unintentional good cop/bad cop on them.

But as the negotiations went into the early hours, it became more serious. He was refusing to agree the deal. Jon Cunliffe, an exemplary and bright Treasury official who was go-between, was doing his nut, poor bloke. Gordon was content to let the thing go down and fight on in the next presidency. I knew that would be absolutely appalling for the reputation of the country, the government and me; and once we were out of the driving seat, there could be no guarantee that Britain would get a better deal. In fact, the deal would almost certainly be worse.

Finally, I'm afraid I just stopped taking his calls. Poor Jon would come into the presidency room and say: 'The Chancellor really wants to speak to you.' I would say: 'I'm really busy, Jon.' And he would say: 'He really is demanding it.' Then I would say: 'I'll call him soon.' And Jon would say: 'Do you really mean that, Prime Minister?' And I would say: 'No, Jon.'

It more or less worked out. We got a good deal. Gordon was able to distance himself. And soon there were plenty of other things to think about.

EIGHTEEN.

TRIUMPH AND TRAGEDY.

The schedule of today's political leader gets ever crazier. The convenience of modern travel; the emergence of foreign affairs as a dominant part of the job; the range and scope of the events you are called upon to deal with; all this means that you can travel to four or five countries in the s.p.a.ce of as many days. Because it's possible, sooner or later you are expected to do so. The schedule is much more punishing than just twenty years ago.

I got used to it and have a huge advantage: I don't suffer from jet lag. For me, if the sun is shining, it's day; if it's dark, it's night. I also take a melatonin pill. Pop one of those and you get six hours' sleep wherever you are, and in whatever time zone.

The one problem is that travel does play havoc with the digestive system. You need to eat healthily and with discipline. I am very typically British. I like to have time and comfort in the loo. The bathroom is an important room, and I couldn't live in a culture that doesn't respect it. Anyway, that's probably more than you ever wanted to know. But politicians, as I frequently say, need to be seen and understood as human beings. Have a bad night's sleep or feel lousy because your system is shot to pieces, and you perform badly. And the difference with us is that each performance is on film or reported, and there are no second takes.

I always knew the seven days starting on 2 July 2005 were going to be challenging: fly out to Singapore for the Olympics bid and spend a hectic two days there, then fly back to Gleneagles in Scotland for the G8, which that year was chaired by Britain, and so by me. Two very big challenges; two very big risks; if they failed, two very big failures.

When the Olympics open in London in 2012, many people will be remembered as having brought them to Britain, but it all started with Tessa Jowell, who at that time was the Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport. When the bid was first raised as a possibility, most of the Cabinet were dubious and the Treasury was hostile. I liked the boldness of the notion, but it didn't seem likely we could get it the French were runaway favourites, with other powerful bids from Madrid and New York and after the Dome we were all a trifle nervous of anything so immense, costly and liable to turn out tricky. The athletics community, however, immediately understood its significance, came out strongly in support of a bid, advocated it intelligently and showed admirable firmness for it all the way through. Tessa was equally emphatic.

She is a great person, Tessa, just a gem. She represents the best of political loyalty, which at its best isn't blind, but thoroughly considered. She understood that to be successful, a political party needs to be led strongly and a strong leader needs loyal supporters. If you think the leadership is wrong or fundamentally misguided, then change leaders; but don't have a leader and not support their leadership. That way lies political debilitation. Tessa was the ultimate sensible loyalist and was with me to the end, however bitter, because she believed in my leadership. And if she hadn't, she would have told me.

On the Olympics she was telling me it was an enormous opportunity. Think of the impact on our young people, on fitness, on sport, on the country's self-belief. I would say, 'Yes, but suppose we get beaten, and what's worse, we get beaten by the French and I end up humiliated?' One day when I had finished saying this to her in graphic terms, sitting in the Downing Street garden where, if the sun was shining, I would sit and have one-to-one meetings, she looked at me reproachfully and said, 'I really didn't think that was your att.i.tude to leadership. I thought you were prepared to take a risk. And it is a big risk. Of course we may not win but at least we will have had the courage to try.' When Tessa says this, you feel a complete wimp and rather ashamed. You know she is manipulating you, but you also know it's a successful manipulation. 'Oh, OK, we'll go for it.'

The Cabinet came round, but only because I was then really going for it and JP as ever waded in manfully with support, chiding and generally prodding in a JP-like way that made everyone think that they might as well go with the flow.

In the middle of 2003 we had established a bid team under Barbara Ca.s.sani who were thoroughly professional and competent. Craig Tweedie from the IOC was an adept and skilful committee politician. In May 2004, Seb Coe took over. I had only ever really seen him on telly running his famous races against Steve Ovett. He was a great athlete; on the other hand, he had later been William Hague's chief of staff and that hadn't been great. I didn't mind in the least that he had been a Tory he obviously wasn't someone who was hopelessly tribal, and anyway it would help to keep everyone together politically for the bid but to be frank I wasn't sure of him. However, I trusted Tessa, and she was certain. It turned out to be an inspired choice. Being the athlete he was, he could instantly enlist anyone in the athletics world. Being the person he is, he did so in an intelligent, decent and persuasive way. He had none of the worst Tory traits and most of the best ones.

But it was clearly an uphill task. We weren't even second in the running, and personally I doubted we would ever win. There was a fierce debate over whether I should go to Singapore. In the end I did, but as much because this was a crime scene I had to be present at in order to have an alibi, to avoid being criticised for not trying hard enough. By the time I got there, the bid team had been ensconced for several days. It was the usual ridiculous pantomime in these situations: we could talk about the bid, but we weren't supposed to canva.s.s. Try to work out the difference if you can. I couldn't.

The bid strategy had two parts to it: there was a ceremony and a party at the British High Commission to show off our wares and to give the team a sense of unison and solidarity; then we would see the various members of the committee, of whom I was deputed to meet around forty on a one-to-one basis. Out of a total electorate of 115, it was a fair proportion. I sat in the hotel suite, and just before they were ushered in I was handed slips of paper with their details on, so I would know roughly what their likes, worries and dislikes might be. In the course of two days of meetings, I learned again the lesson that, at a profound level, electorates are the same everywhere: each member has one vote. In small electorates, this is crucial.

When I ran for the Sedgefield nomination, John Burton taught me this. There were lots of big mouths, movers and shakers on the General Management Committee (the selection body at the time) who would take the floor, but John identified the little old ladies, the not very a.s.siduous attendees, the shy, the diffident, the uncertain and the unaligned, and together we went after them. When all was said and done, they each had the same number of votes as the movers and shakers: one.

Because the Olympic electorate are globally dispersed, the adage was even more true. The person who spotted this first was Cherie. Ever since we had launched the bid, she had been going to different parts of the world and meeting the less significant members. There are several people without whom we would not have won the bid, and she is one of them. She can be difficult, my wife, but when determined, she is determined. She can also work a room better than anyone I've seen.

She and her mum and the wonderful Jackie, our nanny, are all pa.s.sionate about athletics (truthfully I'm not) and so she enjoyed it. But enjoy it or not, by the time we all converged in Singapore, she had met, followed up and kept in touch with a large part of the committee. At the IOC party we were continually b.u.mping into her 'old friends' who were usually on their own as they weren't considered important, but each of them of course had the same vote as those over whom a lot of fuss was being made. So, hidden from sight, we had been building up a lot of quiet support. Seb too had been travelling the world and was very effective.

As I discovered quite quickly, the people seeing me hadn't the slightest interest in talking to me about athletics, rightly figuring me as an ignoramus on that score; but they were fascinated about politics and meeting a famous political figure. I found that my recent speech to the European Parliament was a huge talking point. Bizarre, I know, but it struck a chord, and though some agreed and some disagreed with Iraq, they all had a strange respect for the fact that I took a deeply unpopular decision.

Because we shouldn't exaggerate the pulling power of politics, we also put David Beckham into the mix. David is a complete pro he did what he was asked to do with no messing about, and generally sent Singapore into a twitter, which is exactly what was required.

In the course of the meetings, I learned yet again how important it is to listen as well as talk. Knowing when to shut up is one of the most vital rules in life, never mind politics. Basically, most people are psychological itinerants in search of someone who wants to hear about them, who is interested in what they have to say, and who will regard what they say as both sage and stimulating. This applies at any level. In fact, the more elevated the level, the truer it is. In most of my meetings with other leaders less so those whom I knew really well, or when there was real immediate business to transact I would listen or ask them questions to get them talking, so that I could listen. A good meeting is one where you have listened more than you have spoken.

Also, know when to disagree and when to let a comment pa.s.s. If it matters and there will be a frightful misunderstanding, you have to step in and contradict; but frequently, even if your interlocutor makes some completely ludicrous a.s.sertion, contradiction will only lead to a futile, sterile disagreement which it is then embarra.s.sing to move on from. Unless it is germane to the real issue at hand, let it pa.s.s.

So, anyway, I met endless members of the IOC and paid as much attention as I could in the time allotted. Occasionally, they came in too thick and fast. I would get the slips of paper out of order and the people muddled up. One chap came in who my paper said was a champion javelin thrower. I thought it odd that he seemed so small about five feet eight. I thought they were supposed to be big, though truth be told my knowledge of javelin throwers was limited. I asked him what was the most important factor in his sport. His reply completely threw me. 'The quality of the ice.'

G.o.d, I thought, I really don't know anything about javelin throwing. 'I see,' I said. 'Is that very important to you?'

'Yes, the most important thing,' he replied. 'It determines how high you can go,' he went on. I could see Seb gesticulating wildly but not very articulately behind him.

'How high do you go?' I asked.

'About three feet,' he said.

Seb intervened. 'He knows all this because for years he was the champion ice skater. Very famous for his skating on ice.'

Another moment of drama was when the Russian delegation came in to see us, led by the mayor of Moscow. Ken Livingstone told me mysteriously that they were close, and that they had an understanding. He didn't give details and I thought it better not to ask.

They trooped in looking very Russian. There is something about a group of Russian men that makes you want them on your side. You feel that in the wrong context, or any context, they could become excessive; that the boundaries which circ.u.mscribe our conduct and character don't apply; that you fully realise why Napoleon failed and why Hitler was daft to try.

They sat down heavily, and looked at me. I looked at them. Then they smiled knowingly and nodded. Ken, who had joined me for this one, looked at me and we both nodded at them. The nodding went on for some time until a conversation began that was, for me at least, entirely elliptical. The gist of it was that we all understood each other very well, that they were very true to their word and so were we, and they didn't like people who weren't (I got a bit uneasy at that). But since they were and we were, there was no need to say any more. After another round of knowing smiles and nodding, they trooped out.

'What the h.e.l.l was all that about, Ken?' I asked when they had left.

'Don't you worry your pretty head about it,' he said. 'I think it went well.'

In between all the 'non-lobbying', there were formal meetings and receptions. The Queen of Spain very gracious and a real a.s.set for them turned up with the newish Spanish prime minister, Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero who, despite my friendship with Aznar, always behaved very well towards me and was obviously a smart leader. Big politicians mixed with small royals. At the reception, given by Singapore's prime minister in the wonderful old colonial General House, we all mingled uncomfortably, talking to one person, watching with snake-like intensity the moves everyone else was making, acutely aware that an inadvertent word or snub could lose a precious vote. Really horrible stuff: being compet.i.tive without appearing to be and trying to maintain dignity while begging.

Princess Anne was also touring the meetings, and doing so carefully because she was an IOC member. She was genuinely respected because genuinely knowledgeable and, of course, an Olympian herself. She does a huge amount of largely unnoticed charity work and is a tremendous amba.s.sador for the country. I always liked her. I doubt the feeling was mutual, or perhaps more accurately she was indifferent, except on the hunting ban, which I'm sure she would have hated. She is a chip right off the old man's block. People think Prince Philip doesn't give a d.a.m.n about what people think of him, and they are right: he doesn't. Anne is exactly the same. She is what she is, and if you don't like it you can clear off. It's not a quality I have, but I admire those who do. The unfortunate thing is, it stops people seeing the other side of their character.

During our first time at Balmoral, Princess Anne called Cherie 'Mrs Blair', and Cherie (being Cherie) said, 'Please call me Cherie.'

'Actually, I prefer Mrs Blair,' Anne replied. At one level, it is stunningly rude and discordant in our democratic age. At another, it shows an admirable determination not to be concordant with our democratic age but to tell that to clear off as well.

I remember, early on in government, Buckingham Palace thought they should have a reception for a few Labour MPs. Since we had a rather large majority, perhaps they thought they should do so in case there were any latent republican tendencies that might erupt. It was going fine until Prince Philip wandered up to Joan Walley, a very sincere leftish feminist MP. 'h.e.l.lo,' he said, 'where do you represent?'

'Stoke,' she said.

'Ghastly place, isn't it?' he replied.

On the evening I was due to leave Singapore we had the grand ceremony, the opening speeches and the IOC drinks party. I met the Spanish footballer Raul, and tried, unsuccessfully, to persuade him of the merits of moving to Newcastle United over Real Madrid. By the time of the drinks party I was desperate to get away. I was exhausted, and frankly wanted to kill the next person who gave me their opinion of the present geopolitical challenges facing the world today. I had had just about enough of the Olympic movement, its members and its ceremonies. My brain was switching on to the G8 preparations, about which I had had continual and not always positive reports throughout the stay. I was more and more conscious of the double-whammy possibilities of failure: lose the Olympics, screw up the G8.

Jacques Chirac arrived, swinging into the party like he owned the Olympics and everything in it. I noticed in a rather jaundiced way but it may have been my mood that everyone fluttered around him. Maybe I had stayed too long, become too familiar, been too modest, not grand enough. I started to exhibit signs of whining, signs my staff recognise.

This is when it is important to have people around you who don't respect or revere you too much. Jo Gibbons from Number 10, in charge of events, was sympathetic to my exhaustion but utterly unsympathetic to my leaving. There were many people to see. Seb was very kind, but completely firm: stay. Cherie seemed inexhaustible. I was going to miss the big presentation the next day because I had to get back to prepare for the G8. Jacques could do his in person, I could only be in a video. So stay it was.

Finally, when I had just about given up the will to live, and when all the drinks waiters had had their picture taken with me in turn, it was time to go, get on the plane and head back, a twelve-hour flight.

In fact, the difference between me and Jacques at the drinks party kind of summed up and symbolised the difference in approach of the Paris and London bids.

In 1948, London had to be persuaded to host the games. Then the Cold War somewhat distorted the bidding process. But by the 1990s, the Olympics had come of age. It was no longer a case of a country doing the Games a favour by hosting them, but rather the hosting of the Games became a prize to be desired devoutly. Nowadays, the IOC a.s.sume that countries can get the infrastructure built and physically put on the games. What used to be the end point is now only the starting point. The real value added is what the host city can contribute to what might loosely be described as the Olympic spirit the intangible but deeply felt soul of the Olympic movement.

During the IOC preliminary visit to London to a.s.sess our bid, Buckingham Palace put on a dinner for the a.s.sessment team, whose chief I sat next to. It was only in the course of talking with her that I realised London's bid had to be about them, not us; or more accurately what we could do to advance the ethos, the spirit, the inner emotions of the Olympic movement, rather than being simply about London, infrastructure, and so on. The IOC were a curious mixture of athletes, business people, royals and the general great and good; but whatever their origins, they were immensely sensitive to the charges that the whole thing had become commercialised and had lost touch with its inner self. They wanted the Olympics to mean something again, a higher and better thing, not just a great moneymaking celebrity fest.

People talked about the Games needing a legacy, which normally meant facilities that didn't close as soon as the Games were over. I took it to mean something that would make a positive difference to the world. I found Seb and the others in a similar mood, so we set about presenting London as modern, dynamic, multicultural, multiracial and proud of it. London on its contemporary merits modernity as much as tradition.

Rather like at the drinks party, the French affected an att.i.tude of 'we are going to win and aren't you lucky when we do' and tried to sweep people along as if invincible very French. We affected an att.i.tude of 'we humbly beg to offer our services to your great movement' and paddled and conspired like crazy underneath the surface very British. The French way can in many cases be the right way, but they overdid it just a fraction. It undoubtedly made a difference; our presentation just had a better feel.