Politics can be a Ball

I achieved something of an ambition this afternoon when I took part in one of those ICM telephone surveys answering questions like whether I thought Gordon Brown should call an election and how would I vote when it was eventually held. I really should raise my personal horizons.

But politics can be fun and I can offer no better illustration of this than to tell you about my old friend and mentor Roy Beggs.

Although I haven't seen them for exactly a year, Roy and his lovely wife Wilma are coming to Jamie's christening on Sunday and I spoke to him yesterday to confirm the details. Still a councillor in his beloved Larne, Roy was the Member of Parliament for East Antrim from 1983 until the last election in 2005.

Thanks to my mother, Roy's brother Edmund and a piece of broccoli, he gave me my first chance to work in politics in August 1996 when he employed me as his constituency-based Parliamentary Assistant.

I remained in post until June 1997 when I moved to Westminster to run the Ulster Unionist office in the House of Commons. And for the next six years - the last three with Roy as Chief Whip - I literally had the time of my life, with the great man invariably at the heart of the fun.

For example, the picture above was taken I think 11 years ago at a BBC Radio 1 reception - Roy is on the right. After telling Zoe Ball that I thought her and Vanessa looked alike (to which Ms B said she thought that was an insult to Vanessa who, by implication, would therefore also resemble Martin Clunes), we had a pint with her fellow DJs Mark and Lard in the next door bar whilst John Peel gazed in through the window. All very surreal.

But my favourite Roy incident actually took place whilst I was still working in his Larne office. In addition to the kitchen, there were two separate downstairs rooms in the building with Roy and I sharing the front room and his other staff Ian and Beth sharing the back room.

The IRA security threat was high at that time and the building was kitted out with bullet-proof glass and security cameras, the latter enabling us to see who was at the door when the bell rang.

On one particular day, the bell went and I looked up to the monitor to spy three women waiting to get in. Ian opened the door and took them through to the back room to enquire what Roy could do to help. And about five minutes later, he knocked on our door to ask if I could come and have a word with them, which I did, before returning to inform Roy of the situation.

"OK, Roy," said me to him. "We have the Adams family next door, a mother and her two daughters." (I call them the Adams family because that was their name).

"Each of them are pregnant and each of them wants a house. What will I tell them?"

From the middle of a huge white cloud of cigarette smoke, Roy took off his half-moon glasses and looked up at me blankly.

"Let me get this right," he said in a measured tone. "The Adams family. A mother and two daughters. They're all pregnant. And they want a house. Each. What will you tell them?"

"That's right Roy," came my reply. "What will I tell them?"

Roy paused, face still expressionless. And then came out with what I have since regarded as the best one-liner I've ever heard.

"Tell them to keep their f***ing legs closed!"

And that was that. He put his glasses back on, put his head back down and got on with what he was doing, leaving me to return next door to explain that Mr Beggs would of course be "delighted" to write on their behalf to the Northern Ireland Housing Executive but there were "no guarantees" etc etc.

It'll be nice to see him in church on Sunday.