HUMOUR: Tony Blair - My Legacy

[Shuffles notes. Waits for make-up lady to apply sheen of moistness to the eyes. Clears throat] They say it’s raining. They say it’s pouring. They say Britain’s gone to bed and bumped its head, but I tell you this: it will get up in the morning. Just as it has got up on countless mornings before, and shall do again. And I’ve been there with you. We’ve seen fire and we’ve seen, y’know… rain. We’ve seen sunny days that we thought would never end and lonely times when we could not find a friend. Or so people would have you believe.
Because I look back to 2002. Those dark days when I felt as only Churchill had done before me: the one leader in Europe crying “Freedom!” Country on the brink of imminent destruction. Dark days… until the friend. For there, in the gardens of Camp David, I heard a voice. A voice that needs no introduction. “Say, Tony,” it said. “The hell with those French appetisers. If we’d appetised Hitler in that big war they had back then, they’d all be speaking Polish now anyhow. Whadya say we liberatiate a pack of Tangy Cheese Doritos?”
But this was no time for snack-bites; I could feel the hand of history on my shoulder. Though moved by this token of friendship, this common bond of understanding that has united our two great nations down through the ages, I declined. As Prime Minister of Great Britain, I felt under no compulsion to accept a Tangy Cheese Dorito unless I believed with all my heart that it was the only course of action to take based on the evidence available to me at the time. And when George accepted my tough, unilateral decision with good grace, in return I agreed to commit troops to Iraq. Such is the give-and-take of true friendship.
But now, I’m leaving. In a sense, the sun is setting. Tomorrow will bring a new dawn, with a new, radiant sun. Gordon. In the meantime, as shadows lengthen, I’ve begun to reflect on something I’ve never previously given much thought: my legacy. It isn’t Iraq, of course. I know I’ve freed its people from a tyrant, laid the foundations of democracy and brought hope to millions, but ‘legacy’ means the setting in place of something concrete. I simply began the healing process – it falls to someone else to complete it. Iraq, will be Gordon’s legacy.
My own lies elsewhere. Something I promised as long ago as 1996. Something often misquoted. So let me remind you of the time I stood up at conference and pledged that our three priorities in government would be “Reconciliation, reconciliation, reconciliation.” As you know, the changes in Northern Ireland have been staggering. I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway. But more - much more than this – I did it. Finally. Now, barely a month later, the sight of Martin McGuinness and the Reverend Ian Paisley laughing together behind my back has become an iconic image. And mine is the first generation able to contemplate the possibility that we may live our entire lives without sending our children to Ulster.
[Glances up from notes] Look, do you mind if we skip this bit? This ‘quantum revolution in gay rights’ stuff is all very well and, y’know, I’m happy for them, but it’s just… we’ve never really spoken about it; doesn’t play too well on the doorsteps of Guildford, according to Peter. So, if you want to bung in a line about equality, go for ‘equality of opportunity’. Talk about tuition fees or something. Right, the big finish. [Returns to notes. Eye-moistening lady responds to beckoning. Brow readies an emotional-yet-stoic position. ] Now, as Gordon readies himself to move into Number Ten, I leave you with these words. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here praying for you. Whatever it takes, or how my heart breaks, I will be right here. Praying for you.
Tony Blair was practising his final farewell speech with Julian Owen.