First Impressions

Financial Times / Arts & Weekend

First Impressions

By Sathnam Sanghera
Published: February 5 2005 02:00 | Last updated: February 5 2005 02:00

At my request, former Conservative party leader Iain Duncan Smith is demonstrating a party trick: an impression of Kenneth Clarke. "I can't be bothered with this interview!" he exclaims, in a style vaguely reminiscent of the former Conservative chancellor. "I can't be bothered with this interview! Oooooh!"

Duncan Smith snorts, giggles and, encouraged by Tim Montgomery, the Tory minder sitting in on the interview, moves on to impersonating Lord Tebbit. "Did you listen to Norman on Today this morning?" he inquires. A short pause as he mimics Tebbit's sombre facial expression. "Well, Miss Montague ...I'd like to tell you, you are talking total nonsense ..."

That's a bit better than your Kenneth Clarke, I admit. Tim applauds and requests Edward Heath. Duncan Smith drops his chin and, in a voice that sounds a little like the former Tory prime minister and a little like Jade Goody, growls: "Oh, an absolute nightmare! An absolute nightmare! Oooh!" He switches from the baritone to a squeak. "And I wonder if you know who this one is? I speak like this and make my points very clearly because I am Enoch Powell ..."

It's a surreal end to our chat. But then the beginning is pretty surreal too. Duncan Smith arrives 20 minutes late, apologising profusely and declaring: "I've just come from playing football at West Ham." As Tim has already explained that the reason for his delay is that he has been having lunch with (another) national newspaper, I assume that Duncan Smith is making a (surreal) joke and laugh out loud.

I was told that IDS had no sense of humour, but he is actually very funny, I think to myself. Ha ha ha! But as I guffaw, Duncan Smith blinks back at me. "It's not a joke. I was at Upton Park, playing for the Parliamentary side. We were playing a team of the sons and grandsons and daughters of Holocaust survivors."

I am still laughing when he says this, but stop suddenly. The setting isn't helping make things feel less surreal: for some reason Duncan Smith has asked to meet in the middle of a church - between the pews of Christ Church in Kennington, to be precise. Getting my bearings, I have another stab at getting the conversation going, posing the most straightforward question I can think of: what's he doing with his time now that he isn't Leader of the Opposition?

"Well, I write," he replies. "About politics. And I've done some film reviews. As my children have got older, we've gone to watch more adult films." I suppress a snigger. "I don't mean top shelf adult films! Of the adult variety, that is and er ...I play sports. I'm also a constituency MP. Still. And a huge amount of my political input is through this, the Centre for Social Justice."

He gestures at the stained glass window and explains that this church has been the centre for non-conformist worship for more than two centuries. Wilberforce spoke here and the spire was donated by Abraham Lincoln's family to acknowledge its support for abolition. Now it is also the headquarters of his think-tank, the Centre for Social Justice, formed with private money. "It's not really a think-tank," he inserts, saying it is more concerned with the "practical application" of new approaches in various voluntary projects around the country than policy formulation. "Think-tanks are Westminster-based and sit in a nice atmosphere, writing pamphlets. We write pamphlets, but the CSJ is a way of life. It is about getting people, Conservatives particularly, to realise that what you do is more important than what you think. We are trying to draw attention to the plight of the worst off, from a Conservative standpoint. Essentially, we have taken the concept I had as leader and privatised it. The Conservative party has to decide if it wants it."

So, to summarise: Duncan Smith has set up a think-tank, that isn't really a think-tank because it is not about thinking but doing (though it does think as well), to persuade the Tories to become the party for Britain's underclass. It's a radical idea, but problematic for a number of reasons, not least because it is supposedly a manifestation of Duncan Smith's "legacy" to the Tory party and as he was leader for such a short amount of time (25 months), it's debatable whether he has very much of a legacy to preserve.

During his brief tenure he surprised everyone by not being the reactionary, hang'em and flog'em leader that everyone expected. But his policy initiatives were so drowned out by speculation about his leadership abilities that most people would now struggle to identify what they were. Most members of the public probably still see him as the rightwinger's rightwinger - the former army man who inherited Lord Tebbit's seat in Chingford and rebelled over Maastricht.

He rejects the analysis. "I think, such as it existed, that was a pretty temporary view of me. As leader I confounded that whole principle." But he's setting himself quite a task in trying to persuade the Tories, and then the public, that the Conservatives can be the party for Britain's underclass. "I never said these things could be done overnight. Over a number of years the Conservatives managed to get driven into a small box marked 'only for the selfish', which is not true. It is a caricature. We need to break out of that box."

As he says this, there seems to be a change in his mood. He glances at his pager. He taps his fingers on the table. Any warmth he may have exuded earlier has gone. I ask if he is bitter about how he was ejected as leader - after all, if things had gone well, he would have been leading his party into the general election right now. "Whatever I feel publicly or privately is generally kept to myself these days." An awkward pause. "It just happened and what happened is for other people to write about." What was the worst part of it? "The worst thing was the end really, the nature of the lies that were told about my wife. We were exonerated [by the inquiry into whether his wife Betsy earned her state funded pennies for secretarial work], but it took six months."

And it was an expensive process - apparently he has ratcheted up £300,000 in legal fees. Who will pay these? "My legal fees haven't been paid yet. As and when anybody assists me with them, that's up to them, or if the party assists me, then it's up to it. If and when that happens they'll be gratefully received." Might the party pay? "I've no idea, you'll have to ask the party that." Would he like the party to pay? "I'd love to have to not pay my costs, but who pays them is up to them." Is he asking the party to pay? "Well, if I was, I wouldn't tell you. But the answer to that is that nothing has been paid."

His mood doesn't improve as we move on to discussing the Conservative party's general election strategy. Yes, he supports Howard's asylum and spending plans. Yes, he thinks the Tories can win the election. Yes, there are lessons from Bush's victory in the US. "But without me listing them, you've got my recent pamphlet on the subject. I won't repeat all of that." Will he be involved in the general election campaign? "I guess I will be, but I haven't really discussed it with them yet. It's not really my problem."

We have 90 minutes to talk but if he carries on giving such brief, exasperated answers, we'll finish early, even with the late start. He sounds so annoyed now that I dare not ask him about his one man show (according to the papers, only 67 people attended an "audience with Duncan Smith" at Liverpool's Philharmonic). But I do risk inquiring about The Devil's Tune, his 400-page novel described by one newspaper as a "thriller-cum-wartime-mystery-cum-political-vendetta, set in London, New York, Washington and Italy". It was panned by the critics. "You won't get a copy of it, because it was sold out," he remarks after a sigh. "Never been remaindered either, by the way. I enjoyed writing it. But if a politician writes a book, people review the politician."

Is there going to be a paperback? "Yeah, I hope so." Does he have plans for other books? "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm in the middle of doing some other stuff." I read that he wants to write a novel set in British politics. "I might do that one day. There's a couple of factual books I want to write." Such as? "Well, yes, historical stuff really." Biography? "Could be. I can't tell you any more than that. The point is that I will be writing more." A shrug. "I might do anything, which is basically what I'm saying to you."

Does the possibility of media punditry appeal? He's done bits of TV work. "Well, I'll do it if they want me to." Michael Portillo has made a career out of it, I observe cheerfully. "Yeeees. So far. We'll see where that takes him." A smile, revealing white, even, gritted teeth. "You know, there are lots of opportunities out there. I'm very upbeat about it all."

He doesn't sound upbeat at all. He sounds pissed off. I give up trying to get any more answers out of him. But before I leave, I've heard that he does a great impression of Kenneth Clarke ...

sathnam.sanghera@ft.com

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