It was 1988 when I first started working in Parliament as an ambitious young reporter, meaning I’ve met more than my fair share of Westminster characters over the decades.
Some MPs – despite what you might think – are diligent, decent, dedicated men and women, working gruelling hours and thankless roles to make life for their constituents better. Others, shall we say, are not.
Indeed, several MPs and peers I’ve had the misfortune of meeting across the political spectrum have been among the rudest and most unpleasant in any field.
Here are some of the worst offenders I’ve met during my 40 years in journalism…
NICHOLAS RIDLEY
The first minister I crossed swords with in my professional life was Sir Nicholas Ridley, one of the cabal of Tory MPs who had plotted the Iron Lady’s victory as party leader in 1975.
It was 1983 and I was writing a story for my first newspaper, the Gloucestershire Echo, about plans for a major housing development on prized Green Belt land in his Cirencester and Tewkesbury constituency.
I had spoken to Sir Charles Irving, the Tory MP for neighbouring Cheltenham, who was suitably outraged. But Ridley, a Treasury minister, stubbornly refused to return my calls.
From bottom left, clockwise: Peter Mandelson, Ted Heath, David Cameron, Michael Portillo and Alastair Cambell
Not to be thrown off the scent, I went to his constituency office where he was holding a Friday surgery and patiently waited in the queue to see him. When I introduced myself, Ridley – holding his trademark cigarette – exploded with rage.
‘I’m a Government minister, and you are a spotty youth! Show me some respect,’ he spat as he marched me from his office.
But I had my scoop.
‘Government minister refuses to condemn major housing development on the Green Belt in the heart of his Cotswold constituency’ ran the headline – and went on to be picked up by several national news outlets.
He always returned my calls after that.
FERGUS MONTGOMERY
I’ve only ever had to run for it once in the Commons – and that was in the early 1990s when I revealed that the Tory MP Sir Fergus Montgomery was hosting a party for showbusiness legend Dame Shirley Bassey.
I had been to a similar event on the Commons terrace the year before so thought nothing of pointing out Montgomery’s impeccable showbusiness connections. In fact, I assumed he would be delighted.
So I was somewhat surprised when I arrived in the Commons on the day my article was published to come face to face with the former private secretary, who was puce with rage.
Grabbing the lapels of my jacket, he began to shout so loudly that flecks of spittle formed at the corners of his mouth.
Andrew Pierce has met several MPs and peers across the political spectrum who have been among the rudest and most unpleasant in any field
‘I told my constituency officers the party wasn’t happening this year because I didn’t want them there,’ he raged. ‘They now think I’m a snooty liar. You’ve put me in an impossible position.’ A string of four-letter expletives followed.
Attempts by fellow MPs to calm him down seemed to make matters worse. There was no reasoning with him and, as his rage deepened, I made a decision: I legged it.
But the surprisingly agile Montgomery gave chase, waving his fist in the air and shouting to any confused onlooker who would listen: ‘Stop that man!’
GEORGE FOULKES
That wasn’t the only time one of my scoops almost led to a thrashing. Around the same time, the bulbous-nosed Labour MP George Foulkes took grave exception to my report that he had been found face-down in a gutter after a scotch whisky reception.
Lunging at me at a reception in The Reform Club – the famous home-from-home of Jules Verne’s protagonist in Around The World In Eighty Days – he barked: ‘I want a word with you, sonny.’
Unfortunately, he was a little unsteady on his feet. He lunged too far, went flying and sent a table full of drinks glasses crashing on to the tiled floor. It made for an interesting follow-up.
DAVID CAMERON
In 1990, David Cameron left Andrew with an expensive lunch bill, where the wine alone was £75 – the equivalent of about £200 today – and impossible to get through on his expenses, but Andrew got his revenge years later
My first unfortunate encounter with a future prime minister didn’t come until 1990 when I had lunch with David Cameron, who was then a special adviser to chancellor Norman Lamont.
Even then, I thought that he looked and sounded like a future Tory leader, oozing Old Etonian entitlement.
He arrived at the restaurant, the trendy central London bistro Joe Allen, before I did – a vital time-keeping lesson that I’ve never forgotten.
‘Hope you don’t mind, old chap,’ he crowed as I arrived. ‘I’ve ordered the wine.’
I didn’t mind at all – until I was left with the bill.
The wine alone was £75 – the equivalent of about £200 today – and impossible to get through on my expenses.
Fortunately, I was able to wreak my revenge some years later when he was Leader of the Opposition.
From my bird’s eye view in the press gallery high above the Commons chamber, I noticed during one of his appearances that his hair was thinning on top.
What did I do with this interesting nugget of information? Of course, I wrote about it – and dubbed him Friar Tuck.
When we bumped into each other outside Parliament a few days later, he erupted.
Forefinger stabbing the air, effing and blinding with his puffy cheeks turning blood red, he shouted: ‘I’m so bloody furious with you, Pierce. You are – and always have been – a total c***.’
And I thought politicians were supposed to have thick skins…
ALAN CLARK
Thatcher groupie Alan Clark, an unrepentant philanderer, lived in Saltwood Castle in Kent with his long-suffering wife Jane, picture together. Andrew wrote about the former defence minister’s affair with a judge’s wife and her two daughters
Then there was the former defence minister and Thatcher groupie Alan Clark, an unrepentant philanderer, who lived in Saltwood Castle in Kent with his long-suffering wife Jane.
After I wrote about his affair with a judge’s wife and her two daughters – whom he referred to as the ‘coven’ in his diaries – he approached me in the Commons in 1994, when he was between seats.
‘I gather you’re Andrew Pierce,’ he said somewhat pleasantly. ‘You’re a poxy prig. Do come to my home – but be warned, four knights stayed there the night before they went to Canterbury Cathedral to kill Archbishop Thomas Becket.’
Needless to say, I never took him up on his kind offer.
JOHN GUMMER
After the widely-disliked environment secretary John Gummer survived yet another John Major Cabinet reshuffle in 1995, I decided to introduce myself.
‘What is it the prime minister sees in you that eludes the rest of us?’ I asked.
He replied tartly: ‘ “Journalism is popular mainly as fiction. Life is one world and life seen in the newspapers another.” That’s G. K. Chesterton, you oaf.’
Looking me up and down, he added: ‘As for you, you’re in a different world altogether.’
MICHAEL PORTILLO
In 1996, Michael Portillo lost his seat by 1,443 votes. Could it have anything to do with a story Andrew wrote about the Conservative Association in his Enfield Southgate constituency and a McDonald’s bid to take over the defence secretary’s HQ, which outraged residents?
Back in the summer of 1996, defence secretary Michael Portillo was the rising star of the Tory party and the frontrunner to replace flailing leader John Major after the election the following year.
I picked up a story that the Conservative Association in his Enfield Southgate constituency had accepted an offer of £325,000 from McDonald’s – £100,000 more than any other bidder – allowing the fast food giant to take over his HQ.
Local residents were outraged. As was Portillo. I had never spoken to him before but he telephoned the Mail’s news desk in a fury just before midnight.
When we spoke, his tone was menacing: ‘I know your editor, I know your proprietor. Think very carefully before you write any more about this.’
Thanking him for his career advice, I went on to report that Portillo was chums with Geoffrey Tucker, who was one of the fast food chain’s political consultants, and I also discovered that the main Conservative HQ in London would benefit to the tune of a £100,000 loan.
The night of the 1997 election, his Labour rival Stephen Twigg called me to say he thought the McDonald’s row would shave just 2,000 votes off Portillo’s huge 15,000 majority.
In fact, in one of the defining moments of Labour’s election landslide victory, Portillo lost by 1,443 votes.
ALASTAIR CAMPBELL
Months before Labour’s 1997 election win, a light-hearted exposé caused a stir – and led to Andrew’s first encounter with Tony Blair’s pugnacious all-powerful spin doctor, Alastair Campbell
Enjoying better luck that election was, of course, Tony Blair, who won voters over with his suave speeches and mischievous smile.
A little too mischievous as it turned out.
Months before his win, he appeared on Des O’Connor’s TV show and told the gripping story of how, as a schoolboy, he had managed to lose his father Leo at Newcastle train station while travelling back to Fettes College in Edinburgh – and stowed himself away on a plane to the Bahamas.
The adventure could have come straight from the pages of a James Bond novel – the most famous fictional alumnus of Fettes. To put it mildly, I was sceptical.
I managed to track down Blair’s father, who was 73 at the time. He laughed out loud when I told him about the ‘great escape’ and replied that Blair had an over-active schoolboy imagination.
My light-hearted exposé caused a stir – and led to my first encounter with Blair’s pugnacious all-powerful spin doctor, Alastair Campbell.
He marched into my office in Parliament and announced to the room: ‘Pierce is finished as he has exploited Tony’s father.’ After many reassurances to confused onlookers that I had not taken advantage of an elderly man, I am, thankfully, still going strong almost three decades later.
While Blair was far too canny to be rude to reporters, that encounter was typical of his henchman Campbell: brutal and coarse.
PETER MANDELSON
The other high priest of political spin, Peter Mandelson, never forgave me for a harmless story while he was campaigning to be the Labour MP in Hartlepool in the 1992 election.
Standing in a fish and chip shop, with an incongruous Hartlepool FC football scarf tied tightly round his neck, he pointed behind the counter and asked: ‘Can I have a tub of that delicious looking guacamole mousse?’
Peter Mandelson never forgave Andrew Pierce for a harmless story he wrote while the high priest of political spin was campaigning to be the Labour MP in Hartlepool in the 1992 election
To which the burly owner spluttered: ‘It’s bloody mushy peas.’
It made an entertaining story – and the first of many calls from the Prince of Darkness demanding my dismissal.
Now the ambassador to the US, he lives in Washington DC with his partner Reinaldo, whose relationship I revealed in the Sunday Express in 1998.
Somewhat hypocritically, despite pushing for gay rights in public, Mandelson was mortified.
He lobbied the proprietor, Labour peer Lord Hollick, not to run the story. When it was printed, he demanded my head (again) but failed. However, he did get the scalp of the editor, one Amanda Platell, now a star columnist on the Daily Mail and my very best friend.
I was so outraged by her treatment I resigned my post the next morning.
TED HEATH
In Blackpool, at the Tory party conference in 1999, former prime minister Ted Heath said to Andrew: ‘Who on earth invited you? I hope you’re enjoying yourself because you won’t be invited again’
To dinner at the Tory party conference in Blackpool in 1999 with former prime minister Ted Heath, who hosted lavish soirées at the River House Hotel in Lancashire.
The grand location meant Ted could avoid any contact with pesky Tory activists if he stayed in a mere conference hotel.
But clearly it wasn’t only the grassroots supporters he didn’t want to see that season.
Despite sitting feet from me, Heath pointedly ignored me throughout the dinner.
Puzzled, I eventually said: ‘Sir Edward, I’m Andrew Pierce from the…’
‘I know exactly who you are,’ he interrupted. ‘Who on earth invited you? I hope you’re enjoying yourself because you won’t be invited again.’
Thankfully, our curmudgeonly exchange didn’t continue. About 30 minutes later, he fell into a deep sleep at the table and we were all asked to leave.
BARONESS YOUNG
I have been accused of many things by politicians but the abuse from Baroness (Janet) Young, the only woman to serve in Margaret Thatcher’s Cabinet, was the most astonishing.
Young had led the parliamentary campaign against Labour’s Bill to lower the age of gay consent from 18 to 16 – which eventually passed in 2000.
I spotted her in the House of Lords shortly after the historic vote and went to introduce myself.
She was not impressed. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said with disgust.
‘You’re the homosexual who pushed for an equal age of consent. Congratulations. You have enabled old predatory men to prey on young boys. I hope you are proud of yourself.’
BORIS JOHNSON
In 2007, when Andrew leaked that David Cameron had ordered Boris Johnson to run for Lord Mayor, he denied the story and said: ‘Andrew Pierce is a miserable, simpering scuzzbucket’
In 2007, I wrote that the then relatively unknown Boris Johnson was being ordered by Tory leader David Cameron to run for London mayor.
He hotly denied it – I think. Much of what he shouted down the phone was in Latin so went over my head.
But when the London Evening Standard seized on the story, he told them in plain English: ‘Andrew Pierce is a miserable, simpering scuzzbucket.’
Two weeks later it was confirmed that Boris would be the Tory candidate after all, in a race he went on to win.
Boris, of course, is now one of my esteemed colleagues at the Daily Mail in a sign that no ill will or personality clashes last forever in Westminster.
Sadly I cannot say the same for the ‘scuzzbucket’ jibe, which remained on my Wikipedia page for years.
