To: Liam Byrne, Minister of State, Immigration

Date 7th March, 2007

My dear Liam,

Another bloody awful day, don’t you think?  As if I hadn’t had enough of them already!

Under the circumstances, then, I thought it best not to text you with this question: Which one of your brilliant minions dreamt up this garbage?  For God’s sake, Liam:-

Labour will get tough on illegal immigrants - by sending them text messages begging them to go home.

Under desperate plans to clear a backlog of 600,000 cases, their driving licences could also be cancelled.

This was just giving Davis an open goal - which, needless to say, he did not miss:-

Shadow Home Secretary David Davis said: “This is a serious admission of defeat. John Reid is effectively giving up on trying to deport the hundreds of thousands of illegal immigrants in this country, preferring instead to spam them with text messages.

“As for removing driving licences, does he really believe that a person who is prepared to live in a country illegally is that concerned about having the correct qualifications to drive in that country?

“Yet again we see another pathetic attempt to grab a headline rather than address a problem.

“Instead of spin and bluster from ministers, the public deserve effective action.”

Do you think that’s what I wanted to wake up to this morning, Liam?  Do you think that’s why I’ve entrusted you - supposedly a safe pair of hands - with such a grave responsibility as the Immigration Department.

Liam, Liam, I don’t want you to think I’m being unreasonable here.  I don’t want you to think I must have broken my pledge to be speaking to you like this.  It grieves me, because I have always regarded you as another son.  Aye and Tom McNulty, too.  Let’s not forget wee Tom.  I have always looked upon the both of you, and upon your struggles and occasional little transgressions with an indulgent eye.  Sometimes perhaps too indulgent.

Have you never wondered why my department is so Irish at the top?  I mean, where are the natives?  It’s a good question.  When I got into the House in ‘87, I liked to pause a while under the imperious gaze of those great statesmen and noble Lords whom some lackey painted long ago all bewhiskered and got up in their finery, and I’d say to my researcher – you know, she was the only Asian researcher at Westminster in those days – “Take a good look at those paintings, love” I’d say, “None of them are your ancestors and none of them are my ancestors.  They colonised your ancestors, and they colonised mine.”

Bastards.

Of course, not a lot of folks know that green is the colour of my heart.  But you do, Liam.  And so does Tom.  Come to think of it, so does every supporter of The Celtic .  But the rest of them don’t know.  The good electorate of Birmingham Hodge Hill, for example, don’t know.

We have to stick together, you see, we who are Irish in our hearts.  We have to look out for our common interests.

And there’s the rub, Liam.  My interest happens to lie in killing off Gordon before he kills off me.  So, it has to be No.10, doesn’t it?  If at all possible.

And here you are, creating these patricidal embarrassments for me, making it impossible.  So I wonder whose side you are really on, Liam.  I wonder whose interests you are advancing - besides your own, obviously.

I mean, can anybody be so unbelievably naive and stupid as to propose text messaging illegal immigrants?  Even in the Home Office?  How many out of the 600,000 are going to say, “OK, you got me.  I give up”?  Think small, Liam.  Very, very small.

Of course, it’s too late to repair the damage now.  It’s always too late in a politician’s life.  As I often say, being a lifelong student of Hegel and a PhD ... you must know I’ve got a PhD even though I left school at sixteen, and my old Da’ a postman an’ all, and Mum a factory girl ... did you know that?  Anyhow, being a fan of the old dialectic I often say, “the Owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the coming of dusk”.

‘Course, I can’t expect a constipated little mind like yours, with your Harvard Business background and that fashionable Social Market Foundation stuff ... I can’t expect you to understand that.  Such understandings require a certain native spark, you know.  Well, you don’t know, of course.  They ... well, when was the last time you ventured off the script?  Did something half-crazy but exciting ... inspiring?  Look at me.  There’s your example.  Neil Kinnock’s philosopher king.  And I jump in the sack with a Brazilian film-maker every night, for Chris’ sake.  I mean, how neat is that?

So, Liam, not to be too Hegelian ... to be perfectly blunt ... to be, in fact, the eponymous Glasgow hardman, let’s say that Minerva’s fucking owl will be spreading its wings over your dead body, pal, if you screw up like that again.

I’m seeing you, Jimmy!

Yours with a Glasgow kiss,

John

John Reid

Dr Reid to you