
TONY BLAIR was waiting for me in Downing Street. Me and some others. And actually he probably wasn’t waiting, he was probably doing stuff. He was Prime Minister after all. But we were due to chat, at his invitation, about the forthcoming Mayoral election in London. Labour’s first choice of candidate, Red Ken Livingstone, had gone unofficial and Labour had pushed Frank Dobson forward to make some semblance of a fight of it. Tony had arranged some face time with journalists as part of the Labour charm offensive and I, as London Metro’s man in the right place at the right time, had been selected to do the interview. It was a bit of an honour: certainly the only world leader I would be talking to that day and it had fallen into my lap.




