When he drops the bluff Yorkshireman act Hague can be passable company.

Hague telephones, claiming to be calling from his local working men's club. "Gideon, we need to talk." "Not a problem, Willie. Come over to the New Forest for the weekend?" "With Ffion?" "If you must."

Relations with Hague have been strained since he ridiculously claimed to be Thatcher's golden boy despite the stronger credentials of many of the rest of us and, on the back of this presumption, finagled his way to becoming an ill-starred leader of our party. An appointment which led to my retreating to All Souls while David scurried off to, of all places, Carlton Television's public relations department.

Times change, however, and yesterday's enemy is tomorrow's friend, and when he drops the bluff Yorkshireman act Hague can be passable company. He is, for instance, a more entertaining dinner companion than, say, Andrew Lansley. His wife, however, might most politely be described as tricky. I suspect the problem is that someone once told her she had a bubbly personality and she has been effervescing ever since, with no one being honest enough to inform her that, in her case, a few bubbles go a very long way.

To say "the lovely Ffion" ruined dinner would be an exaggeration, but she certainly brought it to a premature conclusion when, at the uxorious Willie's prompting, she leapt to her feet and started belting out something that wouldn't have sounded out of place at an Eisteddfod. I have never called for the port quicker.

Once his wife had gone, Hague began talking sense. His point was trebly made. First, he has suffered a savage cut in his expenses. Second, he has had to give up his many second jobs. Third, he would now be expected to accept a swingeing salary cut on entering the cabinet. It was a sad day, he concluded, when "a lad from Rotherham" couldn't afford to be foreign secretary. While money was, "it went without saying", not important to him personally, there was Ffion's opera career to fund. Citizen Hague, indeed.

He went on to surmise correctly that the measures were designed not only to promote the image of Saint Dave, but to divide him from the rump of his party. It is Our Leader's hope that he will gain a sufficient majority in order to be able to govern with the support of all the "new bugs" whom he has personally selected to be candidates.

Nor is that the end of the scheming. Osborne, self-aware enough to realise that his days as chancellor of the Exchequer are already numbered, has been up to his tricks again, lending money to members of the shadow cabinet who find themselves temporarily strapped for cash. The sums are as significant as the terms are opaque. All that is certain is that Little George will not be asking to be paid back in cash.

Fortunately, Osborne has not had the courage to approach "the lad from Rotherham". And after the bottle had been passed round a few times, I was well placed to put myself forward as a putative angel for Ffion: the Musical. Being better bred than the shadow chancellor, I made explicit that this offer was more gift than bargaining tool. That said, if the Notting Hillbillies get even further above themselves, there would be worse replacements than Johnson and Hague.

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