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It is not new for political figures to be affected by mental illness – Winston Churchill was famousl

In the light of the recent carnage of the local elections, it is easy to forget that the present government is one of the most successful in history. In 10 years as the chancellor of the Exchequer, Gordon Brown never experienced the economic problems he currently faces as prime minister. However, in a decade which was undoubtedly good for business, the Tony Blair premiership was characterised by an approach that contrasts strongly with the no-risk approach to recruitment of many employers in the commercial sector. This can be clearly illustrated by two interviews which appeared in Sunday newspapers on 20th April.

The higher profile of these was the revelation in the Sunday Times that John Prescott had experienced bulimia during his spell as deputy prime minister. The media reaction was almost entirely scornful and can be divided into three camps: those who simply expressed some variant of “Ha – Fatty”; those who were snootily surprised that Prescott’s choice of addictive substance betrayed his working class origins; and those who noted the cynicism in the timing of the announcement, which coincided with the release of an autobiography which gives little attention to other more colourful incidents in Prescott’s life, such as the punch he threw at a protester or the affair with his secretary. The last approach was perhaps more intelligent than the others but, if its protagonists had thought even harder, they might have reflected that, had the story had emerged earlier, his mental illness might have done more damage to his career than either violence or adultery and this would be both unfair and rather disturbing. Commentators were quick to note that Tony Blair converted to Catholicism after leaving office, scared to do more than hint about his religious beliefs to the voters, but they failed to spot a similar pattern in the announcement of his deputy.

The man who decided that “We don’t do God” was Alastair Campbell and, while he did not attempt to hide it, he was equally coy about talking about his history of mental illness before he retired from his post. However, since doing so, he has been dedicating a great deal of energy towards raising awareness of depression, with which he was diagnosed in his late twenties. In particular, he commends Blair for giving him his chance after being elected leader of the Labour Party, even though he was aware of the previous breakdown and Campbell did not yet have the towering reputation he has now. In his interview in the Independent on Sunday on 20th April, he urged other employers to follow this example.

It is not new for political figures to be affected by mental illness – Winston Churchill was famously manic depressive. However, what has changed is the attitude towards using the experience in a productive way to challenge stigma. It was all too much for Churchill’s family when a mental health charity portrayed him in a straightjacket as they figured that he would wish to be seen as a strong leader without any demons. This completely misses the point which is that Churchill does not need to be protected and indeed his reputation weakens any stigma rather than the other way around. Like many others, Campbell says that his depression contributed to his success by making him tougher mentally but this is a romantic view. The reality is simply that mental illness is as common among talented people as among the rest of the population and a good manager makes use of everyone at his disposal. If the Tories win the next election, I hope David Cameron heeds this lesson.

As a child, I was very successful in my schoolwork but found it difficult to make friends. I went to Cambridge University but dropped out after a year due to severe depression and spent most of the next year in a therapeutic community, before returning to Cambridge to complete my degree. I first identified myself as autistic in 1999 while I was studying psychology in London but I was not officially diagnosed until 2004 because of a year travelling in Australia and a great deal of NHS bureaucracy. I spent four years working for the BBC as a question writer for the Weakest Link but I am now studying law with the intention of training to be a solicitor. My hobbies include online poker and korfball, and I will be running the London Marathon in 2007. I now have many friends and I am rarely depressed but I remain single.
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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times