Day MI5 grilled me about my (lack of ) sexual peccadilloes
THERE but for the grace of God, go I. Those were my initial thoughts when I heard that Donald Trump Jr. had become entangled with a Kremlin lawyer as he sought evidence against Hillary Clinton to help his father become elected President of the United States.
For I, too, have been tempted by the seductive power of a female Russian spy. Well, almost.
It was a decade ago and I had been appointed a special adviser at the Foreign Office and as such had to undergo ‘deep vetting’ a process by which MI5 deem you fit – or not – to be a custodian of government secrets.
It involved, amongst other things, an intensive two-hour interview that in my case was conducted by a man who in looks and manner was the spit of Inspector Wexford.
After discussing family connections and clubs I had been a member of at university he dropped the bombshell.
‘Have you ever done anything sexually that others might find notable?’ he asked.
Invisible though they were, the sound of the shutters of my cultural Presbyterianism clanging down was unmistakable. Remembering that I am a liberal, 21st century Calvinist, I tried to make a joke.
‘I’d like to think that everything I have ever done sexually someone found notable,’ I quipped.
HIS lips, like arthritic caterpillars, attempted to struggle into a smile as his dead eyes tried to stare into my soul. My soul looked back and said: ‘We’re from Glasgow, come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough.’
He then read out a list of libidinous acts that could potentially lead to blackmail – and, by the sound of it, even personal injury.
As he articulated each one, the answers that accumulated in the bubble above my head ranged from ‘that sounds unpleasant,’ to ‘is that even possible?’
My mouth however merely mumbled ‘no’ to each one, in a variety of octaves, with the occasional involuntary ‘never’ added for emphasis.
At the end of the two-hour interrogation he pronounced that I had passed the test. I could learn classified government secrets, not that the prospect attracted me much. Pre-vetting, I had already found out one or two and instead of feeling privileged I felt terrified. Then came Wexford’s astonishing warning.
‘It is not a question of “if” but “when” you will be approached by a foreign agent,’ he declared.
‘It might be an American, Chinese or a Russian. It will appear innocent. You will be in a supermarket, perhaps. There will be a clash of trolleys and an attractive young lady will try to engage you in conversation. Invite you for a drink – and the rest. If that happens you must contact me.’
It was then I started to go to Waitrose on an almost daily basis. I was single at the time – a period of my life Mrs Sinclair refers to as my ‘wilderness years’.
My logic was simple. I had no beans to spill and if an attractive Russian agent chose to seduce me the only question was how many months I could keep it going for before she realised I knew nothing and when I would report my innocent indiscretion to Wexford.
Yet my supermarket trolley could have qualified for a no-claims bonus. There was no clashing. Recklessly I used to deliver gentle glancing blows to zimmers just to feel the frisson of seduction.
No matter how long I lingered in the foreign foods aisle no one approached. The only thing I have left of that period is a packet of powdered Borscht past its self-bydate that I keep as a memento.
Donald Trump Jr. got further than me. He actually met a Russian although he insists it led to nothing. But as my MI5 handler – and indeed my parish minister – would argue, the sin is as much in the intention as the act.
IT does not matter whether Natalia Veselnitskay did or did not dish any dirt on Hillary Clinton. Trump Jr. was trying to get his father elected President of the United States of America, the leader of the free world, and he was willing to get in hock to a repressive Russian regime to do so. That in itself is a crime that ought to be punished.
I have worked on enough campaigns and heard enough juicy rumours about opponents. At best you might pass them on to a newspaper but with a health warning. You certainly do not pursue them yourself. And you do not need to be experienced in politics to come to that conclusion.
This week a letter emerged from President George Bush Sr., written to his son, George W., during his election campaign in 1988.
In it he warned: ‘As we move closer to November, you’ll find you’ve got a lot of new friends. They may become real friends.’
But if the polls were against him he said: ‘There might be some friendships that will vapourise.’
Donald Trump Sr.’s poll lead and approval ratings have vapourised and with it his son’s new-found friends. But his crime remains.
As for me? I still go to the supermarket on a regular basis, usually to buy Mrs Sinclair her tea.
Occasionally a woman’s shopping trolley will clash into mine. Then I look up and say ‘izvinite’. Russian for ‘excuse me’ and move on.
Donald Trump Jr. ought to have done the same.