Cecil Parkinson

Parkinson, the sophisticate with a very red face and very yellow teeth.

I've been amazed to read the tributes paid to Cecil Parkinson by his friends and colleagues in the Conservative party. Screeds have been written (and spoken) about his suave, sophisticated charm, and how great a man he was; how close to Mrs Thatcher.

Now I know that it is customary on someone's death to say nice things about them, but that was surely only one side of him.

I wonder what kind of man could have an affair of many years with his assistant then when she becomes pregnant, ask her to abort the baby for his career's sake. 

When she refuses, what kind of man then refuses to acknowledge his child and indeed uses his connections to get the most fearsome, and unprecedented legal restrictions placed around her so that, until she is 18, no one must know who or what she is. (The child was forbidden to be captured in school photographs or to participate in any activity like sports or school plays.)

He has the Tory air of looking down at people.

Not only that but she was sick with a brain tumour when she was just a child.

And still he didn't acknowledge her.

Ask yourself, what kind of man could have a very sick kid and not go to her; hold her hand; tell her things will be alright.

For all the sophisticated charm in the world that he was reputed to have (and I know it is customary not to speak ill of the dead), I only see an unspeakable monster determined to do whatever it took to ensure that his career was as little harmed as possible and that he went on to be yet another gubby peer of the realm.