So now we know. There's a special chemistry between Ian Paisley and Tony Blair. Aww, isn't that nice? As Blair attempts to coax Paisley into power-sharing territory, it seems that the two men talk about theology and the Bible as well as politics. "We shared books that I thought would be good for him to read," said the temple-throbbing DUP leader, "and I'm sure he read them." Aye, right.
This has to be the most bizarre love-in of the modern era. Indeed, Lord Bew, professor of Irish Politics at Queen's University, Belfast, has observed: "This is the most amazing love affair, the last great Blairite romance. It is fantastic stuff. It is religious, it is romantic, it is brilliant." Jings.
Tone's legendary charm is so powerful that individuals of quite diverse allegiances leave his presence utterly convinced that the prime minister agrees with them. This seductive skill, in the hands of a mesmerising operator, is undoubtedly useful in the torrid jungle of Northern Irish politics. I had an unforgettable insight into Ian Paisley's mentality when I went to hear him preach in his huge Belfast temple. It was a breathtaking display of hubris. This belligerent Protestant Pope seemed to harbour no doubts about his own infallibility. In his solipsistic world, all roads lead to Paisley rather than to Rome.
So what has actually been going on at these meetings? Well, I can tell you. I have in my possession secret videotapes of their encounters. A mysterious telephone call from Billy King, one of Dr Paisley's special advisers, summoned me to a late-night rendezvous in a dungeon in Belfast. Furtively handing over the tapes, King revealed to me that his real name was Patrick O'Mole, a high-ranking IRA agent. Here are some highlights: November 12, 2006. Tony Blair: Well, Doctor Paisley, I loved the books you gave me, especially the one about the struggles between the Calvinist Protestants and the Protestant Calvinists in Ireland since the eighteenth century. It was absolutely riveting.
Ian Paisley: Blair, what about these stories in the press about you becoming a Catholic? I hope you're not cheating on me.
TB: No, no. As a born-again Protestant I would never do such a thing.
IP: Isn't your wife a Roman Catholic?
TB: Well, technically, but Cherie's a kind of Protestant Catholic thingy, if you know what I mean. Her favourite Christian is John Knox and she did Bible studies with Pastor Jack Glass. (A cock crows three times outside the building.) IP: Glass was a heretic. He wasn't sound on Triple Predestination.
TB: You're absolutely right, Doctor Paisley. Now, will you share power with Sinn Fein?
IP: No.
January 15, 2007. TB: Doctor No, I mean Doctor Paisley, thanks for the book of your sermons. Really super. I couldn't put the book down! Now, about Gerry Adams . . .
IP: Why are you wearing all that make-up? You're not one of . . .
TB: No, I'm not. It's for television. I've always got to be ready. Remember Mark chapter two verse four: "They could not come nigh unto Jesus for the press." Look, Doctor Paisley, everything now depends on you. You hold the key to the future of Northern Ireland. Like myself, you are a man sent by God, a true prophet, the Lord's anointed, a light in the darkness!
IP: I agree. I feel the hand of history upon my shoulder.
TB: That's my line! Yes, the Lord is anointing both of us for this great task!
IP: Like Abraham in his old age, God has chosen me to lead my people to the promised land!
TB: (muttered aside) You're barking . . . Does that mean you'll share power with Sinn Fein? Say yes, Isaiah, God's man of the hour!
IP: I'll tell you next time. Your homework is to read The Providence of a Protestant God in nineteenth-century Ulster.
TB: Super! I can't wait to read it!
March 17, 2007. TB: The day of destiny is at hand, the day for promises to be exchanged! Ian, will you be mine, I mean will you share power with Sinn Fein?
A waitress comes in and puts down coffees. She is strange-looking, with a greying beard.
TB: Thanks, Gerry. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Ian, you are the People's Proddy, I mean the People's Premier, the Son of God. Tell me that you will share power with Sinn Fein.
IP: Get thee behind me, Satan!
The wages of Sinn Fein is death.
I'm saying no - unless you give me more concessions.
TB (falling at IP's feet, licking the mud from his shoes): My legacy!
My legacy! Save my legacy!
We leave the story there.
The rest of the highlights from this cliff-hanger will appear in my thrilling 36-part TV documentary, The Dinosaur and the Chameleon.
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