Theatre

Steve Thompson admits that as a house husband living in Welwyn Garden City he doesn’t attract admiring fans at parties. It wasn’t much better when he was head of maths at Tiffin School in Kingston. The status of teachers sank without trace during the get-rich-quick years of the ’80s. In contrast his wife is a media lawyer – hence the decision when they had children that he should give up his job rather than her – and brings home stories of last minute decisions at the office, which either spare a celebrity for another day, or send them rushing into the consoling arms of Max Clifford. Feature continues

Thompson has always been a passionate theatregoer – a bond forged with his father who despaired of ever interesting him in football – and when he found himself endlessly sitting on the landing waiting for his son to go to sleep, he started to wonder whether it would be a good time to write a play. And, although far from the epicentre of power himself, he was drawn to write about those who are forced to make crucial decisions daily. First, he drew on his wife’s experiences to write ‘Damages’, a splendidly scurrilous play set in a newspaper office in which the decision to print or hold an incriminating photo is driven by self-interest. For his next play, ‘Whipping It Up’, he has turned his attention to the Whips Office, an appropriate name for an institution that bullies, corrals, and seduces MPs into voting right on the night.

You might imagine that Thompson sits at home shouting at the TV. In fact, he’s a mild-mannered man who claims not to have a strong political agenda, but rather admires those he writes about. ‘I think there’s something very sexy about people who do their jobs phenomenally well. People who are experts in their field.’ So ‘Damages’ is similar to ‘The Front Page’; while Thompson exposes the villainy of the tabloid press, he’s also a bit in love with it. His mathematical brain is adept at creating plots with as many twists as a stick of barley sugar.‘Whipping it Up’ was initially inspired by a Roy Hattersley piece that described a major whips’ failure in 1979 when James Callaghan lost a vote of confidence by just one vote. An election followed and Maggie Thatcher took over. ‘That had me salivating,’ says Thompson. ‘I wanted to know what the entire office is like and how it functions.’

It wasn’t easy. Whips like to preserve their mystique. Thompson met several old hands, some of whom were prepared to be named, and others who insisted on a level of secrecy worthy of MI5. ‘When Tim Shortall, the designer, and I visited Parliament we wanted to see the office itself, but we were barred. I had to distract the person taking us round while Tim tried to look through the keyhole. I’ve spoken to people who’ve been in the room and it’s not like the Holy Grail is sitting on the desk. It’s just this sense that whipping is sometimes dirty and therefore it’s better if the Pandora’s box is never opened.’It is, of course, the dirt that Thompson relishes: ambushing, which involves persuading the other side to think that all your troops have left when in fact they are lurking like schoolboys in the toilets; slowing speeches down in order to win time; or speeding them up to catch the other side unawares. And in really desperate situations, there’s the ambulance run in which those MPs languishing in hospital are stretchered out to vote – once both whips have agreed the patients are still alive.

It’s just such shenanigans and traditions that MPs cling to and alienate everyone else. The Whips Office emerges as an extension of a boys’ public school in which loyalty rather than principles count. ‘I met an incredibly senior whip,’ says Thompson, ‘who said that winning the game or niggling the opposition is far more important than politics.’ So much for trying to change the world. He has chosen to set his play in the near-future in which a young, cycling Tory has become PM with a very narrow majority. ‘I chose the Tories,’ says Thompson, ‘because their backbenchers are so colourful. I just couldn’t resist. Most of the dirty tricks stories are told about previous Tory whips.

’Political comedies appear to be coming back in vogue. Toby Young keeps trying and Alistair Beaton will open a new one next year. But Thompson’s plays are better described as work comedies. They could play equally well on television except, says their creator, for the time factor and the commitment of the audience. ‘In the Bush you make a contract with the audience who look down on the desktops and watch the signing of the documents. You’re bringing 81 new whips into the theatre every night.’