Оглавление
John Major. John Major: The Autobiography
JOHN MAJOR. THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY
COPYRIGHT
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
FOREWORD
CHAPTER ONE The Search for Tom Major
CHAPTER TWO From Brixton to Westminster
CHAPTER THREE Into the Commons
CHAPTER FOUR Climbing the Ladder
CHAPTER FIVE Into Cabinet
CHAPTER SIX ‘What’s the Capital of Colombia?’
CHAPTER SEVEN An Ambition Fulfilled
CHAPTER EIGHT An Empress Falls
CHAPTER NINE Prime Minister
CHAPTER TEN The Gulf War
CHAPTER ELEVEN Raising the Standard
CHAPTER TWELVE Maastricht
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Winning a Mandate
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Black Wednesday
CHAPTER FIFTEEN The ‘Bastards’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Back to Basics
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Protecting our Heritage
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN The Union at Risk
CHAPTER NINETEEN Into the Mists: Bright Hopes, Black Deeds
CHAPTER TWENTY The Wider World
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE At the Summit
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Hell’s Kitchen
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Unparliamentary Behaviour
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR Faultline Europe
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE Put up or Shut up
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX Mad Cows and Europeans
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN The Economy: Rags to Riches
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT The Curtain Falls
AFTERMATH
THE EMPTY HOUSE
If you enjoyed The Autobiography, check out these other great John Major titles
APPENDIX A
APPENDIX B
INDEX
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
Отрывок из книги
To Norma, Elizabeth and James
TITLE PAGE
.....
I almost lived at The Oval during the school holidays. Armed with sandwiches and a soft drink I sat on the popular side in perfect contentment. If the weather was fine and the crowd large (as it often was) I would sit on the grass just outside the boundary rope, a delight long since forbidden by nannyish safety regulations. I suppose I was spoilt by the wonderful cricket I saw then, but those early days provided imperishable memories. The mind does play tricks, of course, but what I recall is that Surrey always seemed to win, and that in the early evening The Oval was always bathed in sunshine and shadow.
I was enraptured by the literature of cricket, which has a treasure trove no other game can match. For me Neville Cardus, C.L.R. James and E.W. Swanton stand before all other writers on the game. Cardus was the poet of cricket; his prose had a romance to it that swept the mundane aside. The first piece by Cardus I ever read was a pen-portrait of Denis Compton, in which he wrote of the infamous knee: ‘the gods treated him churlishly. They crippled him almost beyond repair.’ I never saw Compton again without that thought coming to mind.
.....
