A Spin Doctor writes...

I'M PROUD to say that he is a friend and client, stretching back many years.

And if you could have been there, when I visited Slobodan in his cell in The Hague, you would have seen a statesman with the dignity and wisdom of Paul Scofield in A Man For All Seasons. A man misunderstood by the western political classes, the liberal media and the BBC pronunciation unit. A man who stands alone. A martyr.

I first met Slobodan in the Nineties when I was employed by the PR department of NatWest Capital Markets and went over to Belgrade with my colleagues Douglas Hurd and Dame Pauline Neville-Jones to advise him on telecoms privatisation, over a discreet working breakfast. It was a lovely and indeed lucrative association. Christ, I get so angry when some of the sneerers suggest that Douglas, Dame Pauline and I have a case to answer if this trial ends in a conviction. Anyway, the campaign I devised for Slobodan was loosely based on my Tell Sid campaign for British Gas in the Eighties. We had some lovely telly spots with housewives scurrying around saying: "Tell Ratko!" It was a mouthwatering offer. I can't think how Donald Dewar missed it! Ha! But I digress.

Slobodan liked my style. And from then on, I have been able to work with him, and occasionally with the relevant departments at the Foreign Office and the United Nations, trying to ensure that people get a balanced view of the Balkans.

SO it was an emotional moment when I walked into The Hague prison complex with my visitor laminated badge. Impatiently, I had to listen to the chief warder's spiel. Do not approach the glass. Do not give the prisoner anything.

Do not accept anything from the prisoner. Do not let the prisoner get inside your head with teasingly intuitive remarks about your sexual anxiety.

Yes, yes, I snapped impatiently, let's get on with it. I found Slobodan's cell at the end of a corridor. He was standing there in his stylish blue denim jumpsuit, arms tied around the back, an odd grille-like mask on his face.

"Ohhh, Taaaaad," he crooned. "Your favourite cologne is CK One! But you're not wearing it today." "That's incredible," I gasped. Slobodan shimmied closer to the reinforced glass.

"You stand there, Taaad, in your Hugo Boss suit," he said in that high-pitched drawl, "but I can see you're just one generation away from your poor-white-trash mother in the East End, with her whelks and her jellied eels, and your father on the run from his national service, hiding in the coal bin in the garden and having to be fed Spam leftovers." "Stop, stop," I gasped through my tears, "stop it, Slobodan."

"Only you can decide whether you want me to stop, Taaaad," he crooned, "and let's look at the women on your client-list: Baroness Howe, Jordan, Narinder, the Princess Royal, strong women who very much resemble your poor old mum - oh, any old iron, any old iron, any any any old ..." "Oh, do shut up, Slobodan, for heaven's sake," I said, getting a little bored. "Sorry," said Slobodan in a quiet little voice.

"Let's focus on your prison appearance. I want you out of the blue denim thing and into something light and

attractive: a business-casual suit.

Something that says: I'm a statesman, I'm responsible, I'm a nice guy. Not something that says: I'm responsible for genocidal ethnic cleansing. Then I'm going to bring you into the courtroom with a lovely crowd of kids of all denominations. It's an idea I first used with Big Daddy, a super wrestler you won't have heard of. It shows you are committed to family values. I might even give you that lovely sparkly top hat and cape Big Daddy used to have."

"But what about my character witnesses?" moaned Slobodan, "what about Douglas and Dame Pauline?"

"Slobo, love, I've left about 20 messages on their mobiles," I said, shrugging helplessly, "they must just be in a meeting or something." I didn't want to tell him I'd actually left nearer 40 messages. Memories are short in this business. It's like when I was calling venues about a Bros revival tour I was trying to put together in '96. No one called back.

This can be a rough old game.

Finally we got Slobodan kitted out for his court appearance: he looked a treat. As he walked off between warders, I shouted the advice I used to give Sheena Easton: "Eyes and teeth, love, eyes and teeth! Make your personality work for you!" We can only hope for the best.

Copyright 2001
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