He was clearly engrossed in what he was reading, and a curious observer might have followed him all the way to his front door without arousing any suspicion. The eyes of the grey-haired gentleman searched hurriedly through each of the newspapers. They were plainly looking for something; and, when they found it, the something they were looking for was, as often as not, accompanied by a small photograph.

From the small photograph a grey-haired gentleman gazed out at Holland Park Avenue, with features expressive of permanent surprise. Tony Benn was reading his reviews. What does it feel like to be Tony Benn?

What’s it like to wake every morning inside Tony Benn, to shave Tony Benn’s chin, to eat Tony Benn’s breakfast, to kiss Tony Benn’s wife, to go to work in Tony Benn’s car, to sit in Tony Benn’s office twiddling Tony Benn’s thumbs, to consult the charts on Tony Benn’s walls, to be blamed for Tony Benn’s errors of judgment, to be praised by Paul Johnson for Tony Benn’s good qualities, to argue Tony Benn’s case in cabinet and quite another case outside, to consult with Tony Benn’s conscience about whether to resign – and to do all this not once or twice, but all the time, without ever letting up? You or I would, I suppose, occasionally get pretty fed up with it.

We would be tempted to behave out of character. At about the thousandth mug of tea, we would be hit by a great wave of nausea. For Christ’s sake, we would exclaim, bring us a large brandy and soda, and take this muck away!

We would lose our tempers, kick over the chairs, abuse our subordinates, storm out of the office and go to a film. The job would simply get us down. But Benn apparently never loses his temper.

Indeed I have heard this cited in criticism of him by a former colleague. What sort of a person is it, the argument went, who never even lets off steam? Exemplary behaviour always arouses suspicions, and there exists a group of rumours about Benn which have obviously grown from the general disbelief that Benn’s public character can bear any relation to his private life.

Not long ago I was questioned by a property developer on this point. “What’s he really like?” “Oh, frightfully nice,” I said, and laid on the praise with a trowel. “Oh good,” said the man, pensively, “then at least that means that awful story I heard can’t be true.” “What story was that?” “Oh, I couldn’t, I just couldn’t repeat it.” “Go on.” “No, really, it was too frightful.” “Was it anything to do with animals?” I asked.

The man gave me a startled look. “Because,” I continued, “If so, I’m afraid it’s probably a myth.” And I proceeded to tell him one or two versions of the myth – for instance that the way Benn lets off steam is by stuffing his Wellington boots with live canaries and stomping off round Holland Park. The man’s face fell, and he admitted that the story he had heard must belong to the same category.

Interestingly enough, it came complete with circumstantial detail and an attribution to the Metropolitan Police – a story so appalling that I could not possibly reproduce it here either whole or in part (except to say that it involves the violent death of a rabbit). Rabbits apart, it seems that Benn’s favourite way of letting off steam is to do something pretty naughty, but not naughty enough to get him the sack. He would prefer a good resignation to a sacking.

But he has left it rather too late in his career to resign. To do so nowadays would be interpreted as a leadership bid rather than as a genuine resignation on a matter of principle. Nevertheless he often thinks about resigning, and sometimes takes advice on the matter.

Perhaps the nearest he has come to giving notice was over the Lib-Lab deal. On the day that the details were finalised it happened that Benn was due for a 2.30 meeting with his minister of state, Dickson Mabon. Mabon went in to see him, but Benn was unusually unwilling to talk.

He’d had a terrible cabinet meeting, he said, and he wanted now to be alone. Mabon insisted that the meeting was urgent – there were things they had to decide. Benn insisted on being left alone.

As Mabon went out of Benn’s office, he noticed Ian Mikardo, waiting to go in. This story, put around (we assume) by Mabon and his chums, is interpreted by the Right of the party as follows. Benn was genuinely wondering whether to resign, and had invited Mikardo around to learn whether his action would receive the support of the Tribune Group. Mikardo, being a canny operator, sensed that the Lib-Lab pact was considered an insignificant evil in comparison