His bestseller will do little to change the minds of his enemies, but Tony Blair has provided a sometimes brilliant insight into the thoughts of someone holding the reins of power

THREE YEARS OUT of power, Tony Blair's magnetism remains undiminished, judging by the early sales of his memoir of his time in 10 Downing Street, which have broken all records for political autobiographies. Written in a conversational style that grates, the book, A Journey, contains barbs by the score, most of them directed – and often with justification – at Gordon Brown, who unsuccessfully succeeded Blair in Downing Street.

YOU’LL CRINGE

Blair will have readers cringing, or pulling up the duvets, at times, particularly in his declarations about his more intimate moments with his highly able, but not generally liked wife, Cherie.

On the night before he became Labour leader in 1994, Blair writes, “she cradled me in her arms and soothed me; told me what I needed to be told; strengthened me; made me feel what I was about to do was right. On that night I needed that love Cherie gave me, selfishly. I devoured it. I was an animal following my instinct, knowing I would need every ounce of emotional power to cope with what lay ahead. I was exhilarated, afraid and determined in roughly equal quantities.”

The cringing won’t stop there either. Describing his first love, Amanda Mackenzie Stuart, whom he first met when he was a pupil at Fettes, Scotland’s public-school equivalent of Eton or Harrow, the former prime minister asks: “You know the first person you ever fall in love with; you know the incredible outpouring of desire, the overwhelming sense of something inexpressible . . . but so thrilling, uplifting, your heart pumping and soaring?”

Such a feeling is brought to mind again when reading of his attempt as a randy young man to get into the sleeping bag of the “sexy and exuberant” Anji Hunter (who was later, from 1997 to 2002, to serve as one of his key aides and subsequently married Sky’s political editor, Adam Boulton, in 2006) when the two were a party in Scotland – “Without success!” Sometimes, things are better left unsaid.

YOU’LL FEEL BETTER

During his career, Blair often played the role of “ordinary guy” and he does so again in this book, particularly when he talks about his alcohol intake, involving a “stiff whisky, or a GT before dinner, couple of glasses of wine, or even half a bottle with it. So not excessively excessive. I had a limit. But I was aware that it had become a prop.”

Given that he was invading a country and accused of being a war criminal, one could be forgiven for thinking that Blair is now being a bit prim.

Scotsman John Reid, former health secretary and one who does know how to drink, comments: “He wonders whether drinking one stiff gin and tonic and a couple of glasses of wine a night during dinner – was that a big step up? Well, it might have been for Tony, who didn’t normally drink; where I come from, a gin and tonic, two glasses of wine, you wouldn’t give that to a budgie. I speak with some authority on this.”

YOU’LL RAISE AN EYEBROW

His liking for holidays in the homes of the rich during his time in office have been excised from the Blair history, and readers will search in vain for any mention of Cliff Richard’s Barbados home, lent to the Blairs three years in a row. Equally, the effrontery with which he argues that most of his close friends of today are “regular guys” and not the super-rich will be greeted with scepticism by many who have watched his assiduousness in building up his thriving business consultancy since he left office.

YOU’LL GAPE

If one has finished cringing, one might be minded to gape at Blair’s re-telling of the downfall of Ron Davies as secretary of state for Wales in 1998 after he was robbed by a black male prostitute on Clapham Common.

Ordered to No 10 to explain himself, the hapless Davies ensured his departure with his explanation. “‘I had been in Wales for the weekend. I drove up to London and to stretch my legs I decided to go for a walk.’ By now, he was being met with puzzled looks: ‘I bumped into this Rasta bloke and we got talking, you know, as you do,’ said Davies. Eyebrows raised further. ‘He said, why not go for a curry? I said fair enough and got in his car.’”

Mouths started to open, Blair writes, as Davies continued: “‘Then we met up with a few of his mates and suddenly I was set upon and robbed. Could have happened to anyone.’ Stunned silence followed, then almost in unison, ‘Er, not really Ron.’”