'God gave me wings'

IT'S hard to pinpoint exactly when it all went horribly wrong. Certainly, by the time George Galloway closed his eyes and started to hum, things were looking pretty bad. There had been some early warning signs but then something must have happened and it was suddenly beyond recovery.

Perhaps the conditions were partly to blame. Crammed three to the backseat of a car, along with George's aide Ron, is probably not ideal for an interview. And when it's sweltering and the traffic is crawling and a 20-minute journey stretches to an hour, maybe it's asking for trouble. In any event, it would be hard to tell who was more relieved when it was all over.

But it shouldn't have been like this. George is on a bit of a roll now. After years of being labelled a "maverick" MP, of being derided by the Press and shunned by his party leaders, he is finally getting some good publicity.

It started when he caused one of the most remarkable upsets in last month's General Election. After being expelled from Labour in October 2003 for his outspoken comments on the Iraq war, he stood for the fledgling Respect party in the East London seat of Bethnal Green and Bow and overturned a 10,000 Labour majority.

Then he turned the tables on US senators who accused him of accepting oil credits from Saddam Hussein. His barnstorming performance in Washington left the senators humbled and was cheered on both sides of the Atlantic. It gave a powerful boost to the new party's fortunes.

"I just got a chance to say to the American power what a great many people wanted to say," he says. We'd met at Newcastle's Central Station and were on the way to the Customs House in South Shields, the first venue on a nationwide speaking tour. The evening was a sell-out, perhaps partly on the back of his transatlantic foray. "The response has been completely unprecedented. It has more than double, trebled, quadrupled support," he adds.

Although Respect was born out of the anti-war movement, it has become a broadly left wing party. George clearly sees it as a second Labour Party.

"We're not the Iraq War Party, we're the real Labour Party," he says. "We're the Labour Party reborn after the existing party was murdered by Tony Blair. We have a stand on all the major issues of the day, which is the stand that Labour used to take and there is a market for that. In the absence of a Labour Party we think we can pick up that support."

So how does he respond to suggestions that it is a one-issue party run by one man? That it is all an ego-trip for his benefit? It's a criticism that's often been levelled, but today it provokes a sudden explosion.

"It was not me who expelled me from the Labour Party," he says indignantly. "People can make up their own mind on that insolent question. I really have nothing to say about it." He fumes for a moment, before adding: "You would not have asked that question of any other politician."

I protest that I have put similar questions to other politicians. He goes quiet. The car is still inching along and the heat is stifling.

"I didn't ask to be expelled. I fought my expulsion to the last minute," he resumes. What was I to do? Commit hari kiri? Disappear from politics? I continue to fight for my point of view."

He says now he wishes he had resigned on the night the House of Commons voted in favour of military action. "It is very painful to be thrown out," he says, and puts his head back, closes his eyes and starts humming.

It's a little disconcerting, although no-one else in the car - as well as Ron there is Wendy, producer of George's Audience With... speaking tour, and the driver - seems perturbed. Still, it seems a good bet to move onto the safer ground of asking when he first thought of forming a new party.

"I was a leader, one of the leaders, of a huge movement in the country, millions of people exercising street power to try and stop the Government making this terrible blunder," he says.

"About a year before, people started to discuss what would happen if this great anti-war movement failed to stop this disaster from happening, and whether it should give birth to a political creation and what kind of creation that should be."

The atmosphere lightens a little, as we discuss Respect and its aims, and move onto the even more fruitful area of his appearance in the Senate. "God gave me wings that day. I was able to put my case well," he says.

So it seems safe to ask why he believes he has been subject of so much hostility in the past. Another mistake.

"You tell me, you're a journalist," he snaps back. "Most journalists share the prevailing orthodoxy and that means someone who takes up the cudgels against that orthodoxy is seen as someone to be smitten.

"Is it a coincidence that over 20 years I have been the subject of unremitted media attack, or is connected to what I'm saying or how I'm saying it? I'm content to leave that to the public."

Even against this outburst, his next remark comes somewhat out of the blue.

"I'm not saying this out of any ill feeling, but this is the most hostile interview I have had in the last five weeks," he says. "Most reporters now are not taking pot shots any more. At the moment it is not a pot shot situation, it is a plaudits situation."

Maybe that's it. Maybe he believes his American triumph has given him at least a temporary immunity. I'm a little taken aback, and tell him I'm surprised he sees this as hostile.

"Because I have been doing this 30 years, when you were still at school I was doing this, I have learned to detect where someone is coming from when they interview me," he says.

"I have made a detection in your case. It may be right, it may be wrong, it's just you get to a stage that we have spoken so long... I would not normally have spoken so long to The Northern Echo, not least because my voice should be in better shape when we get out of the car."

But none of the questions were out of the ordinary. What makes him think they were hostile?

"I detect from you at the very least a scepticism," he says. "I think you are behind the curve. I think you haven't grasped that I'm not the lonely, isolated extremist figure that I might have seemed a few months ago."

Again, I protest that none of my questions were hostile. It turns out it wasn't so much the questions themselves at fault. "It is the way in which you are asking them. The way in which you are asking questions in a different way," he says. "I have a view about how your interview will be published. I have a view about how you at least got into this car thinking about me."

So how does his readiness to prejudge others make him different from those who condemn George Galloway out of hand? "We have pursued this line long enough," he says, and lapses into silence.

Either he's become very thin-skinned since he came back from America, or he's just trying to bully me. Thankfully, at this point the Customs House comes into view. The last few minutes pass in silence. It has been a very long hour. There's a group of reporters, photographers and camera crews waiting for him. The car pulls up, George switches on his smile and gets out.

* George Galloway will be speaking at a Respect rally at the Tyne Theatre, Newcastle, tomorrow, 7pm.