Right from birth, I’ve been competing with other people for my father’s attention.
Specifically, with Tony Blair. My dad, Alastair Campbell, was the Downing Street Press Secretary and co-architect of so-called New Labour, who began working for Tony Blair the same month I was born.
My mum is the education campaigner Fiona Millar, who worked as Cherie Blair’s personal advisor.
I wasn’t fazed by my childhood at the time.
Having parents with high profiles in politics was all I knew.
Now, I realise it wasn’t the most typical upbringing, and I’ve written a stand-up comedy show about my experiences.
On the day of Labour’s landslide victory in 1997, it was my third birthday. On the BBC footage of Tony Blair becoming Prime Minister, he’s outside Downing Street making a speech, while my mum is next to him holding me.
I am so cute, but I look so bored. I would rather have been at home playing with my new Furbies, but Mum said, ‘Come on, we have to go to Downing Street. Daddy and Tony have won a massive landslide.’
So I turned up thinking there would be a big slide to play on. You can imagine how disappointed I felt when there wasn’t.
With both my parents working, we had nannies at home to look after me and my two older brothers, Rory and Calum.
We went to the primary school at the end of our road in North London, there was a council estate nearby, so the intake was very mixed and no one cared who I was.
We sometimes played with the Blair children, they came on holiday with us a couple of times to the South of France – there’s a picture of Tony pushing my buggy there.
School inset days were often spent at Downing Street. There was a vending machine and I’d nag the civil servants to get Twix bars, and I played with David Blunkett’s guide dog.
As Cherie Blair’s special advisor, my mum looked after all sorts of things, from communication and messaging to what Cherie was going to wear or say.
One of her roles was taking the wives and families of world leaders out in London while the men would go off and do ‘Men Things’, like talk about nuclear missiles and war.
So when I was 10, I went up the London Eye with my family, the Blairs and the Putins. I remember Mrs Putin turned to Cherie and said, ‘I want to buy ze girls some shoes while I’m in London.’
Cherie got all full of herself and told her about Bond Street and reeled off all these designers, so I butted in, ‘Mrs Putin, don’t listen to her, she don’t know nuffin’ about shoes, you wanna take the girls to Clarks.’
Mum thought it was funny.
At events I was lucky enough to meet celebrities like the Spice Girls – me and Kathryn Blair had our photo taken with Geri Halliwell – and Girls Aloud.
When I was 14, I went to see Miley Cyrus at The O2. Boris Johnson was the London Mayor at the time and we shared a box with him. That was mad, I love Miley!
Boris naughtily introduced my dad to Miley as his ‘deputy mayor’ as a joke, which she of course didn’t understand, so she was like, ‘Hello Deputy Mayor, nice to meet you,’ and we all just laughed. It was way before Boris became quite sinister.
Of course, as a teenager I got p*ssed. But thankfully I never had a ‘Euan Blair moment’ when he got arrested for being drunk in Trafalgar Square after his GCSEs. I felt sorry for him, it was awful. As my dad wasn’t the Prime Minister, it wouldn’t have had the same impact with me anyway.
I always got on well with adults, I probably knew more about politics than the average kid just by hearing dinner table talk. But it was only when I studied politics at A-level that I started forming my own opinions.
I would have been anti the Iraq War, but I was a child then. Last year at a stand-up gig, I got heckled about who I am by a drunk woman who shouted, ‘You’re a war criminal, you’ve got blood on your hands.’
I hated it. She’s entitled to her opinions, but I was nine at the time!
I told Dad about it, and he told Tony Blair, and Tony rang me and said, ‘Oh Gracie, Gracie, I am so sorry this happened to you, this really is all my fault.’
In my show I make the joke that I have an exclusive – I’m the first person to get Tony Blair to apologise for the Iraq War!
I invited Tony to the show, but he hasn’t seen it. Sadiq Khan came, I was very nervous with him in the audience, but he loved it.
He said his daughters would appreciate it, because it’s not a very universal experience being the child of someone in politics, as I’m well aware.
Mum was the more hands-on parent. She’s very empathetic and calming. Dad was stricter, but so charismatic and funny. He worshipped me, and I was a daddy’s girl. Now we host a podcast together, Football, Feminism And Everything In Between.
We are colleagues now, and it p*sses him off when I say I’m his employer! I have inherited his sense of humour, but I am less hot tempered.
Dad was never very cross as home. I don’t think he’s particularly intimidating to boyfriends. I met my boyfriend Idrisa, 30, on [the dating app] Hinge. On our first date I told him who my dad was.
Idrisa also loves The Thick Of It and everyone thinks Malcolm Tucker from that show was based on my dad, which is the coolest thing ever!
Unfortunately, Armando Iannucci who wrote it denies this is true. Dad is sweary, but not quite as sweary as Malcolm. Dad loves the show, but he sits watching going, ‘That wouldn’t happen.’
Dad was one of the first celebs to open up about his mental health issues and I respect him for that. It’s brave, especially for men taught to be tough and not show their vulnerabilities.
This had a positive influence on me and made me more empathetic. One in four of us will suffer, we all know people going through stuff, so we should all get comfortable talking about it. I have anxiety myself. Talking about it is important.
It’s therapeutic for me doing stand-up comedy. I can happily talk about sex, fannies and periods in front of my dad with no embarrassment at all.
I’ve always been like that. There is nothing my family vetoed before I performed. They know if they said, ‘Please don’t say this Grace,’ I probably would.
My dad loves me performing, he thinks it’s hilarious. My mum is so supportive, but gets nervous for me. My parents are very proud of me, and I am proud of them.
NB: Grace Campbell: Why I’m Never Going Into Politics UK tour from 17 February–26 March. For tickets go to Disgracecampbell.com. Football, Feminism And Everything In Between is available on all podcast platforms.
