Like many to have fallen spectacularly from office, Stephen Byers had been tipped as a future Labour leader and sometime prime minister.

Byers was a key member of the telegenic new modernising team behind the election of Tony Blair as Labour leader in 1994.

A 40-something former lawyer, he, like Blair, represents a north-east seat.

Byers was the model sharp-suited, moderate Labourite promoted by Blair.

But after a promising period in opposition, his career in government became defined by a damaging series of gaffes and lapses.

With row after row over what Byers had said and what he had meant when he said it, the cabinet minister came to symbolise the triumph of spin over substance.

As transport secretary his name soon became pre-fixed as "embattled" or "beleaguered".

But as Labour entered its second term underlining its commitment to social justice and delivery, the headlines remained dominated by spin.

A daily diet of headlines over Byers and his economy with the truth put Downing Street on the back foot day after day.

Gaffes

As a shadow education and employment spokesman, Byers caused a storm when he told journalists that the Labour Party was "about to break the links with the unions".

Appointed as the minister for school standards in 1997, Byers first fell foul of the media when he failed to give the correct answer when asked what seven times eight was. His answer: "54" - wrong, minister.

He entered the cabinet in 1998 as chief secretary to the Treasury, where he was quickly dubbed a Blair clone.

After the spectacular resignation of Peter Mandelson following the home loans scandal in December 1988, Byers was on the up again - moving to become trade secretary.

It was here, however, that the minister was to gain a reputation for slipping on avoidable banana skins.

He began to become embroiled in disputes over differing accounts of what was said at meetings.

Despite his battery of civil servants, Byers failed to see thousands of job losses coming as BMW sold its Rover car plant at Longbridge.

His denial that he had no prior knowledge of BMW's intended actions were challenged publicly by the company.

The minister was gaining a reputation for his ability to leave a meeting drawing a significantly different conclusion about its outcome than others around the table.

Following the 2001 general election, Byers, whose future began looking less than certain, was moved from the DTI to the new Department of Transport, Local Government and the Regions.

In what proved to be a fatal mistake, Byers took with him Jo Moore - the outspoken and prickly special adviser who was to be instrumental in his downfall.

Within months of arriving at his new department, the Tyneside MP was again at the centre of a row which was to deprive him off first his special adviser - then, finally, his job.

As the rail system descended into chaos, Byers was secretly planning to wind-up Railtrack, the unpopular firm which owned the rail network.

As he and his officials put the finishing touches to the plans, Jo Moore mounted a rubbishing exercise - dismissing media predictions of the move as "fantasy".

To the horror of the City just the very next day Byers revealed that he was set to seize back the firm from shareholders.

What should have been a popular move among Labour MPs rapidly became a PR nightmare.

The story spun out of control in a war of claim and counter claim.

Railtrack bosses denied Byers' claims that they had initially suggested putting the firm into receivership.

But it wasn't this fiasco that proved Byers' undoing.

As Railtrack hit the headlines the transport secretary's career went critical with the October 9 revelation that his spin doctor had sent an infamous email suggesting that September 11 was "a good day to bury bad news".

The media, the opposition and a line of Labour backbenchers queued up demanding her head.

Standing firm, Byers' loyalty to Moore became a liability as the department went into meltdown in a war of spin.

An exasperated Downing Street mounted a support exercise.

But it came with a clear warning that the increasingly isolated minister was in Westminster's "last chance saloon".

Despite attempts to kill the story, the media spotlight refused to move away from Moore - who was engaged in a bitter civil war with the departmental chief of communications, Martin Sixsmith.

The minister was again slapped down by Number 10 after it was revealed he had tried to appoint an outsider to a senior media role - who happened to be a friend of Moore's.

To make matters worse, civil servants claimed they were being forced to carry out political work to rubbish Transport for London chief Bob Kiley.

His handling of the London Underground PPP deals left the capital's Labour MPs seething.

They wanted a result - one way or the other.

As relations reached crisis point within the department, Sixsmith alleged that Moore had suggested announcing key rail data on the same day as the funeral of Princess Margaret.

A bitter war of words erupted - throwing a harsh spotlight on the role of government special advisers.

The row threatened to undermine the government's entire spin machine and a vicious struggle at the heart of the transport department was laid bare.

As Byers looked increasingly isolated Moore agreed to go. But her price was Sixsmith's head.

In a move which damaged him more than any other, Byers announced that Sixsmith had resigned - a fact disputed by the communications chief.

As Byers' career went into freefall, the minister was hauled before an angry Commons to explain why he had announced that Sixsmith had resigned when it was clear that no such resignation had been tendered.

But to the astonishment of his critics Byers weathered the storm - clinging onto office with the public support of a now exasperated Downing Street.

Then the row exploded again after Byers' department finally settled the terms of Sixsmith's departure - admitting that he had not resigned.

The minister again brazened out a rowdy Commons which was baying for his blood.

Not for the first time, Westminster's Houdini had dumbfounded his critics.

Then, just when he should have kept his head down, Byers told a lobby press lunch that the government was set to introduce legislation for a referendum on the single currency in the next Queen's speech.

If Downing Street was still standing by its man, this was the event which would lead Blair to decide the minister had to go.

A brutal slap down from Number 10 came ahead of Commons battering for Blair over the government's real euro plans.

As a humiliated Blair left the Commons chamber Labour backbenchers predicted an early bath for the troubled transport secretary.

Even when it was thought things could get no worse for Byers it emerged that he had told a group of Paddington rail crash survivors of his plans to get rid of Railtrack a month before the official announcement.

For the hundredth time, a war of words about who said to what to whom raged over the minister's head.

As MPs headed off for the recess, stock in Byers plc were lower than those in Railtrack.

Byers had become the story - and the story was not good.