Chapter 6 In which a high-speed ferry service comes to the rescue

Dr Pangloss could hardly sleep after his chance meeting with the mystery man from Westphalia United, such was his excitement about the philosophy of cause and effect. 'I must quickly think of another big idea, he thought, otherwise everyone will be expecting me to have a casino built, or create some new jobs somewhere.' His mind was racing. He thought about cutting unnecessary spending at the Town Hall, or making fast food outlets stop handing out polystyrene cartons which filled up the litter bins and ended up in the harbour, but he couldn't see those ideas making much of an impact in the Westphalia Express. When he arrived at work the next morning he was more than a little anxious as he had still not come up with a new big idea, but as it turned out he needn't have worried - help was on its way, albeit from a very unlikely source. The boss of the biggest bus company in the country was on his way to see him, to discuss (can you believe it readers?) a very big idea of his own. However, before I divulge the nature of this idea a little background information is necessary.

Westphalia-on-Sea was one of three towns situated on a bay. Eastphalia was next to Westphalia-on-Sea, and at the further end of the bay was the picturesque town of Fishhole, which, as the name suggested, relied on fishing for much of its income. Ever since Victorian times the area had been known as the Cote de Westphalia, because it looked a bit like a place in France called the Cote d'Azur. It was only about nine miles to drive around the coast to Fishhole from Westphalia-on-Sea, but in summer many tourists preferred to make the journey by ferry boat - it only took half an hour across the bay, and gave everyone the chance to appreciate this beautiful stretch of coastline from the sea. Once in Fishhole they could stroll around the harbour, have a crab sandwich and then take the ferry boat back again. Over the years fashions and governments came and went, but the leisurely ferry boat service had remained largely unchanged, apparently stubbornly resistant to progress. That was, of course, until now. Apparently the aforementioned boss of the bus company planned to install a high-speed ferry service from Westphalia-on-Sea to Fishhole. The words 'high-speed' leapt off the page at Pangloss. This was it. Manna from heaven. If this didn't have 'the-next-big-idea-that-was-never-going-to-happen' written all over it then he was a Dutchman. He could see the front page now: the sleek lines of a large top-of-the-range modern white ferry with his face in a little inset in the top right corner, just below the words HIGH SPEED FERRY. Maybe it could be juxtaposed with a photo of the sad old tub that took the visitors to Fishhole at the moment. He would discuss it with the editor. God, he was good at this. Was it his imagination, or were his bowels loosening ever so slightly at the excitement of it all? Pangloss got on the phone and set up the meeting with old bigwig whatsisname from the bus company. After barely 30 minutes he was saying goodbye and heading back to his desk to formulate a press release. 'Hmm, mustn't give the impression that this is actually going to happen,' he thought. He jotted down a few key phrases he thought he could use: '... proposed some interesting ideas ... must stress ... everything in early stages ... all subject to extensive consultation.' Then he read them back to himself. Great, he thought. I particularly like that word 'consultation', and the text says it all: not - going - to - happen.

As soon as the story appeared in the paper a few Westphalians were suckered into think the plan was a real one, and began pointing out its glaringly obvious flaws. The main one, of course, was that no-one really wanted to travel at high speed to or from Fishhole, because the enjoyment was in the leisurely trip across the bay, not in reaching the destination at top speed. Someone also pointed out that travelling at high speed would mean the only thing you were likely to see was spray. There were also questions about running such a service in bad weather, and last but not least, the people who ran the existing ferry service pointed out that it would put them out of business. Frankly it had all worked like a dream. Dr Pangloss closed and folded the newspaper, took his spectacles off and rubbed his eyes. His cat, Chairman Miaow, was stretched out on his lap, and stirred slightly as Pangloss tickled him under the chin. 'Do you know, Chairman Miaow, he said, I've a good mind to send that fellow from the bus company a box of chocolates or something by way of a thank you for that wonderfully useless idea. Now what was his name?'