January 17th was something of a red letter day in Westphalia-on-Sea, as it marked the day when the Westphalia Express began to distance itself from the Mayor and his terribly expensive consultant's vision. Dr Pangloss got on the phone to the Editor, and he was not best pleased. 'WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS?' He screamed into the receiver. 'The last thing I said to you was to be more positive, and the next thing I know is one of your columnists is doing a full-page demolition job on my Vision under the heading 'I've seen the future and it's terrifying'.'
'Well, strictly speaking it's not your vision, is it? It's just a load of third-rate toss dreamed up by a bunch of shysters calling themselves consultants.'
'What?!' Spluttered Pangloss. 'I seem to remember that not so long ago your organ was right behind me. Why the change of heart?'
'Look, we gave you a fair crack at it, but the truth of the matter is that nobody in the whole of Cote de Westphalia is taken in by these crackpot ideas anymore, and we need to start to pull away, otherwise I'll risk looking as a much of a twat as you. If 99% of the correspondence from our readers is calling your idea 'Pie in the Sky' I have to reconsider my position.'
'What do you mean? There are still a few people who back me up.'
Oh, come on, it's just a few letters from the nutty brigade, Basil Finch and his ilk that support you now. If you added their IQs together it wouldn't be much above room temperature.'
'I see. I get the picture. I've had my crack, and now I can't depend on your organ to back me up, is that it?' asked Pangloss, exasperated.
'Er, in a nutshell, yes,' replied the Editor. 'But can we call it the 'newspaper' instead, just to avoid any ambiguity?'
'As you wish,' replied Pangloss.
'Look, I'll still do you the odd favour,' said the Editor. 'I'll carry on printing your picture with a big grin next to all the positive stories, and Ahmad Hatter's glum face next to all the negative ones, you know, like the parking meters, closing the seafront, selling off the bay to developers, all that sort of thing. How's that?'
'Big bloody deal, said Pangloss sarcastically. Thanks very bloody much. It's hardly the same as feeling the full force of your or.., newspaper, behind me, though, is it?'
'Best I can do in the circumstances, I'm afraid. The honeymoon period's well and truly over now. Oh, there's something else I should warn you about as well,' said the Editor. 'We're doing a follow up article after the locals started referring to your high rise vision of Westphalia-on-Sea as a Pie In the Sky Story. The thing is, we're a bit stuck for headline space, so we're going to have to abbreviate slightly. We'll probably call it 'Taking The PISS To New Heights.'
Chapter 41 In which we meet the Traveling Wilburys
At five to noon GMT Nelson Wilbury went into his office (recently described by estate agents as 'benefiting from spectacular views of the Cote de Westphalia') and prepared to hook up to a conference call over the internet. At the same time Charlie T. Wilbury jr, coffee in hand and still yawning, was hooking up to the very same call in the Canadian province of New Brunswick. Some two hundred miles up the coast from Nelson, Otis Wilbury was also clicking his mouse in readiness. In the foothills of the French Alps Lucky Wilbury turned down the sound of Manu Chao on his computer the better to hear his friends, and in an office in the town hall in Westphalia-on-Sea, Lefty Wilbury locked his door so he could take part in this virtual meeting.
'Good afternoon everyone, said Nelson,' watching the hands on his watch nudge past the twelve.
'Morning all,' replied Charlie.
Otis, Lucky and Lefty all signalled their presence, by grunting.
'OK,' said Nelson, 'good to see and hear you at this meeting of the Piddlebackside production team. Now, you'll have seen on the webpages of the Westphalia Express that there is a lot of material floating about at the moment, probably enough to keep us going for about three weeks, so I want to brainstorm a few ideas first; just jump in with your ideas.'
'I liked the U-turn on blind people having to pay for their library books - maybe a 'robbing the blind' type headline?' suggested Otis.
'Yeah, like it,' said Nelson.
I'm very keen on the 'build something like the Sydney Opera House at the harbour' quote - I think that's got a lot of mileage in it,' said Lucky.
'I agree,' said Nelson. 'I think that's good enough to build a blog chapter around. What about you Lefty - you've always got you ear to ground down at HQ. Anything we should know about that hasn't reached the paper yet? Got any more precise consultancy costs for us?'
'No, nothing at the moment,' said Lefty. I've got to be very careful just now, anyway. I sense a few of the brighter ones have realised there's a small leak here, but they want to be fairly sure they know who it is before they go public.'
'Right, well, you know the drill: radio silence unless you're absolutely sure there's no risk.'
'No worries, replied Lefty.
'Right, said Nelson. Did you all see the lengthy comment the other night which made a number of points?'
'No, I missed that,' said Lucky.
'Well, he basically did one of those 'writing in the style of the blog' pieces.'
'Oh, Christ, we've had a few of those since we started. All very flattering, but the one thing they all seem to have in common is their inherent lameness. What did it say?'
'He implied that we were disappointed because our hit rate tailed off after the Xmas break.'
'Hmm, we're still steady, with well over 14,000 hits; not bad for a little spare time project., I'd say. Anything else?'
'Yeah, he reckons that as satirists we should be a little more even-handed. Thinks we're just ranting like some bloke in the pub, and we're turning off some of the good folk of Westphalia-on-Sea. Wants us to have a go at a few other people.'
'What? Doesn't he get it? We're not doing this just to bloody entertain people. We want this wasting money on consultants to end. We're just identifying the bad guys and highlighting how ridiculous they are; saying what most Westphalians think.'
'Of course he gets it,' interjected Lefty. 'Whoever he is is worried. If you look at the content of it he mentions Pangloss, Localbloke and that insufferable bore from New Labour, but not Charlie Windsor. I think if it isn't Windsor himself then it's someone close to him. He mentions 'the mayor getting on his tits', and that's certainly a sentiment shared by Windsor. If you look at his blog, he actually says he's worried about 'voters seeking revenge at election time', over Pangloss's parking meter fiasco.'
'Ha! We forecast this happening back in chapter 26 when Martin Leyland told Windsor that Pangloss was a lame duck mayor. Is this a case of life imitating art?' asked Otis.
'Well, let's not get carried away,' advised Nelson. 'It was pretty obvious to anyone with half a brain what would happen.'
'So how should we reply to this piece of advice from a reader concerned about a fall in our popularity?'
'I think we just do nothing, but use it in a script, said Lucky.
'Yes,' agreed Charlie T. Wilbury, 'and sooner rather than later.'
'Sounds good,' said Lefty. 'Hey look I think I hear someone coming - I'm going to have to go.'
'OK everyone, said Nelson, the jaunty tone all but gone from his voice. 'Let's all get off-line. If they were to investigate Lefty's computer they'd soon get what they're after off the hard drive and it would be game over. Email me with stories in the usual way.'
'Good afternoon everyone, said Nelson,' watching the hands on his watch nudge past the twelve.
'Morning all,' replied Charlie.
Otis, Lucky and Lefty all signalled their presence, by grunting.
'OK,' said Nelson, 'good to see and hear you at this meeting of the Piddlebackside production team. Now, you'll have seen on the webpages of the Westphalia Express that there is a lot of material floating about at the moment, probably enough to keep us going for about three weeks, so I want to brainstorm a few ideas first; just jump in with your ideas.'
'I liked the U-turn on blind people having to pay for their library books - maybe a 'robbing the blind' type headline?' suggested Otis.
'Yeah, like it,' said Nelson.
I'm very keen on the 'build something like the Sydney Opera House at the harbour' quote - I think that's got a lot of mileage in it,' said Lucky.
'I agree,' said Nelson. 'I think that's good enough to build a blog chapter around. What about you Lefty - you've always got you ear to ground down at HQ. Anything we should know about that hasn't reached the paper yet? Got any more precise consultancy costs for us?'
'No, nothing at the moment,' said Lefty. I've got to be very careful just now, anyway. I sense a few of the brighter ones have realised there's a small leak here, but they want to be fairly sure they know who it is before they go public.'
'Right, well, you know the drill: radio silence unless you're absolutely sure there's no risk.'
'No worries, replied Lefty.
'Right, said Nelson. Did you all see the lengthy comment the other night which made a number of points?'
'No, I missed that,' said Lucky.
'Well, he basically did one of those 'writing in the style of the blog' pieces.'
'Oh, Christ, we've had a few of those since we started. All very flattering, but the one thing they all seem to have in common is their inherent lameness. What did it say?'
'He implied that we were disappointed because our hit rate tailed off after the Xmas break.'
'Hmm, we're still steady, with well over 14,000 hits; not bad for a little spare time project., I'd say. Anything else?'
'Yeah, he reckons that as satirists we should be a little more even-handed. Thinks we're just ranting like some bloke in the pub, and we're turning off some of the good folk of Westphalia-on-Sea. Wants us to have a go at a few other people.'
'What? Doesn't he get it? We're not doing this just to bloody entertain people. We want this wasting money on consultants to end. We're just identifying the bad guys and highlighting how ridiculous they are; saying what most Westphalians think.'
'Of course he gets it,' interjected Lefty. 'Whoever he is is worried. If you look at the content of it he mentions Pangloss, Localbloke and that insufferable bore from New Labour, but not Charlie Windsor. I think if it isn't Windsor himself then it's someone close to him. He mentions 'the mayor getting on his tits', and that's certainly a sentiment shared by Windsor. If you look at his blog, he actually says he's worried about 'voters seeking revenge at election time', over Pangloss's parking meter fiasco.'
'Ha! We forecast this happening back in chapter 26 when Martin Leyland told Windsor that Pangloss was a lame duck mayor. Is this a case of life imitating art?' asked Otis.
'Well, let's not get carried away,' advised Nelson. 'It was pretty obvious to anyone with half a brain what would happen.'
'So how should we reply to this piece of advice from a reader concerned about a fall in our popularity?'
'I think we just do nothing, but use it in a script, said Lucky.
'Yes,' agreed Charlie T. Wilbury, 'and sooner rather than later.'
'Sounds good,' said Lefty. 'Hey look I think I hear someone coming - I'm going to have to go.'
'OK everyone, said Nelson, the jaunty tone all but gone from his voice. 'Let's all get off-line. If they were to investigate Lefty's computer they'd soon get what they're after off the hard drive and it would be game over. Email me with stories in the usual way.'
Chapter 40 In which Pangloss has a dream
As Pangloss drifted off the events of the last few months came tumbling back into his subconscious and he was engulfed by one of the most bizarre dreams of his life. First the nasty Piddlebackside blogger appeared on a bicycle and snatched Chairman Miaow. Pangloss raced after him. The next thing he knew he had woken up in a place that was a really vibrant and colourful version of the old drab Cote de Westphalia, except that it had a different name. The Piddlebackside blogger was dead, but there was another one ready to take his place. Pangloss didn't like this place at all; he just wanted to get back to the old familiar Cote de Westphalia. When he looked down he saw he was wearing a pair of magic ruby slippers, and all the little people were dancing around saying he was the mayor. He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a payslip - it said more than £4,000 a month on it - surely he was dreaming?
Then someone appeared and told him about a magical place that he should go to; it was a garden city, but near the sea. It was a very green city - almost emerald. All he had to do was follow the magic tree-lined by-pass. Pangloss set off alone, but he was quickly joined by three other characters. They were strangers but something about them reminded him of Charlie Windsor, Ahmad Hatter and the editor of the Westphalia Express. They were all hoping to get something from this magical mythical place: Charlie Windsor wanted a seat at Westminster and a fat salary, Ahmad Hatter wanted some brains, and the editor wanted some courage to print something with a little objectivity. When they finally reached the magic city it looked fabulous, but on closer inspection it was just an illusion, created with smoke and mirrors. The man in charge was still pretending it was all real, and he bore a strong resemblance to Derek Poundsign. Pangloss began sweating - he had put all his eggs in this basket, and now he looked behind the curtain and saw it for what it was. Oh, he just wanted to go home. Then he saw a big balloon - maybe that was the answer to all his problems. It seemd unlikely but he was willing to try anything, otherwise what was he going to tell the little people who said he was their mayor? He became agitated, and started moaning, tossing his head from side to side and mumbling 'there's no place like home, there's no place like home ...'
'Dr Pangloss, Dr Pangloss, wake up.' It was the voice of his secretary. 'There are some people here to see you.'
Pangloss opened his eyes and looked up into the faces of Charlie Windsor, Ahmad Hatter and the editor of the Westphalia Express.
'My, am I glad to see you. I just had the most bizarre and scary dream - it was awful. All these silly little people told me I was their mayor, and of course I didn't know what I was doing and made a complete hash of everything and all I wanted to do was get home and be an estate agent again and do amateur dramatics but I couldn't get home, but now I realise that it was all just a horrible dream.'
'Well you have been dreaming Dr Pangloss, but I'm afraid you still are the mayor, and you still believe in that fictitious Emerald Garden City by the Sea.'
'Wait, how do you know about the Emerald City? I didn't mention that bit of the dream.'
'It's all here,' smiled the editor, pointing to the front page of the newspaper. And it's been in every issue, and will continue to be until everybody comes to their senses.'
'Hang on, now I'm confused. So the mayor bit is true, but the garden city thing is a fiction?'
'That's right,' they all chorused.
'Shit,' said Pangloss. 'Shit and bugger. What about you Ahmad - did you get your brains?'
Ahmad Hatter shook his head.
'And you Charlie - your seat, and the salary?'
''Fraid not, old man.'
'Editor - your courage?'
'Not yet.'
'Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Wait a minute, what about my payslip with £4,000 on it -is that real?'
'Oh yes, that's real all right,' they said.
'Oh well,' said Pangloss. 'It's not all bad news then.'
Then someone appeared and told him about a magical place that he should go to; it was a garden city, but near the sea. It was a very green city - almost emerald. All he had to do was follow the magic tree-lined by-pass. Pangloss set off alone, but he was quickly joined by three other characters. They were strangers but something about them reminded him of Charlie Windsor, Ahmad Hatter and the editor of the Westphalia Express. They were all hoping to get something from this magical mythical place: Charlie Windsor wanted a seat at Westminster and a fat salary, Ahmad Hatter wanted some brains, and the editor wanted some courage to print something with a little objectivity. When they finally reached the magic city it looked fabulous, but on closer inspection it was just an illusion, created with smoke and mirrors. The man in charge was still pretending it was all real, and he bore a strong resemblance to Derek Poundsign. Pangloss began sweating - he had put all his eggs in this basket, and now he looked behind the curtain and saw it for what it was. Oh, he just wanted to go home. Then he saw a big balloon - maybe that was the answer to all his problems. It seemd unlikely but he was willing to try anything, otherwise what was he going to tell the little people who said he was their mayor? He became agitated, and started moaning, tossing his head from side to side and mumbling 'there's no place like home, there's no place like home ...'
'Dr Pangloss, Dr Pangloss, wake up.' It was the voice of his secretary. 'There are some people here to see you.'
Pangloss opened his eyes and looked up into the faces of Charlie Windsor, Ahmad Hatter and the editor of the Westphalia Express.
'My, am I glad to see you. I just had the most bizarre and scary dream - it was awful. All these silly little people told me I was their mayor, and of course I didn't know what I was doing and made a complete hash of everything and all I wanted to do was get home and be an estate agent again and do amateur dramatics but I couldn't get home, but now I realise that it was all just a horrible dream.'
'Well you have been dreaming Dr Pangloss, but I'm afraid you still are the mayor, and you still believe in that fictitious Emerald Garden City by the Sea.'
'Wait, how do you know about the Emerald City? I didn't mention that bit of the dream.'
'It's all here,' smiled the editor, pointing to the front page of the newspaper. And it's been in every issue, and will continue to be until everybody comes to their senses.'
'Hang on, now I'm confused. So the mayor bit is true, but the garden city thing is a fiction?'
'That's right,' they all chorused.
'Shit,' said Pangloss. 'Shit and bugger. What about you Ahmad - did you get your brains?'
Ahmad Hatter shook his head.
'And you Charlie - your seat, and the salary?'
''Fraid not, old man.'
'Editor - your courage?'
'Not yet.'
'Oh, I am sorry to hear that. Wait a minute, what about my payslip with £4,000 on it -is that real?'
'Oh yes, that's real all right,' they said.
'Oh well,' said Pangloss. 'It's not all bad news then.'
Chapter 39 In which the Westphalians do not respond favourably to the vision
Following his consultants' warning that the public might realise that his 'blueprint' was just bollocks, Dr Pangloss's hands were trembling slightly as he picked up the Westphalia Express to look for the first reactions of the Westphalians to the news that they would soon all be living in a dynamic new city environment. On page 3 there was an article about his vision, but worryingly it was accompanied by a picture of Derek Poundsign. What was his face doing in the Westphalia Express? Pangloss sensed this was not a good sign. In the middle of the article it said 'WHAT YOU THINK: See Page 10'. Pangloss quickly flicked through to page 10, but was not happy with what he found there. It was a full page article with a photo of the town centre of Westphalia-on-Sea which had some hastily drawn things on it, and all the traffic had been airbrushed out. This was definitely the work of Complete Commercial Upgrades & New Town Solutions, but what worried Pangloss more was the headline: WHAT YOU THINK Mayor vision is 'pie in the sky'. As he read the article he felt his blood pressure begin to rise. The paper had been out asking locals in the town centre what they thought of Pangloss's ideas, and every one of the ungrateful morons had had something negative to say. Pangloss threw the paper down and began punching the keypad of his phone; he was going to have it out with the editor.
'What are you playing at, printing this pie in the sky article?' thundered Pangloss as soon as the editor came on the line. 'You're supposed to be supporting me.'
'Well, I just thought it would be good to get some reaction from Joe Public.'
'Well, it could have been more balanced. Why didn't you print any of the positive things that people said?'
'There weren't any.'
'There must have been some.'
'Look, if there were, we'd have printed them, wouldn't we? The journalist and photographer were there over an hour and spoke to loads of people, but the most often repeated reaction was 'pie in the sky'. The second other phrase we kept hearing was 'pigs might fly', but we didn't want to print that in case it upset anyone. After that row over the teddy bear called Mohammed we thought it best to avoid it.'
Well, that's not the only thing I'm unhappy about. Not only is there no picture of me on the front page, but there's no picture of me on page three either. Instead you've got one of Derek Poundsign. What's that all about?'
'Well, the cat's out of the bag now, isn't it? Everybody know's it's not your vision, and that it's just some old cobblers dreamed up during someone's coffee break in Exhole, so we went directly to them for some comments. You've got to hand it to those guys - they do know how to fill up a few columns in a newspaper with meaningless drivel.'
'That's as may be, but I want to see a change in Monday's edition. I want to see my picture on the front page, possibly on an inside page as well, and I certainly don't want to see Derek Poundsign staring out of the bloody paper at me. Is that understood?'
'But look, I can't guarantee ...,' started the editor.
'But me no buts man! And while we're on the subject, let's have some supportive comments on the readers' letters page.'
'Well, look, I can avoid printing a lot of the critical ones, but I can't print positive ones if I don't receive any, can I?'
'You must have some positive ones, surely?'
'No, I print them as soon as I get them. The only vaguely positive one I have kicking about is an email from a bloke in America who calls you a dreamer -but in a good way.'
'Well print that for now, but this is a problem that needs addressing. Somebody is going to have to start writing some letters supporting me soon. I can't rely on a bloke in America and those nutty ex-Lib-Dems to keep bailing me out.'
Pangloss put the phone down without saying goodbye. He was beginning to rue the day he telephoned those bloody consultants. He sat back in his chair and looked at the rain lashing against the window. It looked like the gale force winds that had been forecast had arrived right on cue. He felt physically drained from the phone call, and leaned his head back and closed his eyes. After a few moments he was drifting off, in spite of the loud noise of the wind whistling outside his window.
'What are you playing at, printing this pie in the sky article?' thundered Pangloss as soon as the editor came on the line. 'You're supposed to be supporting me.'
'Well, I just thought it would be good to get some reaction from Joe Public.'
'Well, it could have been more balanced. Why didn't you print any of the positive things that people said?'
'There weren't any.'
'There must have been some.'
'Look, if there were, we'd have printed them, wouldn't we? The journalist and photographer were there over an hour and spoke to loads of people, but the most often repeated reaction was 'pie in the sky'. The second other phrase we kept hearing was 'pigs might fly', but we didn't want to print that in case it upset anyone. After that row over the teddy bear called Mohammed we thought it best to avoid it.'
Well, that's not the only thing I'm unhappy about. Not only is there no picture of me on the front page, but there's no picture of me on page three either. Instead you've got one of Derek Poundsign. What's that all about?'
'Well, the cat's out of the bag now, isn't it? Everybody know's it's not your vision, and that it's just some old cobblers dreamed up during someone's coffee break in Exhole, so we went directly to them for some comments. You've got to hand it to those guys - they do know how to fill up a few columns in a newspaper with meaningless drivel.'
'That's as may be, but I want to see a change in Monday's edition. I want to see my picture on the front page, possibly on an inside page as well, and I certainly don't want to see Derek Poundsign staring out of the bloody paper at me. Is that understood?'
'But look, I can't guarantee ...,' started the editor.
'But me no buts man! And while we're on the subject, let's have some supportive comments on the readers' letters page.'
'Well, look, I can avoid printing a lot of the critical ones, but I can't print positive ones if I don't receive any, can I?'
'You must have some positive ones, surely?'
'No, I print them as soon as I get them. The only vaguely positive one I have kicking about is an email from a bloke in America who calls you a dreamer -but in a good way.'
'Well print that for now, but this is a problem that needs addressing. Somebody is going to have to start writing some letters supporting me soon. I can't rely on a bloke in America and those nutty ex-Lib-Dems to keep bailing me out.'
Pangloss put the phone down without saying goodbye. He was beginning to rue the day he telephoned those bloody consultants. He sat back in his chair and looked at the rain lashing against the window. It looked like the gale force winds that had been forecast had arrived right on cue. He felt physically drained from the phone call, and leaned his head back and closed his eyes. After a few moments he was drifting off, in spite of the loud noise of the wind whistling outside his window.
Chapter 38 In which the consultants begin to turn up the heat
Down at the Town Hall Dr Pangloss was feeling rather light-headed after having had two glasses of champagne on an empty stomach at the launch of his new blueprint for Westphalia-on-Sea. Now back in his office with the team from complete Commercial Upgrading & New Town Solutions he was feeling more upbeat than he had for a long time.
'You know, he said, 'I don't want to tell you your job or anything, but I think you should change your name - it's a bit of a mouthful.'
'Just you leave the name changing and rebranding to us, the experts, replied Derek Poundsign. 'Name changing is a very skilled job, especially when you sometimes have to quickly change a name back and hope that nobody notices. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with our name - those five words sum us up perfectly.'
'Oh, OK. Well it was only a suggestion. Anyway, how did you think the launch went?'
'Who for - you or us?' asked Derek.
'Well, me, of course.'
'Difficult to say, at this stage. Of course we've had the favourable report in the Westphalia Express, but that no indication of how people feel. No, we have to wait to judge the reaction. These high profile launches and reports are all very well, but they can be a bit of a high risk strategy.'
'How do you mean?'
'Well, if you publicise something and make it available on the internet you risk someone actually reading it.'
'What's wrong with that?'
'Well, they'll quickly realise it's all bollocks, of course.'
'Oh, blimey, I hadn't thought of that. Well, if it's high risk for me, how do you, the consultants, come out of it?'
'Oh, we came out of it very well,' said Derek, grinning from ear to ear. 'I think the technical term for our position is 'win-win'. We've managed to move things along in everyone's mind from a 'vision' to a blueprint' without anything actually happening. This is being presented as the next stage of a big plan. It creates the impression that things are actually changing, when they aren't. We've come up with another long-winded document that makes 'suggestions' and says what 'could' happen. It's vague, and makes no definite promises, and even if we did make promises it would be up to you to deliver them, not us. Then of course, there's your relationship with us - now you're so far down the line with these daft ideas you can't stop using our services. You'll notice we've started to mention 'specialist project delivery teams' and 'setting up an urban regeneration company' - there are going to be plenty of new initiatives which we will have to oversee.'
'Well, you're suddenly being very candid, Mr Poundsign. It appears you have me over a barrel, and think you can carry on squeezing taxpayers' money out of me until the coffers run dry. What makes you so sure I won't dispense with your services?'
'Mainly the fact that you are utterly clueless and incapable of coming up with any ideas of your own.'
Dr Pangloss suddenly felt a griping pain in his stomach, excused himself and headed for the toilet near his office. When he emerged Toby Throgmorton was waiting outside.
'I'd give it ten minutes or so if I were you,' said Dr Pangloss, his cheeks reddening slightly, as he headed back to his office.
(to be continued)
'You know, he said, 'I don't want to tell you your job or anything, but I think you should change your name - it's a bit of a mouthful.'
'Just you leave the name changing and rebranding to us, the experts, replied Derek Poundsign. 'Name changing is a very skilled job, especially when you sometimes have to quickly change a name back and hope that nobody notices. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with our name - those five words sum us up perfectly.'
'Oh, OK. Well it was only a suggestion. Anyway, how did you think the launch went?'
'Who for - you or us?' asked Derek.
'Well, me, of course.'
'Difficult to say, at this stage. Of course we've had the favourable report in the Westphalia Express, but that no indication of how people feel. No, we have to wait to judge the reaction. These high profile launches and reports are all very well, but they can be a bit of a high risk strategy.'
'How do you mean?'
'Well, if you publicise something and make it available on the internet you risk someone actually reading it.'
'What's wrong with that?'
'Well, they'll quickly realise it's all bollocks, of course.'
'Oh, blimey, I hadn't thought of that. Well, if it's high risk for me, how do you, the consultants, come out of it?'
'Oh, we came out of it very well,' said Derek, grinning from ear to ear. 'I think the technical term for our position is 'win-win'. We've managed to move things along in everyone's mind from a 'vision' to a blueprint' without anything actually happening. This is being presented as the next stage of a big plan. It creates the impression that things are actually changing, when they aren't. We've come up with another long-winded document that makes 'suggestions' and says what 'could' happen. It's vague, and makes no definite promises, and even if we did make promises it would be up to you to deliver them, not us. Then of course, there's your relationship with us - now you're so far down the line with these daft ideas you can't stop using our services. You'll notice we've started to mention 'specialist project delivery teams' and 'setting up an urban regeneration company' - there are going to be plenty of new initiatives which we will have to oversee.'
'Well, you're suddenly being very candid, Mr Poundsign. It appears you have me over a barrel, and think you can carry on squeezing taxpayers' money out of me until the coffers run dry. What makes you so sure I won't dispense with your services?'
'Mainly the fact that you are utterly clueless and incapable of coming up with any ideas of your own.'
Dr Pangloss suddenly felt a griping pain in his stomach, excused himself and headed for the toilet near his office. When he emerged Toby Throgmorton was waiting outside.
'I'd give it ten minutes or so if I were you,' said Dr Pangloss, his cheeks reddening slightly, as he headed back to his office.
(to be continued)
Chapter 37 In which the logician puts the record straight
In the run up to Christmas Loretta Martin had struck up something of a friendship with the logician, and had popped in for tea and a chat on several occasions after work; the shop never seemed to have any customers, and he always seemed pleased to see her.
'Hi,' she said. 'I just wondered what you thought of all this fuss about what Brian Localbloke said about immigration, and people accusing him of being racist.'
'Oh, don't get me started,' sighed the logician. 'I've never read such a lot drivel in all my life. Trying to make out that talking about immigrants and their effect on the local economy is in any way connected to racism is utterly mad, and anyone who suggests it should be in a padded cell. Funnily enough most of this stuff seems to be coming from ex-Lib-Dems who are now evangelical born-again Tories. But then why would we expect these people to apply logic to any discussion? Reality is clearly a place to which these people seldom venture, and anyone who expresses any kind of doubt in the rosy future mapped out by Dr Pangloss is automatically denounced as some kind of dangerous subversive. Take tonight's edition of the Westphalia Express for example: in the editorial critics of Dr Pangloss's plans are described as 'snipers'. And guess what? On the front page the firm of consultants that we are paying an arm and a leg for have been upgraded to 'experts'. You couldn't make it up. The Westphalia Express has cosied up to the mayor in a big way.'
'Have you thought of writing to the paper to put the case for the other side?' asked Loretta.
'Waste of time. You couldn't write what you wanted to - they'd edit the letters. It would be like Galileo trying to get his ideas published in his local parish news. It just isn't going to happen. No, the only way to get your opinion across without censorship is on the internet.'
'Hi,' she said. 'I just wondered what you thought of all this fuss about what Brian Localbloke said about immigration, and people accusing him of being racist.'
'Oh, don't get me started,' sighed the logician. 'I've never read such a lot drivel in all my life. Trying to make out that talking about immigrants and their effect on the local economy is in any way connected to racism is utterly mad, and anyone who suggests it should be in a padded cell. Funnily enough most of this stuff seems to be coming from ex-Lib-Dems who are now evangelical born-again Tories. But then why would we expect these people to apply logic to any discussion? Reality is clearly a place to which these people seldom venture, and anyone who expresses any kind of doubt in the rosy future mapped out by Dr Pangloss is automatically denounced as some kind of dangerous subversive. Take tonight's edition of the Westphalia Express for example: in the editorial critics of Dr Pangloss's plans are described as 'snipers'. And guess what? On the front page the firm of consultants that we are paying an arm and a leg for have been upgraded to 'experts'. You couldn't make it up. The Westphalia Express has cosied up to the mayor in a big way.'
'Have you thought of writing to the paper to put the case for the other side?' asked Loretta.
'Waste of time. You couldn't write what you wanted to - they'd edit the letters. It would be like Galileo trying to get his ideas published in his local parish news. It just isn't going to happen. No, the only way to get your opinion across without censorship is on the internet.'
Chapter 36 In which Pangloss makes some New Year's resolutions
As Dr Pangloss pulled the curtains and looked out at the New Year a good idea occurred to him. Going into the kitchen he opened the back door and let Chairman Miaow in, greeting him with a hearty 'Happy New Year!'. Yes, it was time to bring a little order to the chaos, and what better way on January 1st than with a few New Year's resolutions. He grabbed a pen and his notepad and started writing: 1 Discover identity of blogger and stop him. 2 Find out how much money is being spent on consultants and act to reduce it. 3 Only write about positive things in my newspaper column. 4 Improve my popularity. 5 Listen to the people of Westphalia. Pangloss put the pen down and re-read the list in front of him. Number one, he thought, might be tricky. All the leads he had had so far had proved inconclusive. There were suspicions that it was someone at the Westphalia Express, and then it was suggested that it may even be someone in the Town Hall - someone close to Pangloss. Either way, it was a niggling thorn in Pangloss's side, and he felt sure that life would be slightly easier if he didn't have to constantly worry about having his every thought and deed scrutinized. Number two: well, things did seem to be spiralling out of control - there seemed to be different consultants for just about every aspect of council business, and he had quite lost the plot concerning who was advising on what, and how much it was all costing. Of course, the money wasn't coming out of his pocket, but he still felt a little uneasy every time he saw another five- or six-figure sum being siphoned out of the kitty. Number three: yes, he could do that: he would talk about picking up litter on Xmas morning, pantomimes and Westphalia United winning football matches. Number four. Hmm, that was going to be a bit more difficult. He decided to rethink a strategy to tackle that one later. Number five. Hmm, he wasn't so sure about this one. He knew it was a good thing in theory, but the problem was that whenever he suggested doing something everybody disagreed with him. Then Dr Pangloss remembered that local couple with the funny voices who he had mistaken for consultants - they seemed like reasonable people. If only he could track them down and get some ideas from them. Even though he knew he was safe in his job until 2011 he didn't fancy being an unpopular laughing stock until then if he could help it. Why not enlist the help of some locals, put their ideas into practice and dispense with all the grand plans and visions? - it would be a lot cheaper. It sounded like a Utopian dream, but it had to be worth a try -even the dimwits in Westphalia-on-Sea would eventually get fed up hearing him go on about pantomimes and amateur dramatics for the next three and a half years.
For the first time in weeks Dr Pangloss felt quite optimistic.
'Do you know, Chairman Miaow,' he said, 'I am really going to sort this town or city out. I'm going to mention the pantomime in Eastphalia one last time, then I'll really knuckle down and tackle the important stuff.'
And with that he added a sixth resolution to his list - 6 No more talk about pantomimes.
For the first time in weeks Dr Pangloss felt quite optimistic.
'Do you know, Chairman Miaow,' he said, 'I am really going to sort this town or city out. I'm going to mention the pantomime in Eastphalia one last time, then I'll really knuckle down and tackle the important stuff.'
And with that he added a sixth resolution to his list - 6 No more talk about pantomimes.
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