Chapter 47 In which the Westphalians listen to the wise words of the Mayor

The little restaurant on the harbourside was packed with the small business owners of Westphalia-on-Sea as they waited in anticipation for the Mayor, his deputy and the Councillor For Unbelievable Cock-Ups to explain how they were going to make amends for their disastrous handling of the cliff face fiasco, which had been reported in the Westphalia Express as 'We Got It Right'. The chairman, Mr Cochran, sensing the bloodlust of the people in the room, asked for people to be respectful in their comments. After the introduction by the chairman, in which he succinctly summarised the problems, it was Dr Pangloss's turn: "When I look around and see the wonderful things that are happening in Fishhole and Eastphalia thanks to the Mayoral Vision ...," he began, but was quickly cut short. The mood in the place was certainly angry. People had lost thousands of pounds and the future still looked bleak. It was quickly established that council had not told everyone the road was going to be closed, and that the Councillor FUC-U had not covered himself in glory with his diversion signs - one businessman said a first-year student in town planning could have worked out a better strategy on the back of a fag packet. Deputy Mayor Ahmad Hatter stood up and said something about black pudding and whippets but nobody could really understand him so he sat down again. The Mayor began to look a little flushed as the temperature in the room began to rise, but it may have just been the tan he had acquired on his short break. Even though a little flustered he soon got into his stride, and began deflecting questions in the time honoured way of talking about the mayoral vision as if it was all actually going to happen. The business community asked for some compensation from the Council, and the Mayor said no. They then asked for free car parking to entice people back to the town. The Mayor said no, because it would upset NCP who ran one of the car parks. Then they asked if they could stop so many buses driving through the pedestrianised area of the town.

At this point the Fat Controller was wheeled out. "No buses driving through the town?" he thundered. "You're all off your fookin' 'eads, the lot of you. I'm in charge of more buses than you've 'ad 'ot dinners, and buses through the town is a fookin' marvellous idea. If you want financial ruin take out the buses, but you'll do it over my dead fookin' body." Most people agreed that the Fat Controller was a man of great charm and charisma mixed with a flair for thoughtful diplomacy. The meeting continued with a lot of discussion going round in circles, but Dr Pangloss did manage to mention his big balloon, which would cost £14 and attract inquisitive high spending visitors wondering if that shitty-looking seafront looked any better from the air.

After the meeting, as the happy band were heading back to their car, Dr Pangloss turned to Ahmad Hatter and said "I thought that went rather well, all things considered. We told them they couldn't have any money from the council, they couldn't have free or even slightly reduced car parking. I'm not going to say the council was negligent, so basically it's business as usual. Oh, except we've got to put some better signs up, and have a meeting before we blow their bus ideas out of the water."
Ahmad Hatter nodded in agreement. "You know Ahmad," continued Pangloss, what these people have got to realise is that when you're planning a grand mayoral vision for the future you haven't got time to listen to people whine on about impending bancruptcy because everything's a disgraceful mess. These miserable so-and-sos have brought most of this on themselves by being so bloody negative. I say a few bancruptcies around the harbour will be a good thing; it'll free up land for us to sell to developers, and we'l be able to crack on with a few high-rise executive apartments. We've got to look at the bigger picture, plan long-term. What do I care if their silly shops selling cut-price tat go under? Let them print their bloody flyers and have their little meetings. If they think they can influence me they'd better think again. Entrepreneurs? Don't make me laugh. I'll still be earning fifty grand a year when those tossers are on the dole. And who was that irksome little man with the scouse accent haranguing me about parking metres? He called me a dictator. Make a note, Ahmad. I want the first parking metre in Westphalia-on-Sea right outside his shop, and I will personally go down and unveil it."