John Staedtler grabbed the phone on his desk before it had chance to ring twice and barked his name into the mouthpiece by way of a greeting.
"French, here," came the voice at the other end. "Your private dick - remember?"
"Oh, hello," said Staedtler. "What do you want?"
"Oh, just following up the case, and wondering why you didn't tell me you'd received more postcards from the Piddlebackside blogger. What's the story John?"
"Er ... it slipped my mind?"
"Not very convincing John. I warned you that you might get in above your head. Having second thoughts about getting into this business?"
"No just sitting on the postcards for the moment. Ball's in my court, and all that. Considering my options."
"I see. So have you had any calls yet? Anyone phoning you to find out what the clue was on that sixth card?"
"No, not yet."
"Well, you might get some soon. Or emails. Readers will want to know what was on it. To them the goings-on in Piddlebackside are more important than what's happening here on the Cote De Westphalia."
"Don't be ridiculous! People phoning me up for information about a fictitious place? You're having a laugh."
"Am I? Twenty-five thousand hits? Readers in Canada and on the west coast of America? And in Australia and Europe? Piddlebackside has become something of a phenomenon. I wouldn't bet against the odd phone call or two - especially when people read this."
"What do you mean, when people read this?"
"Haven't you even figured that out, John? We're all involved. We're part of Piddlebackside. People are reading this is in real time - have you seen the film The Truman Show?" Staedtler nodded. "Well, it's a bit like that."
"No ... no," Staedler said, shaking his head as thoughts raced through it. "You might be in it, but I'm not. I'm just a regular journo in Westphalia-on-Sea, doing my job."
"John, John," said French, with mock reassurance. Staedtler knew from his tone that a sting in the tail was coming. "You went after the author, you printed postcards in your column. You're in deeper than me, deeper than lots of people."
"So what shall I do now?"
"Like I said before John, it's your call. But wouldn't you just like to get a few more postcards? See where the clues begin to point? A couple of pictures and few lines - it won't take more than half a column, maybe less."
"I'll think about it."
"I think it would be wise - in my 'umble opinion. Now what about this queer business over in Fishhole?"
"Queer business? I don't know what you're talking about."
"The Fast-cat ferry. Doesn't it smell fishy to you?"
"No ... a whiff of diesel maybe. Are you thinking of the trawlers?"
"I mean fishy as in suspicious."
"How do you mean? I don't know of any strange goings-on. I read that the launch went well - just a small hitch while they had to wait for one of the existing ferries to go out of business."
"Don't you mean get out of the way?"
"Yes, yes, of course I do. Freudian slip. Anyway, I think our official line is 'competition is healthy'."
"Even if it puts locals out of business?"
"Well, look, I can't really comment." Staedtler looked towards the door which was about ten centimetres ajar -he did not want to be overheard.
"OK, point taken," said French. "Well this guy who's running the show - maybe you should check him out - I can't repeat it all here, I'll email you a link. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/612409.stm It's kosha - from the BBC, no less. OK, got to go."
"OK ... bye," said Staedtler, replacing the reciever slowly. There's more to this Piddlebackside stuff than meets the eye, he thought to himself.
Chapter 56 In which we get a bird's eyeview of the goings on in Westphalia-on-Sea
Kenneth Livingston Seagull woke with surprise one late August morning. The surprise was due to the sun, which was suddenly shining in his eyes, something which hadn't happened, since, well, Kenneth couldn't really remember, but he knew it had been a while. He stood up and stretched his wings, and then hopped off the chimney where he had spent the night onto the top of the pitched roof a couple of feet below. Having only just woken up, and having webbed feet, he was a little unsteady on the slippery slates (at least they weren't wet - they were a nightmare then) so he flapped his wings a little for balance as he toddled along the top of the roof which he called home. It was nothing fancy, a three-bedroom terrace in an average part of town, but Kenneth was perfectly happy with it, and it had a little flat roof on an extension at the back, which was great for the kids when they were small and couldn't fly. Of course, he had no financial worries - he didn't have a mortgage, or even a bank account come to that. In fact he made a point of never carrying cash on him, ever since he heard that was what the Queen did. Or didn't. He had friends who lived on big detached houses with sea views, and they were always squawking on about the fresh fish heads you could get down on the coast if you had a mind to get up early, but that didn't interest Kenneth. If fact Kenneth was rather conservative by nature. His wife had recently told him about a swanky new development that was opening up on the seafront and tried to persuade him to move, but Kenneth was cautious. Sure, it was a great location, handy for the harbourside takeaways, and it had all been sealed off with large swathes of blue tarpaulin so the Providers couldn't go there anymore, and it seemed like they would never return. However, some of the Providers were still insisting they would be back, and Kenneth would not be persuaded to move from the roof where he had seen so many of his kids emerge from their eggs. His wife even pointed out that it would be good to get some more fish in their diet instead of living on convenience food, but Kenneth wasn't convinced. In fact he thought all this stuff about seafood and healthy eating was rather unnatural. If they were meant to go out catching fish, why did the Providers leave enormous bags of food out in the street for him? It just didn't make sense.
Kenneth was shaken out of his reverie by the noise of the first few Providers who were starting to appear from their houses below, and he began thinking about some of the crazy theories he had heard about them. Craziest by far was the idea that the Providers were actually the dominant species on the planet. Kenneth didn't believe this for one simple reason: it was the fact that he often saw the Providers out picking up fresh dog's mess, and in his small seagull-sized brain he figured that before any species could really be classed as truly dominant it would have to stop going around picking up the warm excrement of other species and casually slipping it in their pocket. True, the Providers seemed to have invented quite a lot of useful stuff, but they were a weird disorganised bunch and Kenneth should know - he had spent plenty of time observing their antics. Why, only the other day he had watched many of them sitting in their little metal boxes on a the road in Eastphalia. They moved very slowly up towards the traffic lights, but the queue seemed to stretch all the way back to the beach - it was a very strange state of affairs, and Kenneth was very glad that he didn't have to sit about in a queue like that on a warm day. No, he was pretty certain that the species which had organised this was not running the planet. If any of the species down on the ground was running the planet Kenneth thought it was probably the cats. He had seen them lying around doing nothing all day, and they didn't even have to look for food - everything was laid on for them. Each of them seemed to have trained their own personal Provider to handle the catering arrangements, and any time a Provider went away for a few days a neighbouring Provider took care of their feeding duties. It seemed like a very efficient system, and Kenneth was quite jealous of the way these furry layabouts had organised everything exactly to suit them. Yes, the more he thought about it the more logical it seemed - the cats were in charge.
Another idea concerning the Providers was Darwinism. Kenneth had heard about it, of course; what seagull hadn't? This was the mad notion that they were some kind of distant relationship between the Providers and other species, but Kenneth was very sceptical. He just couldn't see the likeness. The only behaviour that was vaguely similar was the way the Providers regurgitated their food late at night around the harbourside, but they didn't do it when their young were around, so Kenneth couldn't see the benefit in that. Some of the more radical gulls said there were far too many Providers around, and that there should be some kind of cull, but Kenneth thought this was a bit drastic. He preferred the other option, which was to let the stupid ones eat too much and die off earlier. Some gulls said this was 'natural selection', and that it was connected to Darwinism, but whenever the discussion began to get more serious Kenneth found he was usually distracted by a bundle of chip papers or the remains of Sainsbury's lasagne, so he lost the thread of the argument and never really got to fully understand what was going on around him.
Oh well, thought Kenneth, as he started lazily running for take-off, I suppose some
day everything will become clear and I'll finally understand what's going on around here. He flapped his wings a few time to get airborne, and continued to flap to get a bit more height. He was soon gliding effortlessly towards the town centre, keeing his eye out for the black binliner that would provide breakfast. Just as he was approaching the Town Hall Kenneth felt a rumbling in his lower intestine. Hmm, I don't think the spicy contents of those foil trays that I ate last night have agreed with me, he thought. With a small movement of the muscles at the rear end of his body he evacuated the problem. Ooh, that feels better, he thought. Once the offending remains had left Kenneth's body he didn't give them a second thought. This was unfortunate, because Kenneth, a thoughtful and rather philosophical seagull, would probably have appreciated the irony of what followed. A man on the ground had just parked his car, and hearing the Kenneth's squawk of relief, looked up. Splat!! The brown mess covered the man's glasses. If Kenneth had looked down at that moment he would have seen a rather angry man standing next to a small car in a parking bay where the word 'MAYOR' was just about visible on the wall.
Kenneth was shaken out of his reverie by the noise of the first few Providers who were starting to appear from their houses below, and he began thinking about some of the crazy theories he had heard about them. Craziest by far was the idea that the Providers were actually the dominant species on the planet. Kenneth didn't believe this for one simple reason: it was the fact that he often saw the Providers out picking up fresh dog's mess, and in his small seagull-sized brain he figured that before any species could really be classed as truly dominant it would have to stop going around picking up the warm excrement of other species and casually slipping it in their pocket. True, the Providers seemed to have invented quite a lot of useful stuff, but they were a weird disorganised bunch and Kenneth should know - he had spent plenty of time observing their antics. Why, only the other day he had watched many of them sitting in their little metal boxes on a the road in Eastphalia. They moved very slowly up towards the traffic lights, but the queue seemed to stretch all the way back to the beach - it was a very strange state of affairs, and Kenneth was very glad that he didn't have to sit about in a queue like that on a warm day. No, he was pretty certain that the species which had organised this was not running the planet. If any of the species down on the ground was running the planet Kenneth thought it was probably the cats. He had seen them lying around doing nothing all day, and they didn't even have to look for food - everything was laid on for them. Each of them seemed to have trained their own personal Provider to handle the catering arrangements, and any time a Provider went away for a few days a neighbouring Provider took care of their feeding duties. It seemed like a very efficient system, and Kenneth was quite jealous of the way these furry layabouts had organised everything exactly to suit them. Yes, the more he thought about it the more logical it seemed - the cats were in charge.
Another idea concerning the Providers was Darwinism. Kenneth had heard about it, of course; what seagull hadn't? This was the mad notion that they were some kind of distant relationship between the Providers and other species, but Kenneth was very sceptical. He just couldn't see the likeness. The only behaviour that was vaguely similar was the way the Providers regurgitated their food late at night around the harbourside, but they didn't do it when their young were around, so Kenneth couldn't see the benefit in that. Some of the more radical gulls said there were far too many Providers around, and that there should be some kind of cull, but Kenneth thought this was a bit drastic. He preferred the other option, which was to let the stupid ones eat too much and die off earlier. Some gulls said this was 'natural selection', and that it was connected to Darwinism, but whenever the discussion began to get more serious Kenneth found he was usually distracted by a bundle of chip papers or the remains of Sainsbury's lasagne, so he lost the thread of the argument and never really got to fully understand what was going on around him.
Oh well, thought Kenneth, as he started lazily running for take-off, I suppose some
day everything will become clear and I'll finally understand what's going on around here. He flapped his wings a few time to get airborne, and continued to flap to get a bit more height. He was soon gliding effortlessly towards the town centre, keeing his eye out for the black binliner that would provide breakfast. Just as he was approaching the Town Hall Kenneth felt a rumbling in his lower intestine. Hmm, I don't think the spicy contents of those foil trays that I ate last night have agreed with me, he thought. With a small movement of the muscles at the rear end of his body he evacuated the problem. Ooh, that feels better, he thought. Once the offending remains had left Kenneth's body he didn't give them a second thought. This was unfortunate, because Kenneth, a thoughtful and rather philosophical seagull, would probably have appreciated the irony of what followed. A man on the ground had just parked his car, and hearing the Kenneth's squawk of relief, looked up. Splat!! The brown mess covered the man's glasses. If Kenneth had looked down at that moment he would have seen a rather angry man standing next to a small car in a parking bay where the word 'MAYOR' was just about visible on the wall.
Chapter 55 In which Pangloss and Hatter decide to shake things up
It was a pleasant August morning that found Dr Pangloss busy at his desk in the Town Hall. In Westphalia-on-Sea 'a pleasant August morning' meant that the rain was nothing more than a fine drizzle and motorists didn't need to have their headlights on in the morning. Of course, it was far too windy for the balloon to be flying, and nobody was allowed in the sea because of the recent 'turd warning', but apart from that the Westphalians had very little to complain about. There was a knock at the door, and before Pangloss could shout 'come in', his faithful deputy, Ahmad Hatter, appeared before him.
"'Ey up, Pangloss," said Hatter, "'Aven't seem my masonic regalia, 'ave you? I'm supposed to be down at the Lodge in half an hour and I can't find my apron, my tie-pin or my pointy hat."
"Sorry old chap, I haven't. I must say I've never really seen the attraction in your little secret society. Can't you just cut a couple of eyeholes in a sheet and rig something temporary up?"
"Cut a bloody sheet up?! This is the Freemasons, not a bloody fancy dress party or a primary school play! Oh, you just don't understand. Anyway, what's tha doin' with that list?"
"Oh, I'm just sorting out the photo shoots we need to do this week for the Westphalia Express. Let's see, they want someone to wave a flag in front of the land train - I think that's definitely one for me - they'll want a smiley face. Certificate presentations to volunteers, ditto, and an awards presentation over at Soldaway Mansion; me again. Now, the horrendous cost of repairing Wreck Walk; I think that's more your thing - they'll be wanting a serious face, and you've got the moustache for it. Oh, another story about Wreck Walk - how it's one of my greatest achievements - I'll do that, another smiley face. Now what about this business about selling off the Downs? The locals seem to be kicking up a fuss, so I think that's another one for you."
"Bloody locals. I tell you one thing: this place would be a lot off better all round if we just got of the bloody locals. They're just a bunch of wingeing bastards trying to stop the march of progress. They don't appreciate bricks and bloody mortar, that's their trouble. Too bloody sentimental about a bit of grass and a play park. I'm sick to bloody death of their 'where are the kids going play?' and 'will these new houses spoil my view?' and all the rest of it."
"Now, now Ahmad, don't go upsetting yourself. You know I don't like the locals any more than you do, but they're an irritating fact of life that we just have to accept. Try to think of them as tourists that refuse to go home or something. We've jst got to keep focused and remain in control. I know - why don't you go off to your little meeting with the Grand Wizard and all the rest of them, and when you come back we'll do something wacky. You know, mix things up a bit, let everyone know that we're still in charge and not to be messed with."
"You mean a little show of strength? Now you're talking my language. What shall we do? Find some more covenants to break? Sell another beach?"
"No, we've already done all that. We need something new. I know. Let's find someone who's doing a good job and sack them."
"Oh, the old reshuffle joke?" asked Hatter. "That would work. It's always been a favourite of mine. Keeps people on their toes and stops them getting too big for their boots as well. Any ideas who?"
"Well the Head of Tourism seems to be doing a good job ..."
"Right, let's take her out then. That should send out the message loud and clear that we are mad, bad and dangerous to know."
"Yes, that should wrong-foot just about everyone," agreed the Mayor. "God, I love this job, and I've still got over two and a half years in office left!"
"'Ey up, Pangloss," said Hatter, "'Aven't seem my masonic regalia, 'ave you? I'm supposed to be down at the Lodge in half an hour and I can't find my apron, my tie-pin or my pointy hat."
"Sorry old chap, I haven't. I must say I've never really seen the attraction in your little secret society. Can't you just cut a couple of eyeholes in a sheet and rig something temporary up?"
"Cut a bloody sheet up?! This is the Freemasons, not a bloody fancy dress party or a primary school play! Oh, you just don't understand. Anyway, what's tha doin' with that list?"
"Oh, I'm just sorting out the photo shoots we need to do this week for the Westphalia Express. Let's see, they want someone to wave a flag in front of the land train - I think that's definitely one for me - they'll want a smiley face. Certificate presentations to volunteers, ditto, and an awards presentation over at Soldaway Mansion; me again. Now, the horrendous cost of repairing Wreck Walk; I think that's more your thing - they'll be wanting a serious face, and you've got the moustache for it. Oh, another story about Wreck Walk - how it's one of my greatest achievements - I'll do that, another smiley face. Now what about this business about selling off the Downs? The locals seem to be kicking up a fuss, so I think that's another one for you."
"Bloody locals. I tell you one thing: this place would be a lot off better all round if we just got of the bloody locals. They're just a bunch of wingeing bastards trying to stop the march of progress. They don't appreciate bricks and bloody mortar, that's their trouble. Too bloody sentimental about a bit of grass and a play park. I'm sick to bloody death of their 'where are the kids going play?' and 'will these new houses spoil my view?' and all the rest of it."
"Now, now Ahmad, don't go upsetting yourself. You know I don't like the locals any more than you do, but they're an irritating fact of life that we just have to accept. Try to think of them as tourists that refuse to go home or something. We've jst got to keep focused and remain in control. I know - why don't you go off to your little meeting with the Grand Wizard and all the rest of them, and when you come back we'll do something wacky. You know, mix things up a bit, let everyone know that we're still in charge and not to be messed with."
"You mean a little show of strength? Now you're talking my language. What shall we do? Find some more covenants to break? Sell another beach?"
"No, we've already done all that. We need something new. I know. Let's find someone who's doing a good job and sack them."
"Oh, the old reshuffle joke?" asked Hatter. "That would work. It's always been a favourite of mine. Keeps people on their toes and stops them getting too big for their boots as well. Any ideas who?"
"Well the Head of Tourism seems to be doing a good job ..."
"Right, let's take her out then. That should send out the message loud and clear that we are mad, bad and dangerous to know."
"Yes, that should wrong-foot just about everyone," agreed the Mayor. "God, I love this job, and I've still got over two and a half years in office left!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
