Some Westphalians who have not yet succumbed to the onset of Alzheimer's may remember that some months ago the Westphalia Express ran a story about a local councillor who was such a good councillor that he became a sort of 'super-councillor', who would go around the country giving other councils the benefit of his long experience, presumably telling them how to deal with and best serve the people they represent, and how to generally create a harmonious working environment at the town hall. This 'super-councillor' happened to be none other than the straight-talking, shoot-from-the-hip Deputy Mayor, otherwise known as his esteemed deputy worshipfulness Ahmad Hatter. Apparently none of the sharp journos down at the Westphalia Express saw any irony when a number of weeks later this recently annointed super-councillor was unceremoniously given the heave-ho by his own party as soon as he went on holiday. Their message seemed to be simple: he was obviously an excellent councillor and a wonderful human being, but they would prefer it if he spent more of his time dispensing wisdom in the town halls up and down the country and much less time being their leader in the one in Westphalia-on-Sea.
Seeing that the Westphalia Express had either not picked up on the irony of the situation, or had chosen to overlook it (perhaps to avoid further embarrassment to someone who had for so long been their favourite page 3 pin-up), it will come as no surprise to readers to learn that they have done it again. The source of the irony this time comes in the shape of the war memorial. For those people unfortunate enough not to live on the Cote De Westphalia and who don't know this touching story where human sacrifice becomes secondary to the value of prime real estate we provide below a brief synopsis of the saga:
Step 1: Dr Pangloss hires at great expense a firm of consultants who tell him he should start an ambitious building project down at the waterfront.
Step 2: Dr Pangloss announces that a casino complex will be central to this waterside redevelopment.
Step 3: The Westphalians tell Dr Pangloss that steps 1 & 2 are a load of crap.
Step 4: Dr Pangloss realises that the War Memorial is right in the middle of the land earmarked for the development.
Step 5: An amazing coincidence! At the same time that Dr Pangloss realises the War Memorial is right in the middle of the development site, he also realises that the War Memorial doesn't have the right vista. Yes, that's right. The silly sods who erected it had put it where the vista was all wrong. It must have been around this time that Dr Pangloss thought of the old saying about killing two birds with one stone. If he could point out this vista deficiency and suggest an alternative site with a much better vista to which the memorial could be moved all his problems would be solved.
Step 6: Dr Pangloss suggests moving the memorial to a corner of the harbour.
Step 7: The silly old Westphalians didn't really understand the vista problem, and told Dr Pangloss that step 6 was a load of crap as well.
Step 8: Dr Pangloss says 'OK, I wasn't really going to move he memorial, let's just forget all about it.'
Step 9: People begin to think that Dr Pangloss can't be trusted. It seems that the people who mostly hold this view are the councillors in Dr Pangloss's own party. They are so worried that Cllr Twist and and Cllr Nitrate bring a motion to retain the memorial in its current position. Dr Pangloss insists he was just 'trying to open a debate', but clearly the Tories don't trust him any further than they can spit - they wanted these assurances in writing.
So there you have it. The Tories want to protect the War Memorial from the excesses of the Tory Council led by the Tory Mayor-cum-Estate-Agent, and they want it in writing, rather like, we might assume, some kind of covenant. One wonders if anyone has pointed to Cllr Twist that some of the current administration tend to think that covenants are made to be broken.
So on the evidence of the events described above, it would seem that Dr Pangloss and Ahmad Hatter are not very popular down at the town hall, least of all with members of their own party. However, Dr Pangloss should not lose heart because there is still at least one Tory prepared to nail his colours to the mast and stand beside Pangloss. Yes, prospective Tory candidate Charlie Windsor has publicly stated on his blog on 22nd September: 'And as for the mayor? You can't see it, nor would I expect you to (presumably because we have not yet reached the state of grace and enlightenment that our Charlie has achieved - Ed) but I assure you that he is an asset to my campaign; people like him and think he is doing his best for the bay.'
Of course, to regular readers of Charlie Windsor's blog (latest figures available put the readership somewhere between 1 and 10) this kind of nonsense will come as no surprise. Who can forget his robust defence of the wild speculations of the banking industry and his downplaying of the resulting financial catastrophe, or his blaming the Labour government for the Ross/Brand affair at the BBC? Anyway let's not upset ourselves by dwelling of the mental powers of the man from Windsor. Over at the offices of the Westphalia Express John Staedtler was feeling rather pleased with himself. He had ignored the advice of Paul French and not revealed to the public that he had received further postcards from the bloggers, and nothing had happened. All that tosh that French came out with about him being part of Piddlebackside; well, it was just nonsense. He'd been reading too many detective novels, for sure. Just then the door opened and a colleague left some post on the corner of Staedtler's desk. Among the brown business envelopes a red dragon caught Staedtler's eye. On closer inspection he saw it was a postcard from South Wales. He turned it over. The message began 'Dear John', but it was incomplete. He picked up another postcard, this time from Liverpool. Another incomplete message was on the reverse. A third postcard was from Stoke-on-Trent, and a fourth from Nantwich. Turning all the postcards over he realised that they fitted together like a puzzle, and that by arranging them he could read part of the message. Not all of it though, because there were two postcards still missing. This would have been a problem, but when Staedtler put two of his postcards together the last line of the message was revealed. It said: 'P.S. If you're wondering where the missing pieces are, call Pangloss and Charlie.'
Staedtler was just about to hit the speed dial button on his phone that would connect him directly to the mayor's office when his phone rang. He picked it up before it could ring a second time and said: 'Staedtler".
"John, it's French. any news?"
"You could say that," replied Staedtler. "I think you'd better come over."
Chapter 60 In which moving the war memorial was definitely not suggested
October 2008 was an exciting time in Westphalia-on-Sea. First of all, the sixteenth was Piddlebackside Day, the one-year anniversary of the Piddlebackside blog. Piddlebackside Day was, of course, a very low key affair, since the Westphalia Express was reluctant to give it any publicity, but due to the technological wonder of the Internet readers continued to pop up all over the globe, regardless of any 'official' recognition. It was also pinned up by the coffee machine from time to time by a mischievous councillor in the Westphalia Town Hall.
October was also an exciting time for Dr Pangloss, because it meant he had managed draw his salary for another 12 months without any sign of armed revolution on the streets of Westphalia-on-Sea. Quite how he'd managed this feat he didn't really know. Admittedly he had had to pay a hefty price to the consultants for showing him how to pull the wool over the eyes of the Westphalians, but now he felt he was up and running on his own. He had got the Westphalia Express back on side, and they were, for the moment, happy to print his outlandish tales of 'jam tomorrow'. He said things like 'if someone like John Lewis and Waitrose were to show interest we would certainly welcome them'. Of course, what he omitted to say was: 'but they won't.' No, it was a sad fact that if John Lewis or Waitrose were to open stores in Westphalia-on-Sea during a recession then their shareholders would seriously question the sanity of the board of directors running those companies. But that didn't matter, because Pangloss was on a mission to talk up these wild ideas. Luckily for him he didn't have to live in the real world, because he led a charmed life. If he needed any more evidence of this he had only to look at the plight of the estate agents. Down to an average of one sale a week they were shutting up shop and laying people off at a fair old rate. Pangloss, on the other hand, the Mother of All Estate Agents, was totally recession-proof with his mayoral salary. It was just too good to be true. And whenever he had to revert to being an estate agent again in the future much of the competition would have gone to the wall. Happy days!
Safe in the knowledge that however bad he was at his job he could not be ousted, his stories became even wilder. He explained in his column why the Westphalians lived in the best of all possible worlds, and how they wouldn't be hit too badly by the recession while he was in charge. He talked about the Hilton Hotel coming to town. He explained how life would be better if we could shoot across the Bay ten minutes quicker in all weathers and at all times of the day, and he had had his photo taken with the man from the bus company with the very firm handshake who had promised to make it happen. He explained how parking meters represented progress. And then he got carried away and mentioned creating a 'cafe culture' in Westphalia Road in Eastphalia by closing the road to traffic. In December. After the clocks have gone back. When it gets dark at 4 o'clock. Yes, it seemed that Pangloss believed that the only thing stopping the good people of Eastphalia having an espresso out on the pavement on a cold dark December afternoon after a stroll around the boarded-up shops was the traffic. To be fair, Dr Pangloss probably knew in his heart of hearts that this was a mad idea, because he sent Ahmad Hatter out to do the photoshoot and talk to the press. For his part, Ahmad Hatter was just glad to see his face back in the paper without the words 'stabbed in the back by his own party' under the photo, so he wasn't complaining. Of course, during the announcement of all these glad tidings there were grumbles from some of the more half-witted locals. They said things like: 'but the new ferry will wreck the business of those who have been here for years and it uses loads of fuel', and 'we don't want to pay to park and the parking meters spoil the seafront' and 'the number of shopper in town has fallen'. Luckily for Dr Pangloss these were just a small minority of old duffers who hadn't fully grasped what progress meant, so they could be easily ignored. Hot on the heels of the cafe culture story was an even crazier notion: a £50,000 p. a. salary for a Town Centre Chief Executive. Yes, dear readers, a salary close to that of the mayor's to someone whose job, it seems, is to go around local traders and ask them for more money, because the council 'can't afford to clean the streets more often, put in more flowers and put more bins out.' So in the crazy world of Westphalia-on-Sea you can't get money for street cleaning, but you can get a grant to set up a company to employ someone to go around and ask local shopkeepers for money for, er, street cleaning.
So while the residents all along the Cote de Westphalia were in for a tough financial time Dr Pangloss was rather pleased with how things were going. He did, however, still have some unfinished business down at the seafront. There was a piece of prime real estate with glorious sea views opposite Wreck Walk, but stuck slap bang in the middle of it was an old war memorial, precisely where Pangloss wanted to build his now legendary 'second casino', one of the cornerstones of his plan to turn the tired old seaside resort into something to rival Monte Carlo. Of course, it had completely pissed down for the last two summers, but Pangloss was still confident that fit-looking French, Russian and Lebanese beauties would soon be beating a path to the beach to sit among the seaweed and wait for the rain to turn to a light drizzle if only he could get the go-ahead for that casino. Having spent a little time reminding the locals of the pseudo-mediterranean sophistication that awaited them he slipped the idea of moving the war memorial into the conversation. Well, talk about overreaction. The usual bunch of coffin-dodgers went barmy. 'It's a disgrace!' 'You can't move that - it's a grave!' they screamed.
Pangloss reverted to estate agent-mode. 'Look the memorial's lost its vista,' he said.
'What the fuck are you talking about?' asked the locals.
'It needs to be in a more prominent position,' he said. 'Let's stick it over there, in the corner of the harbour, that would be great. There's a much better vista over there. I've seen it. Inanimate objects need a good vista or they get depressed - it's a well-known fact.'
'Are you sure you don't just want to move it so you can build a casino?' asked the locals.
'No, honestly, I give you my word as an estate agent,' promised Pangloss. 'I just want it to have the vista it deserves.' Eventually Dr Pangloss realised that the locals were probably far too thick to understand the concept of vistas for war memorials, so he adopted a more simplistic approach which he felt even the average Westphalian would understand. 'Look,' he said, 'let's pretend I never said anything about moving the memorial. Let's just say everyone misunderstood me when I started talking about moving the war memorial. And let's not forget that many people have laid down their lives for the right to freedom of speech, particularly when it comes to speeches about moving war memorials. So in a way we would be honouring the dead by discussing moving the war memorial, but of course we're not, because I never ever suggested moving it.'
And when the mayor had finished explaining himself all the Westphalians agreed that if they did want their war memorial moved any time in the future they would certainly make sure Dr Pangloss was the first to know.
October was also an exciting time for Dr Pangloss, because it meant he had managed draw his salary for another 12 months without any sign of armed revolution on the streets of Westphalia-on-Sea. Quite how he'd managed this feat he didn't really know. Admittedly he had had to pay a hefty price to the consultants for showing him how to pull the wool over the eyes of the Westphalians, but now he felt he was up and running on his own. He had got the Westphalia Express back on side, and they were, for the moment, happy to print his outlandish tales of 'jam tomorrow'. He said things like 'if someone like John Lewis and Waitrose were to show interest we would certainly welcome them'. Of course, what he omitted to say was: 'but they won't.' No, it was a sad fact that if John Lewis or Waitrose were to open stores in Westphalia-on-Sea during a recession then their shareholders would seriously question the sanity of the board of directors running those companies. But that didn't matter, because Pangloss was on a mission to talk up these wild ideas. Luckily for him he didn't have to live in the real world, because he led a charmed life. If he needed any more evidence of this he had only to look at the plight of the estate agents. Down to an average of one sale a week they were shutting up shop and laying people off at a fair old rate. Pangloss, on the other hand, the Mother of All Estate Agents, was totally recession-proof with his mayoral salary. It was just too good to be true. And whenever he had to revert to being an estate agent again in the future much of the competition would have gone to the wall. Happy days!
Safe in the knowledge that however bad he was at his job he could not be ousted, his stories became even wilder. He explained in his column why the Westphalians lived in the best of all possible worlds, and how they wouldn't be hit too badly by the recession while he was in charge. He talked about the Hilton Hotel coming to town. He explained how life would be better if we could shoot across the Bay ten minutes quicker in all weathers and at all times of the day, and he had had his photo taken with the man from the bus company with the very firm handshake who had promised to make it happen. He explained how parking meters represented progress. And then he got carried away and mentioned creating a 'cafe culture' in Westphalia Road in Eastphalia by closing the road to traffic. In December. After the clocks have gone back. When it gets dark at 4 o'clock. Yes, it seemed that Pangloss believed that the only thing stopping the good people of Eastphalia having an espresso out on the pavement on a cold dark December afternoon after a stroll around the boarded-up shops was the traffic. To be fair, Dr Pangloss probably knew in his heart of hearts that this was a mad idea, because he sent Ahmad Hatter out to do the photoshoot and talk to the press. For his part, Ahmad Hatter was just glad to see his face back in the paper without the words 'stabbed in the back by his own party' under the photo, so he wasn't complaining. Of course, during the announcement of all these glad tidings there were grumbles from some of the more half-witted locals. They said things like: 'but the new ferry will wreck the business of those who have been here for years and it uses loads of fuel', and 'we don't want to pay to park and the parking meters spoil the seafront' and 'the number of shopper in town has fallen'. Luckily for Dr Pangloss these were just a small minority of old duffers who hadn't fully grasped what progress meant, so they could be easily ignored. Hot on the heels of the cafe culture story was an even crazier notion: a £50,000 p. a. salary for a Town Centre Chief Executive. Yes, dear readers, a salary close to that of the mayor's to someone whose job, it seems, is to go around local traders and ask them for more money, because the council 'can't afford to clean the streets more often, put in more flowers and put more bins out.' So in the crazy world of Westphalia-on-Sea you can't get money for street cleaning, but you can get a grant to set up a company to employ someone to go around and ask local shopkeepers for money for, er, street cleaning.
So while the residents all along the Cote de Westphalia were in for a tough financial time Dr Pangloss was rather pleased with how things were going. He did, however, still have some unfinished business down at the seafront. There was a piece of prime real estate with glorious sea views opposite Wreck Walk, but stuck slap bang in the middle of it was an old war memorial, precisely where Pangloss wanted to build his now legendary 'second casino', one of the cornerstones of his plan to turn the tired old seaside resort into something to rival Monte Carlo. Of course, it had completely pissed down for the last two summers, but Pangloss was still confident that fit-looking French, Russian and Lebanese beauties would soon be beating a path to the beach to sit among the seaweed and wait for the rain to turn to a light drizzle if only he could get the go-ahead for that casino. Having spent a little time reminding the locals of the pseudo-mediterranean sophistication that awaited them he slipped the idea of moving the war memorial into the conversation. Well, talk about overreaction. The usual bunch of coffin-dodgers went barmy. 'It's a disgrace!' 'You can't move that - it's a grave!' they screamed.
Pangloss reverted to estate agent-mode. 'Look the memorial's lost its vista,' he said.
'What the fuck are you talking about?' asked the locals.
'It needs to be in a more prominent position,' he said. 'Let's stick it over there, in the corner of the harbour, that would be great. There's a much better vista over there. I've seen it. Inanimate objects need a good vista or they get depressed - it's a well-known fact.'
'Are you sure you don't just want to move it so you can build a casino?' asked the locals.
'No, honestly, I give you my word as an estate agent,' promised Pangloss. 'I just want it to have the vista it deserves.' Eventually Dr Pangloss realised that the locals were probably far too thick to understand the concept of vistas for war memorials, so he adopted a more simplistic approach which he felt even the average Westphalian would understand. 'Look,' he said, 'let's pretend I never said anything about moving the memorial. Let's just say everyone misunderstood me when I started talking about moving the war memorial. And let's not forget that many people have laid down their lives for the right to freedom of speech, particularly when it comes to speeches about moving war memorials. So in a way we would be honouring the dead by discussing moving the war memorial, but of course we're not, because I never ever suggested moving it.'
And when the mayor had finished explaining himself all the Westphalians agreed that if they did want their war memorial moved any time in the future they would certainly make sure Dr Pangloss was the first to know.
Chapter 59 In which the parking issue descends into farce
"There really is no pleasing some people, is there?" sighed a very frustrated and close-to-the-end-of-his-tether Dr Pangloss as he screwed the copy of the Westphalia Express he had just been reading into a loose ball and sent it skidding across the polished parquet floor of his office. "You try and do something positive that will bring a few quid into the council's coffers, something that will really invigorate the town centres at a crucial time, something that will greatly increase the number of shoppers, and do you get any thanks? Of course you don't. All you get is a procession of fossils from the last century saying 'we can't afford it', 'I used to shop there but I won't anymore', and 'this is the last nail in the coffin for Eastphalia'. Talk about negative. What's a couple of quid? Christ on a bike! If I dropped a couple of quid I wouldn't risk putting my back out to pick it up. It's small change in this day and age. Fair enough if you want to sit in your car drinking lukewarm tea while staring out at the English Channel, but you've got to expect to pay for it. There are no free lunches anymore. Especially not in the 21st century. You've got to pay for everything. In fact paying for things can actually enhance your enjoyment. It adds value. Any consultant worth his salt will tell you that. Things you pay for must ipso facto have some inherent value, and are therefore much more fun than things which are free. This measure is actually increasing everyone's pleasure, but where's the support? Where are the letters saying 'hats off to Dr Pangloss - this time he's got it absolutely right!' or 'Three cheers for Dr Pangloss - I'd much rather pay to park!' Nowhere. Abso-bloody-lutely nowhere. It makes me ruddy sick ..."
"Are tha' talking to me lad?" asked Ahmad Hatter, as he stirred in the chair opposite. "What's tha' wittering on abat?"
"Parking meters, the bloody parking meters, of course. Nobody seems to appreciate them, or the fantastic opportunity they represent," replied Pangloss.
"Oh, don't get me started on them ungrateful bloody locals," replied Hatter. "They were just t' bloody same when I told them where they could stick their bloody covenants. Not a ruddy word of thanks I got for that."
Just then the councillor For Unbelievable Cock-Ups burst in. "Good news Your Worshipfulness!" he beamed. "We're going to reduce car parking charges in the run-up to Christmas."
"What's the point of that? Only a little while ago you told us that putting up parking charges was good for business."
"Oh you didn't believe that old tosh, did you?" asked the cllr FUC-U. "Don't be silly - we all know people hate parking charges. No, now you have to go on record saying that lower charges are a good thing."
"Well what shall I say?"
"Oh, I don't know; what about something like this: 'It will hopefully lead to an upturn in trade and encourage more people to come into the Cote de Westphalia to do their shopping'."
"Why yes," said Pangloss, "I rather like that. Wait a minute, won't they spot that we've completed changed our stance on parking charges?"
"No," smirked the cllr FUC-U, "because I've got this - ", and with a little flurry he rolled in a giant 50p piece made of lightweight plastic and said 'Ta - Da'."
"What's that?" aske the Mayor.
"50 pence" replied the cllr FUC-U. "We have our photo taken with it. It will distract the readers and they will never actually realise that this measure actually proves that we are completely and utterly wrong about the net result of parking charges, i.e. that they will ultimately adversely affect local businesses."
"Splendid idea!" said Pangloss, almost shouting. "Let's get down to the ticket machine - I love a good photoshoot!"
"Are tha' talking to me lad?" asked Ahmad Hatter, as he stirred in the chair opposite. "What's tha' wittering on abat?"
"Parking meters, the bloody parking meters, of course. Nobody seems to appreciate them, or the fantastic opportunity they represent," replied Pangloss.
"Oh, don't get me started on them ungrateful bloody locals," replied Hatter. "They were just t' bloody same when I told them where they could stick their bloody covenants. Not a ruddy word of thanks I got for that."
Just then the councillor For Unbelievable Cock-Ups burst in. "Good news Your Worshipfulness!" he beamed. "We're going to reduce car parking charges in the run-up to Christmas."
"What's the point of that? Only a little while ago you told us that putting up parking charges was good for business."
"Oh you didn't believe that old tosh, did you?" asked the cllr FUC-U. "Don't be silly - we all know people hate parking charges. No, now you have to go on record saying that lower charges are a good thing."
"Well what shall I say?"
"Oh, I don't know; what about something like this: 'It will hopefully lead to an upturn in trade and encourage more people to come into the Cote de Westphalia to do their shopping'."
"Why yes," said Pangloss, "I rather like that. Wait a minute, won't they spot that we've completed changed our stance on parking charges?"
"No," smirked the cllr FUC-U, "because I've got this - ", and with a little flurry he rolled in a giant 50p piece made of lightweight plastic and said 'Ta - Da'."
"What's that?" aske the Mayor.
"50 pence" replied the cllr FUC-U. "We have our photo taken with it. It will distract the readers and they will never actually realise that this measure actually proves that we are completely and utterly wrong about the net result of parking charges, i.e. that they will ultimately adversely affect local businesses."
"Splendid idea!" said Pangloss, almost shouting. "Let's get down to the ticket machine - I love a good photoshoot!"
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