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.