Chapter 67 In which Pangloss realises he really has landed on his feet

"Hello, Charlie," said Pangloss, as his political ally and campaign manager Charlie Windsor strode into his office in the centre of Westphalia-on-Sea. "What brings you down to the hub of local government then?"
"Inactivity, old man, inactivity. It seems that during a recession there's a lot less demand for the services of a management consultant."
"Really? I'd have thought people would be more than happy to cough up their hard earned cash to get top drawer advice from someone like you. I love getting consultants on board - swear by them, in fact."
"Oh, I know," replied Charlie, but it's not your money you're spending, is it?"
"Hmm," said Pangloss thoughtfully, "no I s'pose it's not really."
Charlie wandered over to the window and surveyed the scene beyond. "Crikey, not many people about, are there? The place looks dead. I'm worried that by the time I finally get elected I won't have a town to represent."
"What do you mean dead? I'll have you know the town centre is actually quite busy, with a still healthy footfall. In fact that's what I told the residents in my newspaper column only the other week."
"Oh, you don't seriously believe that do you?"
"Of course I do. We just need a little bit of investment, and we'll get all those high-end spenders flocking back. Rich people love a bargain, that's how they become rich, by hanging on to their money. Now four of them can come and stay in the Travelodge for £29 a night, that's about £7.50 each, and spend their cash very carefully in our wonderful array of pound and charity shops. It's a winning strategy, and I thought of it all on my own. Well, Mum helped me a bit with the maths, but apart from that it was all my own work. Anyway, how's you blog going?"
"Well, not a lot of traffic, to be honest. In fact even my wife is getting fed up reading my analysis of the latest opinion polls."
"Huh, wives, eh? Who needs 'em? More trouble than they're worth old man. Take a tip from me. Anyway, haven't you heard? The whole town's going gay, so maybe you need to 'gay-up' your blog a bit."
"Oh, I don't think that'll be necessary. I think a nice concise explanation of the benefits of a free market economy will draw the punters back. Anyway, what's your political strategy at the moment, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Ah, Charlie, Charlie, that's the beauty of being the mayor at the moment. The country's gone to hell in a handcart. People are going on telly and saying stupid things every day, and making massively stupid decisions which overshadow anything I do. I'm flying under the radar at the moment. I can do absolutely anything, and nobody notices. I'll give you an example: last week I said that loads of people are more likely to visit our town centres because we've got parking meters now."
"You what? You mean you said parking meters are attracting visitors?"
"That's right. And nobody challenged it. I'm even thinking of having a parking meter on the next tourist board poster; had a friend of mine run one up the other week actually - looks pretty good. And in the same article I implied that everything wasn't doom and gloom because a new card shop had opened in Fishhole. I tell you Charlie, this is the time when you want to be on the gravy train. I will soon be coming to the end of my time as mayor, and I'll have had about £300,000 out of the locals, and what will I have given them in return?"
"Er... not much?"
"Precisely. At the beginning I was going out of my way to get consultants in to launch grandiose plans and generally make it look like I could walk and chew gum at the same time, but now I can relax. Nothing in the Mayoral Vision is going to happen, and everybody knows it. People have got used to large bits of the town closing down: Wreck Walk, the Palm Court, the Queens, M & S, QuayWest, Crossways. All we have to do is issue a press release now and again saying 'a number of firms are interested' or 'it could be open by June'. It's as easy as falling off a log. I don't know why I ever thought I'd have to try and achieve anything. All you have to do is have something for the local paper to print. I mean, look at all this fuss about the Civic Chairman and the Jag. We're talking about a very small sum of money, peanuts, in fact. But meanwhile we're up to our old tricks, hiring people on ludicrous salaries and restructuring yet again, but nobody's noticed."
"Well, it makes me sick," said Charlie.
"Why, because we're squandering everyone's hard-earned cash in a cavalier way?"
"No, because I'm not part of it. I don't care what happens here on the Costa del Dole, in God's bloody waiting room. I want to get back to Windsor. I just want my bloody job as an MP. And just when everything seemed to be going well up pops that fucker Vince Cable. It turns out he warned everyone years ago that the credit bubble would burst, and it also turns out he's a Lib-Dem. My arch-enemies. So the only politician making any sense at the moment is a bloody Lib-Dem. Why couldn't he be a Tory? Why couldn't we, just for once, have someone who was in the news for saying something sensible? Why do we always have to have all the ex-public school toffs and people fiddling their expenses?"
"I really don't know," replied Pangloss, "I really don't know. Why don't you try switching parties? It worked for me."