Saturday 2 June 2012

Spad's Army. Part 1. Pasty tax

Spad's Army

Part 1

 Pasty tax was crap. "I was waiting for someone to spot that".

It is now the second year since the battle for the very survival of Western Europe began. Without Allies on the continent the British Isles stands alone against German dominated europe.
In Westmington-On-Sea, the commander of the Second Home guards, Captain Camering, is tasked with commanding the local platoon of the coalition cabinet. As well as carrying out his day job as manager of the bankers.

Westmington on Sea
Captain Camering is at his desk in his work place. His deputy manager, Nick Cleggson has just handed him the morning newspapers. “Great Scott Cleggson! Have you seen this? This is unbelievable. Just when you think the evil Hun has used all of his low down dirty tricks, he comes up with another one!” Camering jabbed his finger at the headline.

“Is it really all that bad, sir?” Asked Cleggson, in his soft, dreamy way.
“All that bad?” asked an incredulous Camering. “A Tobin tax! It’s a typical shabby German ploy. Attacking  the very fabric of our economic society."

Cleggson was also the sergeant of the Second Home guard platoon. He had a much more generous and liberal, and some said, naive, nature than blustering Captain Camering.

“But it would raise revenue for the poor..and the homeless ..and little orphans and babies, hmmm? Wouldn’t it sir?” smiled Cleggson as he gently tugged his earlobe. “ That might be a... well a..  kind of good thing..I mean..well..for society.”

“May I remind you Cleggson that banks have made this country what it is today.”

“You mean bankrupt and on the edge of a German dominated Europe?”

“No I do not!” Huffed Camering. “I mean the banks made this a great country. A proud country. A tax rich country. You know how much money the City brings to this nation Cleggson. You’ve seen the accounts.  And it wouldn’t hurt you to remember that you work for a government backed bank. Its all fine bashing the city for the conference at the W.I.. but you are the chief clerk at Swallows-RBS-Lloyds-Hbos-Rock. Your position is dependent on the bank. And furthermore the banks of Great Britain and all the dominions are what bankrolls the conservative party, and therefore by extension, the coalition. So unless you’d rather become some sort of academic...”

“No, no’re quite right,” chipped Cleggson soothingly.  “Of course something must be done about this..this outrageous, imposed, external taxation. But what can we do? It’s just us alone against the might of a conquered Europe. Unless the French resistance..”

Camering chortled in derision. “They’ve all gone Vichy. President Hollande is a Bolshie. He is in bed with the Nastys. You know what the French are like, Cleggson. Only one thing on their minds.”

“Sex?” ventured Cleggson, who was quite partial to the Mademoiselles himself.

“Tax, Cleggson! Tax!” puffed Camering. “Its all they think about. Anyway the French are completely defeated. We can expect no help there at all. .. Just the opposite in fact. they're in a worse state than we are.  No ..we’re on our own on this one.” 

There was a knock at the office door. Camering called out “Enter” and his youthful chancellor entered with some cups of drink. “Here’s your tea Mr. Camering, “ he said handing over a cup and saucer containing a very weak pale brown liquid. Camering looked at it in distaste. “There’s only the nettle tea left now I’m afraid,” explained the young ‘boy’ Osborne. He was  very young, sickly and ,Camering thought, a simple minded ‘Boy’. Camering sometimes wondered if he was up to the Chancellor’s job at all. Still..needs must..

“Since the austerity measures and the cuts to MPs expenses it’s just  blackberry and nettle tea..And a spam paste sandwich” added Osborne.

“Is this really all there is?” asked the platoon Captain. It certainly didn’t look very appetising.

 “Well there are still all those bottles of Moët & Chandon in the vault. But you said in public no minister be seen drinking champagne. Shall I get some? I love drinking champagne. But mum says it makes me go all silly and causes me to talk utter nonsense. And then I put that in the budget.
 There’s also some foie gras and Mr Balls, the greengrocer, has got some mustard seeds and green onions.”

“ will do, thank you,  Osborne...And take that silly scarf off. “

“It’s my Oxford scarf! Mum says I need to wear it to show I’m not a chav.”

“Take it off ‘boy’. We’ve all got one of those. It hardly makes you unique.”

“I haven’t sir,” said Cleggson, lightly smoothing his eyebrow with his little finger. “Mine’s a Cambridge one.” 

Camering had always been jealous of Cleggson’s unaristocratic background.
“You always have to try and be a so down to earth, student union type, don’t you Cleggson? Well..there will be no university scarves worn by anyone. And no ties, or bowler hats either. Open neck shirts and casual jackets. Even jeans. You know my standing orders. I want the whole platoon to appear as ‘one of the people.’ Working class, bog compo.Dad was a miner types. No more horsey set, pony club, skiing in Aspen. Look here..” said the senior man, opening his desk drawer and taking out a small package covered in grease proof paper. He unwrapped it and revealed two small Cornish pasties.

"Hague the butcher got me these. I thought we’d look quite the common van driving man if we were seen eating these, eh?  Pasties and nettle tea.! Ha!” Beamed the Bank manager, pleased with his image making idea.

“Oh I say, that really is awfully clever, sir. Really very good,” congratulated Cleggson.

“Isn’t it?” said Camering happily.

“But see..sir. There is only just us here now. No one will see us actually eating the  pasties, will they?"

Camering stared at the cooling pasties. 

“That’s a very good point Cleggson. Very good point indeed. Better wait for a photo opportunity. Visiting a steam train or a lawn roller factory or something. Osborne..get some of that goose liver and some venison for dinner, please. And maybe a bottle of the Moët.  We’ll have these another time I think, “he added to his deputy manager, who was just sitting himself at the desk for some lunch.
“Now, Cleggson. I want to have the platoon cabinet meet tonight in the Westmington village hall. And I want a scheme to come up with some way of thwarting Herr Merkel’s plans. See to it right away would you?”

Cleggson rolled his eyes as he stood back up, hungrily. 
“Of course sir..Right away.”


The cap'n said...

We are having champers and "fish eggs" too...


"Don't tell anyone, Pike"

CityUnslicker said...

super stuff