Tuesday, 11 December 2012
Every time I was summoned to see the PM or the DPM, I was always taken directly to their offices. Never was I invited to meet either of them at one of the 9 restaurants or 19 bars dotted around the House of Commons and the House of Lords. I figured they didn't want to be seen with a common salesman. Maybe I'll suggest to them that, as it's Christmas, they might like to invite me for a festive drink. Worth a try. Especially as I'm helping them 'to get Britain moving again'....
Sunday, 21 October 2012
It's Saturday morning and I'm in the office thinking. I want to do something big that will up the bonus substantially just in case they're thinking of 'letting me go.' Nick's OK but I don't like the look in the PM's eye when we meet.
How do I do that? That is the question. I give it a lot of thought and make a few calls. Then I e-mail Nick and tell him I'm ready to make a power-point to him and the P.M. with an immediate sale idea that will make a ton of money for the government, right now.
It's ten o'clock in the morning and coffee time in the P.M.'s office. He's wearing his usual shiny face although he's not looking very happy. His pal, the Chancellor, is in attendance, also grave. I'll swear he puts it on. Nick is also there. I set up the screen, take a sip of revolting coffee, and say I can make £22.53 billion in two months for them. Unfortunately the P.M. is looking out of the window as I say the number.
"Can't we get rid of those damned students?" he complains. "What the hell is the Home Minister doing about it?" Nick is tapping at his mobile and says,
"I'll have them moved on."
"Good. Pity we can't send them to Kabul. Right, Bryggs. What have you got for us?"
So I start again to power-point my idea to the P.M. This time I race through it to avoid his being diverted again, knowing that his attention span has been measured at eleven seconds. I have his attention for longer than that, though, because I repeat I can make £22.53 billion for the government in two months.
Of course, such dosh doesn't come from selling any old asset. Oh no. So I tell them what the asset is. Well, the P.M. doesn't seem to like it. He freezes. I give a quick glance at the rinky-dink chancellor - he's gone white. Nick is impassive. Then the P.M. says quietly,
'Are you out of your mind, Bryggs? Have you gone mad? Sell the House of Commons! If that's the best you can do, you can get out now.' But Nick intervenes.
'Prime Minister. Perhaps we should ask Bryggs to expand on this proposal.'
'What for? I've never heard of such a lunatic idea!'
'It's a lot of money.'
'Good God! Have you taken leave of your senses as well?'
'There would be no need to let it become public news. And there is that unavoidable payment coming up next week. Jason, would you tell us your proposal again, in the simplest of terms?'
'With pleasure,' I say. 'You sell the House of Commons to a buyer I have identified and then lease it back. The buyer would pay £22.2 billion. Immediately. He would lease it back to you for a peppercorn rent.'
Tuesday, 2 October 2012
I grew to like Nick. He's not as stupid as the rest of them. Not difficult, of course. And underneath that young-bloke exterior, he's pretty savvy. It probably comes from his slew of weird European ancestors. They were all aristocrats with castles – he even had a great uncle in Russia who was clubbed to death by his own serfs when the revolution came. No kidding. You may think he looks a bit glum most of the time, but that means he's thinking. Probably about how he could stop the P.M. staying P.M. after the next election?
Thursday, 30 August 2012
"I am employed by the British government. In an unusual job. Selling off anything that can raise a decent price for a government with an urgent need. The Prime Minister and the Deputy Prime Minister have decided that almost any of Great Britain’s assets, institutions, famous buildings, whatever, should be sold off to reduce the National Deficit, now galactic. Unfortunately, everything in sight has already been privatised or ‘re-engineered’ and they still have a shambles of a financial situation. But, hopefully, I’ll find stuff to sell nobody thought of. Not businesses of course, they’re private, and anyway most of them are foreign-owned now.
I’m not sure there’s going to be much job satisfaction with this assignment, but it will look good on my c.v. In any event, I’m the only one around with any real experience of this kind of stuff. Which I won’t go into right now.
At the final interview I was checked in to Number Ten and presented by a lackey to the P.M. and the D.P.M. (Deputy Prime Minister), both of them smiling. Then I discovered they were smiling at the person behind me, bringing in the tea. The P.M’s smooth, shining features assumed that false determined look that you see in all the newspapers,
‘Jason,’ said the P.M. ‘It seems you are the man for the job. Nick and I want you to have a go. Do you think you can do it - raise an awful lot of money for your country?’
‘It will certainly have my best shot, Prime Minister,’ I said.
‘Good. You will report to Nick here on everything. Nothing to be signed without his approval. Clear? Good. Then go to it.’
And go to it, I will. The salary is OK and the bonus possibilities appear to be limitless. And I get a Lexus limo, with driver. The only problem is that my contract is for one year maximum. I’m going to have to shuffle to get the max bonus in time."