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.'