Another extract from Councillor Mike Stray’s diary.
Tuesday 28th May
Received my final pay from Pratt and Sons. This time next month I have no idea where the money is going to come from, so after getting a right ear-bashing from Sharon, I contacted my old employer to see whether I could go part-time. Was told to go round there at five and have a word, which at least got the Doris off my case for a few happy hours.
Mr Pratt, Senior, was mysteriously unavailable, so I had to hang around twenty minutes until his son was free. This didn’t bode well. Guy, the heir to the throne, wasn’t like his old man. Never got his HGV licence – went to University, knew all the business lingo but saw all of us as just numbers on a spreadsheet. Eventually, he deigned to see me.
“Come in Mike, how can I help you?”
I explained about my misunderstanding about the pay of an elected official. Pointed out that I had over twenty years with the firm, and would be happy to come back on reduced hours so I could carry on with my elected duties.
“Well, there’s two problems with that, I’m afraid. First of all, if there was enough work to employ you full time three weeks ago, there’s still that much work now. Trying to fill in the gaps when you can’t work means more work for us. Then there’s the issue of … how can I put this … possible reputation damage to the company employing someone with your political views.”
Views, I quickly reminded him, shared by the electorate of Mardon.
“Indeed; but not, perhaps, shared by some of the companies we provide services to. In the current economic climate, we can’t take any risks. Of course, if you resigned as councillor and came back here full time, both issues would go away.”
I just stared at him. Time for the bulldog spirit to show its face.
“Mike – why does Reform mean so much to you?” He sounded genuinely interested. So I asked him what he thought of Priory Road.
Priory Road. The road that leads out of Mardon, towards London. Where my grandad had his butchers when the family got moved here after the war. Where I used to know every shopkeeper; and when I was older, I used to deliver the meat to the pensioners. Look at it now, I said to him. You’re not that young, you must remember what it was like. Now – full of vape shops, Turkish barbers, strange cafés with strange blokes wearing sandals always outside. Doesn’t feel like Mardon, doesn’t feel safe. I want my country back.
“But Mike – the butchers, the greengrocers, the hardware store – all those places went once the big Tesco opened. Because that’s where we all went to shop. You can’t turn back time.”
Well, I said, if someone doesn’t try and do something about it, it will be too late; if it isn’t already. And I owe it to the people who elected me to have a damn good try.
Then, with my dignity intact, I went down the Crown to get leathered, before I could face Sharon again.
Thursday 30th May
We’ve gone viral; and not in a good way.
We – the Council – decided that we’d open every meeting with the Lord’s Prayer and end it by singing the National Anthem. If the lefties didn’t like it – well, so much the better. We thought we’d shame them up by streaming it and showing them not taking part, but it backfired horribly.
I blame Ethan, our youngest councillor. He is – how can I put this – a bit Too Keen. Thankfully, he hasn’t asked any questions about aliens or suchlike, but every time he gets up to speak I start sweating. He was all over the idea of the National Anthem, and said he’d get the music for it organised. So, come the end of the meeting, he sets up his stereo, stands back with us and presses play.
No, he hadn’t got the wrong version; but he had got the full – instrumental – version. Now, whenever I’ve sung this down the Den, we stop after verse one. In truth, I don’t think we or anyone knew there were three verses. So when we’ve bellowed out “God save the King” and the music doesn’t stop, but starts again, there’s pandemonium.
Of course, there’s only one councillor who knows the whole bloody thing, and Manny Singh is not one of ours. He’s there, chanting about “knavish tricks” while half of us are mute, the other half going “la la la” or repeating verse one.
By the end of verse three, when you watch the playback – which I’ve had to more times than I would like, our faces have gone red, we’re staring at our shoes, at the ceiling, wishing the ground would swallow us up. Ethan’s virtually in tears.
By the end of the day, the YouTube clip has over 200,000 views. Someone’s made a packet out of putting that online, and it’s not me. Money! I wonder if I could tap Nigel up for a loan…
Next episode here >>> or you can see all episodes in ‘Mike’s Diary’ series
More from East Anglia Bylines
Truth is power
Nominate an organisation that needs scrutiny
