Chapter XVII Media Frenzy

 

 

 Although we had predicted the media onslaught on Framden Council to last at least a week nobody quite expected the media interest to be so intense and so malicious. On Thursday morning, it was front page headline news in every newspaper except “The Independent” which led with a story on the famine in Africa and “The Financial Times” (where the Framden story appeared as a one sentence paragraph on page 6).

 For the rest, different headlines (“Framden UnCzeched”, “The Sex Pot Councillor”, “Who is that Woman?”, “Pray take your Seat, Mr Mayor” “Czech Mate”, “Suck it and See” and finally the sober  “Scandal Rocks Framden Council”) were nearly all followed by the same blurred picture of a still from the TV version of the American tourist’s video film. I thought ruefully of the fact that I had met that stupid tourist with his video camera in the lift only shortly afterwards. I should have taken the camera and smashed it over his head.

Framden was everywhere. If you did not read newspapers, you had only to switch on to the TV and see pictures of our Council, our council chamber, a blurred picture from the video film and a recording of our MP Owen Draycott commenting and defending our Council’s “splendid record”. No Councillor appeared from our side but a seemingly apologetic Councillor Batchelor made his appearance on the BBC saying the incident was a disgusting display of disrespect to the people of Framden and other Councillors from all parties, but that it did not reflect the attitude of the majority of Councillors. Framden was on the car radio, Framden was on the internet news and by lunchtime my professional colleagues in our company were giving me the latest batch of Framden jokes (e.g. “What kind of job does Framden Council offer?” “A blow job”).

The Standard only came out in the afternoon. It sought to provide a link between Emil and the Pinkerton Plaza development which had been the hot topic in the newspaper only two days before. Melanie Sheldrake (who else?) was commenting on Emil’s behaviour as being typical of the arrogant way that Framden Councillors treated the views and sensitivities of their ratepayers and pointed out that Emil had been a keen supporter of the Pinkerton Plaza project. The Evening Standard printed my letter on the project (the one I had e-mailed from the Members’ Room on the day of the scandal) but printed it as a Council statement alongside the interview with Melanie Sheldrake.

At the emergency party group meeting that evening there was understandable uproar. Tempers were frayed and a totally useless motion was passed condemning the insensitivity of Emil’s behaviour and suspending his membership of our political group. There was no final agreement that he should resign even though he had left a resignation letter with Andy before he flew to Prague. All the women councillors wanted him to resign there and then, but Andy cautioned delaying the decision on accepting his resignation for at least a month. I supported this wise suggestion.

The group unanimously confirmed my appointment as Chair of the Planning Committee and elected Noel Graham as my Vice-Chair. I remember Noel telling me once that his father had come over as a youngster with his own father on the famous “Windrush”. I liked Noel. He taught me to enjoy ackees and saltfish for breakfast. Ackees are a West African fruit transported to Jamaica by the slave trade and tastes and looks like scrambled eggs.

As I had predicted, the women Councillors on our Group were seething at the media speculation over the identity of the woman found having sex with Emil. Some of the speculation in one newspaper had gone so far as to name two of these Councillors as possible suspects. Their anger was understandable. Some of them were demanding rather shrilly that Ted Grayson should reveal the name of the woman there and then as they suspected, rightly, that he knew her identity. Grayson and Trosser treated these interventions with patriarchal disdain. It was obvious that most of the male Councillors were equally dismissive.

Then Meena, wholesome bespectacled Meena, whom nobody would have suspected of being a sexual vamp, eloquently put forward a motion that the latest Council statement on the incident should include the sentence “that no other Councillor was involved in this incident”. I acted as a formal seconder to this motion. Grayson continued to dismiss this argument patronisingly but this time he lost the argument and the motion was carried overwhelmingly. The women cheered Meena on her victory and she in turn looked back to me in silent thanks for my support. The alliance was working.

In fact our Councillors gave Grayson and Trosser a rough time over the poor public relations work put up by the Council over the last week. They cited the inadequate response to the accusations levelled against us by Melanie Sheldrake in the Standard and the Framden Journal and now the complete absence of any sensible comment in the last twenty four hours to the Kapacek incident with only our MP being allowed to come forward on our behalf.

I joined in this debate. I was feeling quite important now. As far as I remember I argued that a blanket ban on contact with the media could be justified for the first twenty four hours as the uncontrollable media tsunami poured over our heads. But now we had the riptide and the moment had come forward to press with positive reports on Council activities. I began to list these. I drew attention to the need to publicize the opening of a new swimming pool in the northern part of the Borough and the public meeting being organized at the Quakers’ Meeting House in the south. There were also two new traffic calming schemes completed on two housing estates in response to pressure by locals. It was important to emphasize the good record our Council had in reducing the number of fatal accidents to pedestrians in the Borough in the last 5 years.

Again Grayson foolishly argued in favour of maintaining the ban “as a protest against all the lies written about us” but he was now a busted flush. Eventually a compromise was agreed that Councillors would be allowed to talk about issues which were directly their responsibility but should avoid any comment on the Kapacek affair except to say that the press should contact Andy Trosser or the Chief Press Officer to deal with their inquiry. One poor Councillor spoke in support of my argument by referring to the professionalism of the Council’s three-person Press Department to the obvious embarrassment of those squirming few who were aware of the role of Assistant Press Officer Susan Sweetman in this affair.

I got home quite pleased with myself. My standing in the party group was now quite strong. Every proposal I had been associated with had been successful. Yet I had not ratted on anybody. I had remained loyal, I told myself, to the leadership even though they now appeared to be a sinking ship with their panicky over-reaction to the predictable media interest and their insensitive attitude to the views and concerns of their fellow Councillors. My working partnership with Meena seemed to be working well and it was doing her as much good as it did me. It put me in close touch with the vocal women Councillors in the group, many of whom had treated me until now as a sardonic and immoral bounder. 

I recounted the main details to my Mother who was ever anxious to hear good things of her son of whom she was so obviously immensely proud. She mentioned some of the TV coverage and in particular a whole array of jokes in the form of a running gag at the expense of Framden Council in the popular satirical TV show “Have I Got News for You”. My mother was particularly concerned about Emil and the break up with his wife, both of whom she had got to know quite well.

Then she added that she had another pleasant surprise in the form of a letter telling her that she had won a draw in which the prize was a 2 week Caribbean cruise holiday for two for mid-July. My first reaction was that this was one of those spoof wins where you spend money ringing a telephone number as a result of which you end up winning nothing at all. After all, the Caribbean was subject to hurricanes at this time of the year and would hardly be a suitable place for a safe and pleasant cruise. However, she had been told to ring a travel agency in the West End called Colorbis Travel to confirm that she would be going. The Agency confirmed that the tickets were available, that the destination of the cruise was actually the Western Mediterranean but was marketed as a Caribbean-style cruise and they would be sending the tickets to her overnight by Special Delivery.

I congratulated her on winning this dream holiday but told her that I would not be able to join her because of all my professional and Council activities. “I know you won’t, my dear but thank you for your concern. I’ve spoken to my old friend Salcha Appelbaum and she said she would be delighted to go with me. You won’t even have to take me to Southampton you know. Salcha’s daughter, Margaret, will take both of us and promised to collect us on the way back.” I was very pleased with this not only because of the fact that she had fulfilled a long-standing dream but because my Mother would not be around during the most stressful period of the planning application coming up in July.

Following a request from the previous night’s group meeting I made an early morning visit to the Press Office to give them extra background information on the planning issues. They had obviously had a late night as none of the three officers was in yet. I sat down in the adjoining hall which opened up on the busy switchboard office. I could hear some of their replies to obvious early press enquiries urging the callers to ring later. A number of the switchboard operators were blind, obviously part of the Council strategy on employing disabled staff. Their guide dogs, unshackled from their leads and responsibilities, were gambolling silently with each other and rolling about on the adjoining floor. At first, I watched the labradors in fascination but after a quarter of an hour I began to get irritated as no press officer had yet arrived. I picked up the relevant messages from the chief switchboard operator, some still written in braille, and plonked them on the Chief Press Officer’s desk with a request they contact me soon.

The adjoining desk belonged to the controversial Miss Sweetman. I noted a picture of some tourists standing outside the Kremlin and I surmised the young girl in it was Susan Sweetman. What a coincidence, I thought. All this palaver about a Russian tycoon and she was obviously familiar with Russia too! I noticed something else too. On top of her Council work diary was a brochure from a PR agency called “Whispering Trees”. I happened to know the owner of that company very well. In the circumstances Susan must be job-hunting, I thought. Perhaps I could give her a reference or even an introduction? I left my visiting card on her desk as well.

Although the Civic Centre was now barred to all journalists, somehow “The Sun” got a copy of a photograph of the Mayor’s Chair in its Friday issue and asked if the Council was going to auction it. The Mirror and the Express were both chasing after the mysterious woman. The fact that Emil had disappeared had been noted. There was an interview with a very embittered Sharon Kapacek, who was obviously leaving no stone unturned to make sure that her marriage to Emil was over. I could understand her shock and despair, but I was surprised at just how bitter and full of bile she was. I realized now that this was just the culmination of a growing storm in their marriage, but it did not bode well for Emil or his chance of ever seeing his children again.

The local weekly, the Framden Journal, had lost out on all the fun. It went to press on Wednesday night and appeared on Friday, so it had to be printed just as the more sensational story was breaking. Their headline was a picture of me embellishing an article about the Pinkerton Plaza development under the headline: “Council to Consult on Plaza”. For us this was an excellent headline, especially in view of the contrasting headlines elsewhere. The bulk of what I had said about the development was reproduced and I could not wish for anything better.

It had still been thunder and lightning in the Saturday press but in the Sundays a more reflective mood had come in. There was a very good interview with Ted Grayson in “The Sunday Independent” and a relatively good investigative report on the work of the Council in “The Sunday Mirror”. “The Observer” commented on the inevitability that such incidents would occur when so many Councillors were appointed from a very narrow clique of political parties with dwindling membership, while only a third of an alienated electorate even bothered to vote. The article ended with the proposal that all Councils should have mayoral elections as well as elections to membership of the Council and the Mayor would then be free to appoint his cabinet both from members of the Council and outsiders.

Meanwhile on Monday “The Sun” had mischievously published a list of bidders on the e-bay ready to buy the mayoral chair and a picture of our disgruntled mayor announcing that by coincidence the Council Chamber was closed for refurbishment for a month. “Of course,” Duncan added unnecessarily, “this had nothing to do with the Kapacek incident.” That raised a few guffaws. The Sheremovsky Empire managed to keep itself out of the limelight and by Wednesday I had every hope that I would have a stress-free atmosphere in which to conduct my public meeting.

As the week progressed I prepared myself and the planning staff for the public meeting while above our heads raged the media storm over Framden Council. We got the plans together and were allowed by the Quakers to put up all the drawings a day in advance. The developer’s architect said that he would not bring the maquette we had seen as it had suffered some damage when a dumper had hit the portacabin but there would be a picture of us looking at it with the architect explaining its contents. In any case, as Chris Finneston pointed out again, the details were not required yet as this was only an outline planning application.

On Wednesday Meena called me and told me that she had met Susan Sweetman and the two of them had had a girls’ night together in a wine bar. On the grounds that truth will set you free and truth is normally set free by alcohol, Meena plied her with as much drink as she could take. Apparently the two got quite sozzled and on one occasion Meena tripped over a table, while some male drinkers twice tried to proposition them. It transpired that Susan had little sense of animosity to me or Meena, although the decision for her and Emil to transfer to the Mayor’s chair was made, apparently, by Emil in imitation of us. She had had an affair with Emil over the past 6 months but their relationship had not been an exclusive one and she did have other partners, including another Councillor. (She would not say which one). Obviously Susan was grateful that the Council was allowing her to keep her head low and Meena even hinted that this was as a result of my work behind the scenes. She had no clear prospects of a good job as most PR people worked independently and it was a lucky break for her to find a steady job in Framden. It was true that she had 3 months in which to find a new position but at this stage she was very nervous about her future and had no concrete plans. She might try for a position with another Council provided her references were genuinely good.

Meena asked me if I had any ideas as to how I could help her find employment. I told Meena I would think about this after the public meeting on Thursday, but did not bother to tell her about my idea concerning my friend in “Whispering Trees”. That can wait, I thought.

Also on Wednesday I had a lunchtime appointment at the House of Commons with Owen Draycott. Our MP had asked to see me to discuss the plans for the public meeting which he was now going to chair following Emil Kapacek’s unexpected debacle. I met him in the plush Pugin Room where we started with a few drinks. Then he took me to the dining room next door and settled down with me to a Chilean wine and a starchy steak and ale pie and chips followed by a pudding called Eton Mess. It was true traditional school dinner’s style of cooking but definitely more edible than what I used to get at school.

Despite being an experienced politician Owen seemed to be genuinely concerned about his own skills to control such a meeting. He was very nervous over whether the planning application would eventually be approved. It seemed to matter a lot to him, much more than would be appropriate for just a constituency matter. When I questioned him on this he conceded that there was a large deal in progress involving Sheremovsky’s company Nafta Ural and several British energy giants that had received the backing of the Government’s Export Credit Guarantee Department. This was politically sensitive because the ECGD normally supported long term investments only and this one had every appearance of only a short-term deal. He sensed that there was a danger that the deal would unravel and the erroneous decision to issue the credits would be discovered unless this particular investment project was successful and built within a tight time schedule. To achieve this, the outline planning application would have to be approved in July and the detailed plans by October. Otherwise, as Owen Draycott said ominously, “Heads will roll!”

As long as it’s not my head, I thought. The more I heard the less comforting it all seemed.

On Thursday I took another day off work to prepare myself fully for the meeting to be held that evening. The evening before, the Chief Press Officer had told Chris and me that there had been enormous media interest and at least five TV camera crews had offered to attend the meeting, including, curiously, one from Germany and one from Russia. This interest had been sparked off for two reasons. Firstly, because of the fact that the Plaza Development was a media story in its own right with an unpopular scheme being foisted onto the reluctant residents of Claybury by a rich Russian multi-millionaire and an, apparently, indifferent Council. Secondly and more importantly, because of the media hysteria spawned by the events last week in the Council Chamber. Where the latter was the main motivation, the Press Office steered the journalists and camera crews to the opening of the new swimming baths, as a more risk-free advertisement of the Council’s achievements.

It was now our fear that the Meeting House could be too small and we had to provide special seats for VIPs and the press to make sure that the key figures were able to get in. We needed stewards to supervise the entrance to the building and, at my suggestion, we had warned Dr Wheeler, the head of the recently formed Pinkerton Plaza Residents Action Committee, to come early with his main activists and to accept our VIP tickets to ensure a good seat during the meeting. We had even notified the police to put in a presence and supervise the stewarding outside the building. We also counted on their presence in the meeting itself. The Council agreed to foot the bill for this police presence.

I waited at home for the post to arrive as the Press Office had promised to send me a plan with the layout of the Meeting House and suggestions as to where the camera crews and the VIPs should be accommodated. As usual the post was late and only arrived at 10 o’clock

It included a white padded envelope with my name beautifully inscribed in red ink along with my address but without the postcode. Although I was in a hurry I paused to open it. Inside was a smaller white envelope with just the words “Spanking Councillor” inscribed on it with the same pretty handwriting. Curiosity got the better over my need for haste. I opened the second envelope carefully and to my disgust two flimsy reddish flakes dropped onto my desk. One of them crumbled as I picked it up. I suddenly realized they were dry scabs that had been freshly removed off some kind of wound. I thrust them in the bin in disgust but still scratched my head as to their significance.

Without more ado, I thrust all the remaining envelopes unopened into my briefcase and rushed into the Civic Centre for a last minute meeting with the Council officers.

I had invited Noel Graham and Meena to attend this pre-meeting with me as we went through the consultation procedure together with officers from the planning, highways, housing and education departments, as well as the Senior Press Officer and a representative from the Chief Executive’s department. It transpired that the consultations with local residents until now were overwhelmingly against the project. We had received 410 responses so far out of 8,000 questionnaires sent to households in the vicinity of the huge development site, out of which 365 had said they were against it. This was depressing news. I suggested that it was possible that some residents would only respond during or after the public meeting, perhaps after they had heard rather more about the project. I recommended that we say nothing at the moment about the high percentage of negative responses so as not to stimulate a bandwagon effect that would be seized by the opponents of the scheme and the press. There would be time enough to give the final figures at the Planning Committee meeting on July 12th where the final outline planning decision was to be taken. I took this opportunity to remind Meena and Noel that planning decisions should not be conducted like political campaigns because the important issue in planning terms was not the popularity of the project but whether it fulfilled planning guidelines and conformed to the overall Framden Borough Plan.

That Framden Borough Plan, by the way, was the big bible for planners covering the whole of Framden. Otherwise the developers could appeal against the decision to the ministry and finally obtain their planning application without further conditions from the Council and without any Community Gain. The planning mantra was always “What was important in public consultations was the quality of the objections and not the quantity.” Try explaining that to a politician! Even more, try explaining that to the public!

We went over why we were on the whole “minded to support” the application (a real politician’s phrase), but I strongly objected to implying that we were actually supporting the development as a Council at this stage as then we would have no opportunity of a dialogue with the protesters. Here the Council is like a judge and has to remain objective. A judge cannot tell a prisoner that he thinks he is guilty before the trial has begun, even if,  privately, he is so convinced.

Strangely, Chris Finneston seemed a little forlorn at my reservations. For a professional Planning Officer this seemed very unprofessional. However, I was adamant. I said that it was up to Lord Smallbridge and their architect to present the case and we could obviously support them where objectors were making unreasonable demands and comments. It would also be our job to ensure the developers had a fair hearing and that any debate would be on the planning merits of the scheme and nothing else. I asked for the present views on the development by the utility bodies such as the local gas company and the electricity board. It transpired that they had not yet responded to the scheme. Blast! So we were still working in the dark. The Thames Water Board had replied, Chris told us. My pleasure at this news was brief. Thames told us of their concern about the quality of the canal during the construction period and the effect on the local water table. I was unhappy to find that this too had not been satisfactorily answered by the developers. I lost my temper at this stage. I asked why responses had not come in earlier. Unfortunately, all the correspondence was being conducted with a view to having these matters resolved a week before the Planning Committee and not for the public meeting. That was the excuse and it sounded reasonable. And I’m a reasonable kind of bloke. Even so, it was worrying how little had been sorted out.

So what about the Greater London Assembly? Surely, they had commented on such a strategic development? Sure, Finneston assured me, they had. I breathed a sigh of relief. Again, it was short term. Apparently, the density figures and layout of the estate had been praised by the London boys, but they were still awaiting the opinions of the experts on that political hot potato – the view from Daffodil Hill. This was not good. Definitely, not good. We were going into a public meeting with a very poor stack of cards. What was that a politician had said once about “going naked into the conference chamber”? That is what this sounded like. I insisted that Chris check with the GLA before the public meeting, so as to at least obtain a verbal opinion on that matter. He promised that he would.

The Council’s own Housing, Education and Transport Departments all seemed happy with the arrangements. The good news was that Transport for London had sent in an opinion which evinced almost ecstatic support for the scheme and expressed the hope of introducing a new bus route specifically terminating next to the central Plaza. That was good!

At 12 o’clock Mr Lamsden, the assistant chief architect to the Pinkerton Plaza scheme, turned up and seemed happy to accept the point that he would present the case. Apparently, the chief architectural consultant, Sir William Tallis, was unavailable that week. Mr Lamsden had a short video presentation to make based on computer graphics and pictures of the dilapidated site at the moment that the developers purchased it last winter. He agreed that he would answer questions along with Chris and myself. I insisted that Dr Wheeler be allowed to make his case from the front of the floor and that he would be given a stand-up microphone to make his point. Again, I reminded them that the object of the exercise was to make sure that nothing was being hidden and everybody, within reason, could put their case. “It is not just a PR exercise,” I told them, “it is democracy in action!” (Actually that sounded insincere. I don’t know why, but I did mean it). It would also serve to marginalize those reacting emotionally. Reasonable objections and arguments would be order of the day. That would also make it possible to marginalize Melanie Sheldrake too; I hugged myself with the thought.

The only other matter now was to decide the seating arrangements of the platform party with MP Owen Draycott as Chairman in the middle with opposition leader Councillor Batchelor, who supported the scheme, Chris Finneston, Lord Smallbridge and Mr Lamsden on his right, while Meena, the local Councillor from Claybury Ward and myself would be on the left. I then reviewed the layout for the press and the VIPs, which appeared on the diagram I had received this morning. 

All had now been covered to my satisfaction and I was about to suggest that we finish the meeting now and go for a lunch in the Civic Centre canteen. Suddenly we were interrupted by a knocking on the door. It was followed by a timid entrance from the Assistant Press Officer. It was Susan Sweetman, no less. She stood there shyly unwilling to interrupt but obviously with something important to say. She had been keeping a very low profile until now and only Meena and the Senior Press Officer knew of her significant role in the recent scandal.

On seeing her I thought to ask her about whether she wanted that introduction to the owner of “Whispering Trees” but it was obvious that a more important matter had brought her here.

“Ah, Miss Sweetman,” I called out to her. “Can we help you?”

“I am sorry to interrupt, Councillor, but we have just had some troubling news at the Press Office which we picked up on the BBC internet.”

“Go on,” I said grimly. “Tell us the worst.”

“Owen Draycott has just resigned from the Government.”

“My God! Why?”

“He has been accused of taking bribes from the Nafta Ural consortium.”