Arun D. Ellis's Blog, page 2

Release of my new book - 'Fall of the Romanovs'

Hi

I hope you are all well and coping ok in these trying times - everything seems insane at the moment.

Anyway

If anyone is interested my new book 'Fall of the Romanovs' has just gone on sale on Amazon for purchase on Kindle (£0.99p or $1.39) and hard copy paperback (£6.99 or $9.60)

I've attached a small example for your pleasure:-

"Okay, everyone, call to order, order."
The words came from the newly appointed chair for the Westfield Amateur Theatrical Company, Geoffrey Mayweather and were accompanied by a banging of a gavel on the table. He was pleased with his new position and he looked it. Portly, balding and shiny-faced, every inch the bank manager.
He banged the gavel again and said, "First on the agenda...this year's play."
His wife, Melody, a tiny, 50-something brunette with delicate features, a surgically preserved hand span waist and well-shaped legs, determinedly a Little to his Large, interrupted his smug survey of the assembled committee members with a quiet but forceful, "Er...first Geoffrey, just to let you all know, Emily popped in earlier and left cakes in the kitchen for us." She had no intention of partaking herself but needed her female friends to dive in and engorge themselves.
There was a chorus of 'oohs and aaahs'; Emily Clunk's exquisite cakes were legendary.
"Should I get them now?" This offer came from Clive Bowthorpe, middle-aged, paunch and comb over, perennial bachelor of the parish, known to have a soft spot for both Emily and her cakes.
"Not yet," said Geoffrey, his sweet tooth fighting with the need to keep time, "things to do."
"Don't mind him, Clive," Melody's laugh tinkled through the words, "he's thinking about the football."
Clive was half-way out of the room before she'd finished speaking.
"Kick off in just over an hour," murmured a voice. Eric Stones, his mind on the game and how long it would take them to get home. He seemed to be unaware he'd spoken; the words emerging of their own volition.
His wife, Deirdre, all gym toned body and Botox face, was sitting well within earshot and raised her immaculate eyebrows, (in so much as she was able) and gave him a stern sideways look. Eric's face folded in on itself and his enthusiasm for the beautiful game waned.
"I nominate Time's Up," said a loud voice. There was a collective groan from the assembly and Derek Greene stood up, using his height to dominant effect. He was determined to get his nomination in first. "Mable," he said, indicating his wife who looked startled to be named, "will second the motion."
"Oh no," sighed Melody, "not again, surely."
All eyes turned to the hapless Mable. She was squirming, embarrassment writ large across her pretty but vacuous face. Would she be the dutiful wife and support Derek's play for a third year? Despite knowing how badly it was received and attended last time, bearing in mind it had been just as badly attended the year before that and that was before people knew how awful it was.
"Mable," pressed Derek.
She gulped.
"Mable?"
"Seconded," she said, her voice barely audible.
"You'll have to speak up, Mable, old love," said Geoffrey, using chair's privilege, hoping she would take the opportunity to withdraw the nomination or at least have the decency to faint, "I don't think the others heard you."
"Yes Mable," said Derek, "Speak up girl."
"Seconded," said Mable, this time more forcefully. She shared their misgivings about putting it on again but knew from personal experience how pig-headed Derek could be. He would give her such grief at home if she didn't support him and he was quite capable of nominating it year on year until it was accepted and somehow made into a hit or until they all died of the sheer agony of going through the same torment again and again.
Deirdre had told Eric she intended to oppose Derek if he put forward his play again, and true to her word she spoke up, "I think we should call time on Time's Up!"
There was a light titter at the pun.
Eric began a vigorous nodding, indicating his support of his wife. He forbore to speak, unsure if it was safe to do so. Naturally, anything that sounded like disagreement would be met harshly later and in most cases the nod was the safest course of action. As his nodding slowed to a head bob, he remembered with a clutch of concern that there were times when a nod wasn't enough and full-on verbal heart felt support was required. The problem was that he never knew which was what at the time and would be instead informed about the lack of said support at a later stage and in no uncertain terms. He sighed at the tenuous nature of his survival.
"How exactly," said Florence Chestnut, Flo to her friends, in her best deep-throated actress voice, "were we to make anything of that tosh of a script...I would defy Olivier to do anything with it."
Despite entering her fifties, she was still, nonetheless, a gorgeous looking woman; milky-white skin, flame hair and a figure to die for or get extremely excited about depending on your proclivities, however she had the personality of a hungry crocodile and therefore she garnered no support.
There was a collective groan at the name drop.
Even Martin, her husband, Ken to her Barbie, made a sound, quickly suppressed. She had once appeared in film in which Sir Laurence had starred. She'd tried to steal the scene and had been banished from the studio. The scene ended up on the cutting room floor. Florence explained the missing footage on an error in set design. No matter, they couldn't go through a meeting or a rehearsal without her drawing reference to having once appeared with Olivier.
Eric saw an opening for some manly behaviour of which Deidre might approve. He stood up, heavy-set, 5ft 11 in his socks, clumsy and un-coordinated, tugging at his jacket pocket and saying, "D'you like me to read the reviews?" He was pleased that he'd taken the time to dig them out in anticipation of Derek nominating his dreadful play again. He tugged at his jacket again, the moment almost lost. He could feel Deidre's head shake without seeing it, and he tugged harder. Then the cuttings from last year were in his hand and he was flourishing them in Derek's general direction. He spoke loudly from memory, "Dull, tired, meaningless drivel, poorly scripted...nonsensical..."
"Steady on, Eric, that wasn't my fault, it was the cast...if they had more belief in the..."
Geoffrey cut across Derek's protestations, saying, "Ok, we've heard from the Nay sayers, now, who's for Derek's motion?"
Derek's hand shot up whilst the others round the table determinedly folded their arms. Mable tucked her hands under the table and ducked her head.
"Mable," hissed Derek, spotting the lack of support, "hand."
Mable grimaced, then raised her arm, quietly confident that it would make little difference if the others remained strong.
"Clive?" said Derek.
Clive swallowed the remnants of his third cake and squirmed in his seat.
"Clive," Derek said, "come on, I've always backed you."
This wasn't true, Clive felt inferior to Derek and was intimidated by him. Slowly, he raised his hand.
The room sighed.
Derek turned to the next on his list of likely targets. Daffyd Brodsky had supported him every year so far and he was confident he would do so again.
Daffyd was, as usual, draped on his chair, louche and languid, yet there was an air that was unfamiliar about him. And more worryingly, he showed no sign of raising an arm.
"Daffyd," repeated Derek, fixing the younger man with a dark stare.
"Actually..." said Daffyd, his voice a slow drawl, "I have a play of my own to offer this year."
He'd changed significantly since he'd made the decision to come out as gay, to himself, and to the public, albeit at some unspecified time in the future. His confidence levels had risen and that had altered his general demeanour. A few of the women on the committee had noticed; he was dark and brooding in a Welsh Heathcliff-like way, and this new confidence added emphasis to that. They'd spent several hours in huddled sessions, speculating on the probable cause, none of which had been anywhere near the mark. Daffyd was adept at keeping his cards exceedingly close to his chest and this hand, in particular, was well and truly clamped tight within his ribcage.
Derek stared open mouthed, the others turned in surprise, Daffyd never had ideas.
Melody gave Flo a knowing glance, Flo elongated her face raising her left eyebrow towards Deirdre who sent her own coded look to Mable who gulped; Derek would not like this one little bit, and she was bound to hear about it for weeks on end, especially if Daffyd's play was chosen over Derek's which in her heart of hearts she desperately hoped would be the case.
"What play is that Daffyd, my boy?" asked Geoffrey, turning slightly away from the dumbfounded look on Derek's face.
Daffyd's burst of courage had deserted him. "It's not all that, something I came up with...."
Derek felt rage coursing through him, "What could you have possibly written about? Spit it out," he said, a vein was now pulsing in his temple, "you've started now, so finish it."
That did it. "It's about the Russian revolution," Daffyd said, no longer sprawling or languid, "and actually...I'm quite proud of it."
"A revolution?" said Florence, her hands theatrically cupping her face, "I don't think we want anything to do with revolutions, do we girls?" She could see no role for herself in this and was immediately disposed to oppose it.
Daffyd wasn't about to leave it now the subject had been broached, "My paternal grandfather was an émigré...he fled the revolution...and my play charts the history of the revolution right up until after the Great War."
"How on earth do you expect us to put something like that on?" demanded Derek, "No, no, no, I think we all know we'd be better off sticking to something that we know..."
The others winced visibly, there was no way they could stomach appearing in Derek's disaster again.
"Anyone else?" asked Geoffrey.
"We could revive 'Horticulture Harriet'?" said Deirdre.
Eric seized his opportunity, "Hear, hear, darling."
"Ah yes, a wonderful concept, Deidre," said Geoffrey, groaning inwardly, "although we must consider what happened with the Daffodil boys? In of itself a superb idea of course, but the realisation of the idea was less..."
"Can't be done," said Derek, "not worth contemplating."
Deirdre was disappointed but didn't want to strain her facial muscles so restricted herself to a sigh.
"I'm working on something," offered Clive nervously, "but...urm...I haven't finished it yet."
"Well how close are you?" asked Melody, "To finishing it, I mean?"
"Oh...well...not so close really," said Clive, "perhaps it might be better saved for next year."
"Oh, for God's sake," Derek said, "there's no alternative...bar Daffyd's preposterous call to revolution and I'm sure we're all opposed to that, which just leaves Time's Up."
The room fell silent as each committee member stared into the nightmare that would be a rerun of Derek's play. The endless rehearsals with him bossing them all around, the same awful lines of what had been a tired script the first time round, the mounting despair as opening night approached, the group humiliation of staring out at empty seats and the same soul-destroying reviews as the local rag ripped into them once again. In short, the horrendous prospect of yet another mortifying flop.
"All in favour of Daffyd's Russian Revolution?" asked Geoffrey.
With the exception of Derek all hands shot in the air.

Links to Amazon are listed below:-
Amazon.co.uk
https://www.amazon.co.uk/Fall-Romanov...

Amazon.com
https://www.amazon.com/Fall-Romanovs-...

Thanks for your time

Cheers, good luck getting through the months ahead and happy reading

Arun

NEW BOOK - Fall of the Romanovs

Hi

Just posted my latest book - Fall of the Romanovs - hope you have time to check it out

Cheers

Arun

World after Covid

Anyone else worried that the elites already have a term for the new world after Covid19 - they're calling it the 'Great Reset'

WWIII has already started

In not honouring the outcome of the Brexit vote the EU and the remainers in the UK attacked the very foundations of democracy - the shame is greater on the remainers in the UK because Great Britain has a history of democracy whereas the continent only has one of autocracy.

When the Democrats refused to accept the election of Donald Trump and tried every trick in the book to get him impeached they betrayed democracy.

Both events have weakened the West not because they happened but because the globalist elites, the Liberals and the Left have refused to accept the results of democratic elections throwing the two most influential and powerful Western powers into a near state of civil war

This civil war has been artificially created and exacerbated by the likes of Soros and others who are intent on the overthrow of the West.

Covid19 has added damaged the West and the Global economy.

Companies are going bankrupt, people are going bankrupt & countries are going bankrupt.

Meanwhile China is making moves on the South China Sea, Taiwan & disputed territory with India.

N. Korea is lining up against the South and will be ready to attack when the time comes.

Turkey has its eyes on the whole of Cyprus.

Russia is looking to take a huge bite out of Europe

All they are waiting for is the economic and social collapse of America

The recent outrages by Antifa and the BLM at the behest of Soros's foundations and the left has begun the final stage in the process

When it has run its course and America and Great Britain are engaged in civil war and much of the world is bankrupt the enemies of freedom will strike

Remember - they will have been gifted this opportunity by the lefts refusal to follow the rules of democratic debate and elections.

The coming Civil wars and Revolutions

The Democracies of the West are headed for Civil War

Not because we have opposing parties who disagree on policy - we have always had them

Not because we have underprivileged or poor sections of the community - we have always had them

Not because we have indolent rich elites - we have always had them

Not because we have people who hate the police - we have always had them

Not because we have unruly minorities - we have often had them

No we are headed to Civil War because we now have a new electorate that refuses to abide by the rules of Democracy

A new electorate that cannot accept defeat

A new electorate that will scream and shout if it doesn't get its way

A new electorate that expects to win and if it doesn't is prepared to riot, to loot and to burn the temple down

A new electorate that is not willing to accept that the other side won more votes and should, therefore, be in power

We are headed to Civil War because there are those who no longer accept the principles of Democracy

This will be a Civil War fought to defend the principles of Magna Carta

This will be a Civil War to defend Democracy

Covid19 is here to stay - meet the new normal

Apparently Covid19 will be with us forever and the only way that each individual can guarantee survival is if they take a vaccination - let that penetrate for a moment - suddenly, as if by magic and out of nowhere, the human species has been rendered fatally allergic to a new disease running rampant across the planet earth.

Does anybody really believe that this thing came naturally from a wet market and crossed species?

There is definitely more here than we are being told - evidenced by the way governments across the globe have closed off their countries and shut down their internal and global trade - something very serious has happened and they are being less than truthful with us which is causing confusion.

People would be more willing to believe in the deadly threat of Covid19 if they knew the truth - perhaps Trump has already indicated that truth by pointing the finger at China - is this a chemical weapon that the Chinese let escape from one of their labs in Wuhan - a lab that had been funded by the Obama administration.

James Goldsmith on the dangers of globalisation

I recently posted a video on Goodreads in which Sir James Goldsmith, in the mid 1990s, eloquently laid out the dangers of pursuing a policy of economic globalisation

We are now living with the devastating results

He was right

Dystopian world almost upon us

Ok - 2020 - what an apocalyptic year so far

We've had the killer bug from China - or fake killer bug depending on your perspective - which might yet wipe out civilisation, a disease that might have escaped from a lab or come from a wet market, who knows and the Chinese certainly aren't saying - incidentally the Chinese claim to have conquered Covid19 and aren't reporting any more cases but unofficial reports leaking out indicate that Covid is running rampant across the country.

China has subsequently decided to throw her weight around threatening Taiwan, Vietnam, Cambodia, Japan, India and America - is this all bluff or do the Chinese intend a smash and grab whilst the world struggles to contend with the deadly virus she has unleashed.

But China isn't the only country on the rampage since the outbreak - India and Pakistan are flexing their muscles over Kashmir as Greece and turkey are over Cyprus etc.

The global economy is on its knees because of the measures governments have employed to combat Covid19 - could this be the prelude to an enforced NWO in the form of a one world government and a new one world currency?

We have left wing and race riots, orchestrated by Antifa and BLM, ripping their way through the West for spurious reasons. These riots have been coordinated by Open Society Foundations which were set up and funded by George Soros. These rioters are being utilised to block the anti globalist movements which have lead to Brexit and the rise of populism; their primary objective being to bring Trump down and overthrow Capitalism in America. If America falls to Socialism or Communism them the West will also fall - not good.

All we need now is an alien invasion which might not sound so far fetched when you check out the recent disclosures coming from the Pentagon - perhaps that's saved for 2021.

From Democracy to Dictatorship - book 2 in the 'Corpalism' series is FREE from Amazon for PC/Kindle download from 4th August to 8th August 2020

The Independents -The Debt Makers

“Hello, my name is Sandeep Rajan and I’m standing as independent candidate for London Borough of Ealing and like my esteemed colleagues, I have no party affiliation. Whilst I thank Chris for diplomatically introducing me as an entrepreneur, which I am, yet I prefer to stand before you in unvarnished truth: I’m an ex-trader who made and lost a lot of money in this broken system of ours and that makes me a bit of an expert in how it all works and what we actually did with all the money.”

He stood quietly, waiting politely to give the floor time to exercise their democratic right to boo him off the stage. Instead the audience greeted his words with complete silence; he decided to take this as permission to continue.

“I’m only going to speak to you briefly but I’m going to discuss ‘austerity’, why we have austerity and what they want from us.”

Silence; broken by the odd cough.

“As we all know the banks lost a lot of money back in 2008. We know this because they told us; we had the threat of a financial Armageddon. But was it the truth? What really happened with the banking crisis? What really happened to all of that money and whose was it in the first place?”

A few people leaned forward, more alert, interested.

“Well the banks definitely lost a lot of money, and that’s for sure. But what they didn’t tell you is that they lost all of the money, everything, all of it,” he used quiet emphasis, no shouting and that somehow made it all the more believable. “And by that I don’t just mean what they had in their vaults” he shook his head slightly; “I mean all of the imaginary money as well.”

He left that with them for a few moments, glanced over at Colin, received a nod of affirmation then continued, “I have assumed you know how the banking system works, although a lot of people don’t. So, if you will forgive me, I will go through the process for you.”

He walked away from the rostrum, towards the front of the stage, the better to engage; a slim figure, immaculate in a bespoke city suit, an impossibly white shirt and expensive shoes. He hadn’t thought it tactful to dress down, clearly.

“A lot of people don’t realize how much of a confidence trick the whole process is; most people think that money comes from the government, and that Parliament dictates the amount of money that the Bank of England distributes. However, that is not the case, the banks do that.”

He waited for a response but there wasn’t much forthcoming.

“When someone puts their money in a bank, say £100 for simplicity sake… the bank can lend 90% of that money to someone and keep 10% in their vaults. In other words, the bank can lend £90 to someone who spends it and the £90.00 they spend ends up being deposited in another bank. That bank can then lend 90% of that £90 to someone else; or £81, as long as it keeps 10%, in this case, £9, in its vaults. The £81 is spent and ends up in another bank and this bank can lend 90% of that or £72.90 to another person and so it goes on. So what have we got? Add it up…we’ve lent out £90 + £81 + £72.90. So in total we’ve lent out £243.90 in three transactions when there was only ever £100 in the first place. And this practice goes on and on with ever larger sums of money. They even have a name for it; it’s called Fractional Reserve Banking.”

There was some shuffling in the audience and some noises indicating increased interest and, Sandeep hoped, a slight lessening of hostility. “And that’s only the tip of it,” he said, excitement in his voice, “because what do you think they issue money against in the first place?”

He scanned the crowd, “Did someone say gold? No, no, we’re no longer on the gold standard; we’re not on any standard. They just issue money, and that’s it.”

He drank some water from a bottle he’d brought with him. “Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that you want a loan. You phone up the bank and say ‘Hi, I want to borrow £10,000’”. There was a stifled titter from the crowd and Sandeep smiled, “Well, how does it go after that? If your credit rating is good they will lend it to you, if your credit rating is not, then they will not. That is all there is to it. They don’t go to their vault and see how much is in there….They don’t get a warning come up on their screens saying ‘not enough money left’…They just give it to you and add your debt to their figures, it’s as simple as that.”

He paused, comfortable and relaxed, sipped more water, “so the question now is, if the banks don’t really have the money in their vaults and they just make up the money they lend to you… who are the banks? …Surely, you might say, it must be the government…it must be regulated in some way. They can’t just lend money they don’t have, surely? ...But they can and they do. The banks are owned and run by private investors. The private investors are making up the amount of money that they want to lend out and for this service they are charging you interest.”

There was a stunned silence; in part because a lot of the audience hadn’t ever thought about the concept before and in part because now they were being forced to do so and weren’t sure what to make of it.
Sandeep gave them time, then judging them ready, continued, “Let me put it another way …you go into a shop and you buy a chair, and what have you got? Simple…You’ve got a chair, it’s solid, 3 dimensional, and you can sit on it, it’s real… but if you phone a bank for a loan they type a few things into a computer and you have a loan. You have no real money, you understand, you have pretend money that you can spend on their say so.”

He paused to look around the hall, no doubt, they were all listening now “They pass the numbers across to your bank account and when you spend it the numbers go to another bank. There’s no requirement to dig hard cash out of a vault; they transfer the numbers across on the PC. It’s a numbers game and they have us all trapped in it. Our wages are paid directly into the banks. Who amongst you can remember when that was not the case? Or has older relatives who tell you about those days when paper money appeared in a little brown envelope in your hand each Friday? The good old days when you could choose to put your cash in a box under the bed or into a building society? It is now a job requirement that you have a bank account; you have no choice. You are encouraged to pay by direct debits, incentivised so to do, the transfer is made invisibly from your bank to another bank, you don’t see any cash, so where is the money? Where is the real money?”

Sandeep stared around the hall, “Think about it, they’ve lent you something that doesn’t exist. It isn’t theirs, they haven’t taken any hard earned cash out of their pockets, it’s not real, it’s just made up money, but they’re going to charge you interest on this. They’re going to charge you interest on money that doesn’t exist, that they never had, that isn’t theirs and isn’t real. But they are going to charge you real interest on it; they are going to take money by direct debit directly from your bank. And make no mistake – this is real money which you have earned by your labour, and the banks are going to deduct this from your wages to cover interest on money that never existed.”

Sandeep watched whilst the audience digested his words, then launched again, “We accept this craziness because we think we get something out of the deal; a new car, the latest TV or a new kitchen. What we ignore is that we are being robbed by the banks. The only real money in this whole process is your money, you pay back real money on the loan and you pay back real money on the interest. They have lost nothing during the period of the loan. So, to recap, what they lent you did not exist so the lack of it for the period costs them nothing, the interest they charge is pure profit on a loan of nothing. It’s a cheap confidence trick.”

He paused briefly, “Well when deregulation started to come in the high street banks merged with the investment banks they started gambling with people’s savings, then we had the subprime loans - all of which combined to lead to the ultimate crash, now what was the crash? I mean what happened and what did it actually mean?”

He seemed to actually expect answers from the floor but it appeared no-one was willing to betray ignorance, so he was forced to continue, “Not to put too fine a point on it, the banks lost all of the money, not just the real money in their vaults but all of the made up money as well. They lost everything; which is why people started talking about a financial Armageddon. But was it really that bad? This is the big question because it’s why we have austerity today and why if they get their way, we will have austerity for decades to come.”

Sandeep paused again to let his words sink in, “I can see a question in your eyes…” some in the audience turned to look at their neighbours, “You’re asking, if the banks created all the money from nothing in the first place why, when they’ve lost everything, don’t they just go and create more?”

He lifted his hands and his shoulders went up, “The answer is simple; the banks never created any real money in the first place, they simply created the impression of money. Now people have lost faith and want their real money back from the banks that haven’t got it to give them.”

He drank more water from his bottle, “So now the banks have creditors on their backs; they have debts they cannot honour and if they were an ordinary company they would have gone bankrupt. They would’ve crashed without a government bailout and by government you need to read taxpayer… you and me. So if we had let the banks fail? What then? Well, you and I, the small investor would have lost our savings and that’s bad. We would have lost a few thousand, but would still have our homes and our jobs.”

Sandeep looked around the hall, “And the pension schemes, they would have lost a fortune as investments turned bad and share prices crashed. But that is an even spread, bad news for some, but not disastrous.”

There was movement in the hall, as they wondered where he was going with this.

“Then there’s the super rich investor, the millionaire, the billionaire; the wealthy 1%. Where do you suppose their money actually is? It’s invested by the financial services, by the banks and that is the reason the banks weren’t allowed to fail.”

He left a moment for his audience to absorb his point, “The banks were bailed out using PAYE tax payers money only because the wealthy 1% were about to lose everything; this greedy 1% of individuals would have lost all of their millions, all of their billions, their many homes, their jets, their yachts and their livelihoods. They would have been rendered poor. That is why the governments bailed out the banks, not to save us but to protect the investments of the rich, of the wealthy, of the 1%.”

Finally, applause from the hall.

“The wheels have come off the wagon but they will not admit that this is due to their profligacy and bad management. They are using our money to prop up these institutions to protect the super-rich, so that the rich 1% can keep their investments and keep cashing in their interest payments, and keep hold of their valueless shares until the market recovers, so they can keep their many houses and yachts and jets and fleets of cars.”

More applause and a few cheers, some people were standing to clap.

“That is why we really have austerity; we have austerity so that you and I can give more of our hard-earned money to the government so that it can continue to bail out the rich. That is the reason you are being taxed so heavily, that is the reason they are privatising the NHS, the reason they have raised VAT, the reason they are cutting public services, and that is the reason they are reducing funding to councils who in turn are reducing community services.”

He walked to the edge of the stage, clearly emotional for the first time.

“ Make no mistake about it…they are robbing the poor to pay the rich; robbing the 99% to prop up the 1%.... and it is not fair, it is not just and ….it is not democratic.”

The hall erupted.

Hope you have a nice week

Cheers

Arun

Amazon.co.uk
https://www.amazon.co.uk/s?k=corpalis...


Amazon.com
https://www.amazon.com/s?k=corpalism&...


Others in the Corpalism series



'Corpalism' is the compendium editions which includes -










'Daydream Believers' is the Compendium edition which includes










'Wise Eyed Open' is the Compendium edition which includes

Uprising - book 1 in the 'Corpalism' series is FREE from Amazon for PC/Kindle download from 1st August to 4th August 2020

Suddenly

A man may die, nations may rise and fall,
but an idea lives on.
John F. Kennedy

Cramming the last piece of toast into his mouth Terry Jones grabbed his jacket and left his apartment for the office.

He’d had the option of a high-rise within walking distance when he was first assigned to Relocations; his reasons for turning it down had seemed sound; cost = astronomical, space = minimal. Now, and not for the first time, he wished he’d taken it. That morning he’d set his alarm earlier than usual in the hopes of beating the rush hour traffic, problem was he never really managed to keep to his schedule (poor time management or lousy schedule?) and he found himself, yet again, bumper to bumper and yet again, late for work.

Brian Olsen made the final adjustments to his tie, jacket and hair before leaving the men’s room and heading to his desk; all the while diligently maintaining an erect 6ft 6in posture, a copy of today’s Times clamped under his right arm, his brief case gripped firmly in his right hand, and as he strode he repeated his mantra over and over in his head ‘today I will excel, today I will exceed all expectations, today I will excel, today I will exceed all expectations….’

Rain Morgan, stared at the free drinks machine for a few moments before selecting a cappuccino with sugar. Her actual name was Rainbow Sunset, her mother having one her odd moments, but she preferred Rain. She was quickly joined by Debby Jenna and Phillippa Djukovic; just time for a quick debrief of Phillippa’s date with Simon Brookes from Finance.

Peter Illyffe, the divisional manager for Relocations 1, left his office and headed for the usual 8:30 briefing in meeting room 3, aka the cupboard due to its lack of size and windows. His staff fell in behind, a well-rehearsed troupe, that is everyone except Terry Jones who was still driving fruitlessly round and round the car park.

The room filled quickly; those lucky enough to get in the door first grabbed a seat at the table, Peter at their head.

“Morning everyone,” he said, to which there were the usual responses of “morning, morning Peter,” a few nods and coughs and a silky “morning, Boss” from Brian, tall even when sitting down. “No Terry, I see?”

This too was greeted by the usual responses, initial silence, then embarrassed coughs or ums…. followed by a clear and unequivocal “he’s not in yet, Boss” from Brian. Peter made a note in the top corner of his meeting notes, as usual.

“Ok, everyone got a copy of today’s agenda?” general nods everywhere, “good, ok – item one then – the recent merger with Alderson’s. As per our meeting yesterday morning I’ve checked up the line and can confirm that Alderson’s Relocations are being wound down and we will ‘inherit their workload’.”

“Relocations are being relocated.” Phillippa’s quip was not altogether unexpected; there were a few groans.

“Thank you Phillippa,” said Peter.

“How big a workload we talking?” asked Rain.

“Approx half again our existing workload,” replied Peter.

“Will we be getting more staff?” Rain again.

“No,” said Peter.

“But how are we meant to cope with that?” asked Debby, saying what the others were thinking.

“By ‘working smarter’,” Brian jumped in, borrowing one of Peter’s ‘phrases of the moment’, “and if some people spent less time at the coffee machine talking then we’d get a lot more done.”

“Who’re you on about?” demanded Debby, realising too late that by asking the question she had singled herself out. Peter made another note at the top of his meeting papers.

“Moving on” said Peter, sounding tired, “there will be a further meeting at 2pm today with the team from Alderson’s so we can ‘manage the handover’ smoothly. Rain and I will attend that. Another quick point, the company will no longer be providing free drinks.”

There was a collective gasp, then “Why’re they changing it?” asked Debby, “I mean we’ve had free coffee for years now.” For some reason her mouth seemed to be working overtime this morning, in the absence of Terry it could be deemed she had assumed his mantle.

“As you all know we’re facing ever ‘stiffer competition’ out there, which is one of the reasons we’ve been merged with Alderson’s. The Efficiency Department has identified that the company could save almost £100,000 a year by moving to a ‘pay for your own’ drinks environment.”

“Can we bring a kettle and make our own drinks?” asked Phillippa.

“No,” replied Peter, “that would mean providing kitchen facilities – an added expense.”

“What about a flask?” asked Brian.

“Flasks are OK,” said Peter, flashing him a grateful smile.

“If you can drink anything from a flask,” muttered Rain.

“Everyone, now, come to order, please.” Peter was becoming irritated and the strain of not showing it was telling on his stress levels. At that point Terry opened the door and slipped into the room, “Ah! Mr. Jones, glad you could join us.”

“Sorry I’m late,” said Terry “couldn’t find anywhere to park.”

“There were loads of spaces when I got here at 8:00,” said Brian.

“I got held up in traffic,” offered Terry, his expression hopeful.

“Then might I suggest you leave earlier,” replied Brian, “we all make the effort to be here on time, it’s only ever you who’s late.”

“Thank you, Brian,” Peter interceded. “OK the final point, we’ve had a report from C.I.T, the Counter Intelligence Team,” he elaborated, staring pointedly at Phillippa over whose head most things of import were known to sail, “that we have a ‘heightened terror threat’ as a result of our merger with Alderson’s.” He waited for the information to sink in then continued by way of explanation, “Apparently we’re now the 3rd largest provider of labour resource in the EU so it makes us an even bigger target.” Phillippa looked on the verge of tears, possibly at being singled out for the stare, the rest were demonstrating variously dismay or affected disinterest but no-one spoke. “So everybody please ‘stay alert, stay vigilant’ and re-watch the compulsory DVD ‘Terror and Counter Terrorism’. Remember, ‘we’re all in this together’ and it’s up to each and every one of us to …‘keep the workplace safe’.”

Terry winced; he was convinced that Peter’s insistence on speaking in inverted commas and quoting the company watchwords at every opportunity had a damaging effect on his psyche.

“Did anyone see the news this morning?” asked Rain, too brightly. “There was an explosion in the town centre.”

“Yeah,” chipped in Debby, “near Macheson’s.”

“They said something about 20 casualties,” Rain added, “it’s awful”.

“Did they say who it was?” asked Terry.

“It’s a bit early for that kind of info,” snapped Brian.

“I dunno,” defended Terry, “they sometimes give a warning.”

“That’s the Red Freedoms,” said Debby, “the Black Hands don’t give a warning.”

“Which could imply the Black Hands,” said Terry, settling in for a natter on the merits and demerits of one terrorist organisation’s way of doing business versus another.

“OK,” interrupted Peter, forestalling further chat, “Any questions?”

“Parking,” said Terry, opportunistic as ever, “when are they doing something about parking?”

“As we said yesterday and the day before and, oh yes, as we’ve been saying every day in all these months since you joined us, they aren’t going to do anything about the parking, thank you, Terry.” Peter stared round the table, lingering on Phillippa, as if daring any more utterances.

“When are they going to fix the tower clock?” she asked, making a sterling effort to fight back tears.

“And they aren’t going to fix the clock, either, Phillippa. As we’ve already said it will cost too much to repair. Any more questions?”

Silence.

“Good, back to work all of you, except you Terry, if you could just stay back a minute.”

The others filed out of the room and closed the door behind them.

“You were late again Terry.”

“I know but it was the traffic….”

“Traffic is not an excuse, Terry,” said Peter, “you should know to factor that in to your plans. Also, as I recall, Human Resources offered you an apartment close by when you joined us, a much sought after facility that had only come available due to the unfortunate demise of your predecessor.” He fell silent, possibly in recognition of human frailty and the fact that the previous occupant had thrown himself ungratefully off the 7th floor balcony of the much vaunted facility. “You are paid to be here between the hours of 8:30 and 5:00. It’s up to you to get yourself here on time.”

“Yes,” said Terry, for once recognising a time when the less words said might be the better.

“Everyone else manages to be here. I have to come from further away than you so I leave earlier. Brian always gets here at 8:00.”

“I know,” Terry murmured, humbly, while thinking 'yeah but Brian hasn’t got a life…'

“And he doesn’t leave his desk until 5.45 whereas you are packed and out the door by 5:10 if you can get away with it.”

Again, Brian hasn’t got a life …“I always do my hours…”

“Do you want to see your clocking in sheet?” asked Peter. Terry ducked his head; he knew what it would show. “The thing is Terry, it’s not working out for us; I think we need to move you on.”

Terry grimaced “I’m sorry Peter, I promise I will get here earlier in future.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late, Terry, Galaxy has already collated your data and raised it with Human Resources. They’ve spotlighted you and put in the transfer request.”

“You mean I’m already on the List?” asked Terry. “That was quick.”

Peter gave him a look; he was a strange one and no mistake, “Should come through in a few days. …Obviously you can’t be on site when it comes through, that would create a conflict of interest so your employment with Peter Brookes will be terminated this morning.”

Terry placed his head in his hands; his date with Cathy in Finance had just gone down the pan.

“I’m sorry, Terry but you knew your stats were in the system. It was only a matter of time before Galaxy highlighted you. You know the drill; it’s out of my hands.”

“I know, I know,” said Terry.

“I’m afraid I have to escort you off the premises.” Terry nodded. “Straight from this meeting.”

“Right now? Don’t I get to say goodbye to anyone?”

“Afraid not, you will be clocked out …” Peter flicked through his paperwork, “5 minutes from now. Sorry but there’s nothing I can do.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Terry, “I know how the system works.”

Cheers

Arun



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