Читать книгу Parliament - antony jackson - Страница 3

‘You can’t get out of it, not without good reason. You’re not sick. You’re not a criminal. You know how the system works. Just get on with it.’

John ended the call before his mounting anger would make him say something he would later regret. There were so many calls like that and he could never understand why some people were so resistant to the idea of public service.

He’d put his time in some years before, and had felt privileged to be chosen and to serve. The experience had also given him a whole new career, being involved as he now was with the administration of such a remarkable institution.

In a way, though, it was quite encouraging that the system had now become ‘ordinary’ enough that some thought the service to be an imposition on their normal life- a pause in normal proceedings that they could do without. On the other hand, there were so many who felt like him, that this great exercise in democracy was the defining experience of the 21st Century.

Just a shame that it had taken nearly three millenia to finally get it right.

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The taxi arrived at 6.30. Plenty of time to get to Diss for the London train. Quite a thrill, really, to be heading off on a new adventure, following in the footsteps of so many others who had left their ruralish lives for the ‘ big smoke’, a term of endearment she had heard her grandfather use so many times when he had done this same trip, almost on a daily basis, in the last century. Not many commuted like that these days. The new economy didn’t really allow it, what with the cost of energy, taxes and levies that made regular travel just too expensive for most.

So much had changed in her lifetime. All that turmoil. Looking back at it now it still seemed incredible that the whole world could sleepwalk into disaster like that.’ Living the lie’ had become the catchphrase and that period had impacted on every citizen.

It still did.

The recovery levy wasn’t due to end for another five years, and only then if the economy stayed on track.

Now, she was going to be part of that story. Imogen Black, member of the UK Parliament, heading off for her enrolment at Westminster with 600 others from the length and breadth of the UK. Wow.

Life behind the bar at the Dragon didn’t seem much of a preparation for all this. On the other hand she’d never intended that to be her career either. University, although now a distant memory, was supposed to have led to a rich and fulfilling life doing interesting things with bacteria, but never did. The closest she had got to that particular experience was preparing the mash tubs in the micro-brewery next door.

A new life. Four years of making a difference. Four years within the power machine waited for her at the end of this particular journey.

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The ferry arrived in Oban in good time for the Glasgow connection. Unless there was some disaster on the way, he would arrive there in good time for the Caledonian sleeper leaving just before midnight. He’d always enjoyed this journey, even before it became such a regular part of his life two years ago.

Working in London again hadn’t been high on his ‘things I must do before I die’ list but, despite his initial misgivings, he’d taken to it very well and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Moving between Ulva, a tiny isle off the west coast of Mull, an island off an island, and his one bedroom flat in Maida Vale was, to put it mildly, surreal. Going from an environment where the major decision of the week was whether one should go to Salen for the groceries on Wednesday or Friday to the hustle and bustle of the west end had been a liberation. What would he do when the ’contract’ ran out? Probably come back home, but with a greater awareness of how things ticked. And the satisfaction of a job well done? Probably, although the jury was still out on that.

Henry Halliday, one-time share fisherman on the good boat Staffa, one-time global wanderer and completely unreliable father of three, had certainly hit the big time, even if the career progression wasn’t very clear. In fact, on one level his career progression was very clear indeed. In two years time he would be forbidden, by law, to play any further direct role in the government of this country. His name would become one of the thousands proscribed from most further public office, on pain of imprisonment. There was an administrative secretariat open to a small number, but heavily over-subscribed with hopeful applicants and certainly not to be relied on. Perhaps still worth a shot though.

There was no great pension plan, nor was there any golden handshake. On the other hand his job on the boat was secure if he wanted it back. Life could be worse.

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‘In a few days time the new session of Parliament will begin. As new members, you have been entrusted with the government of this country for the next four years. I think it fair to say that all of you will be surprised to be here. I hope it’s a nice surprise. I, and my colleagues, whose names and responsibilities you will find in the booklets earlier distributed, are here to explain the procedure of your new lives. Sitting as we are in the debating chamber of the House, you may be somewhat awed with the surroundings and with the history of this place. I was. When I served as an MP in the first modern parliament we had no precedent to guide us. Since then we have developed a system which, we hope, will help you to quickly find your feet and become useful members’

The civil servant’s voice droned on.

John Parminter sat with the other officials looking across the chamber at the three hundred new MPs being inducted into this tenth session of the modern parliament. It had been ten years that had seen great changes to the country. Ten years that had re-defined democracy. Ten years that had all but erased the memory of corruption and abuse of power that had marked the previous era. It now seemed almost incredible that what had once been a respected electoral system, that had served well for centuries, could be brought crashing down by the venality and self-serving behaviour of the members themselves.

Nevertheless, that is what had happened, and it had taken almost a revolution to change things. Historians would no doubt continue to debate the facts, looking for the true beginnings of this huge change. John thought it had come from a combination of events, none life changing on its own, but, when piled one on top of another, leading to an inevitable conclusion. The most amazing thing had been the final act passed by the old parliament, in itself an expression of extreme greed and self-seeking that had proven to be an apposite memorial to a broken system.

Still, the six hundred million pounds they had voted to themselves in lieu of future service had been money well spent in his view. Cheap at the price.

The Olympics had been such a good experience. The whole country had rejoiced in the individual sporting excellence of competitors of course, but, above and beyond that, most people had found themselves surprisingly and willingly drawn in to a communal celebration of identity that went far beyond the event itself. Mostly this took a private form involving lots of tissues in front of the television but there had now and again been more public outpourings with huge numbers making an effort to join together in the associated events. Even the die-hard naysayers had been forced into retreat.

But then, as night followed day, the country returned to its everyday reality.

The reality of 2012 was of world crisis, and denial of world crisis. Countries around the globe chased the elusive golden goose of growth as if continual expansion was a realistic possibility as well as a birthright.

In Britain, though, something had changed. The nation had been worn down, like so many others, by years of recession and financial scandal. It had also witnessed its own home grown scandals of political expenses- fraud by any other name, phone hacking and bank criminality. Even though the governments of the day had taken actions in each case these efforts seemed to make no real difference overall. The capacity of the ‘privileged classes’ for the acquisition of money, power and influence was unabated.

But now, against this flood of venality, rose a small voice. It whispered ‘hold on a minute, this is MY country, these are MY politicians, this is MY public service.’ Of course this wasn’t a new voice, but, whereas in years before the voice had always been tempered by the additon of, ‘with respect’, it wasn’t any more. Before, the public attitude to institutions such as government, banks and the press had always been softened with a feeling that, despite appearances, perhaps these people were genuine and meant well. Not now.

It had been clear, even to the meanest intelligence, that there was something fundamentally wrong with a society in which a banker who’d lost his clients, through bad decisions, far more than he had ever gained them with good decisions, could still be rewarded with bonuses and salaries beyond the dreams of avarice. And, to make matters worse, could still have an opinion that was respected.

John Parminter’s mind surfaced from its meandering. The initial induction session was drawing to a close and his working day was about to begin. The new members would be split into manageable groups and taken gently through their new responsibilities. Over the last ten years the process had been developed and refined so that, now, it was possible to cope with most eventualities by referring to precedent. The unexpected still happened though, and one had to remain on one’s toes.