Professor Roundabout has taken up campanology. He has been at it for about three months now, although why he took it up in the first place I have no idea. Perhaps at the end of a long week studying ancient economic tomes in the subterranean depths of the University library the shock of some loud noise is required to bring him back to life.

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Anyway this happens on a Friday evening, up the road from me at St Sidney’s Church, and the Professor has got into the habit of dropping in on his way home. I don’t quite know how we have got into this routine. I suppose I must once have casually suggested that he call in, never expecting that he would actually do so. Now it has become a weekly date and I don’t know how to put him off. The Professor can be rather sensitive, you see, a bit child-like, but I suppose that is what happens if you spend your entire life in the cloistered world of academia.

Rallying to the sound of bells

So last Friday I found myself waiting for him to ring the door bell at his usual time of 8.15. As it happens I was in the middle of enjoying repeats of ‘Everybody Loves Raymond’ and the thought did occur to me to turn all the lights off just as I do on Trick or Treat night. But I did not want to disappoint the Professor, and I have to admit that the sound of bells seems to do him some good.

He can be a bit of a dry stick, if you know what I mean. Of course, he is frightfully clever, or at least he thinks he is, but he can come across as just ever so slightly superior to the rest of us. But the bells seem to effect a slight change in Roundabout’s character. I think that somewhere within that distinguished cranium of his there must be some cells marked ‘humour’ and ‘levity’ that are usually crushed by the sheer weight and machinations of his mighty brain. The bells seem to bring them, briefly, to life.

So when I answered the door I was not so surprised to see him looking, in spite of the damp and chilly evening, quite frisky. He bounded into the hall, slapped me on the back for no good reason I could think of, and parked himself at the kitchen table.

‘Have you heard the joke?’ he began

‘What joke?’

‘The joke that fifty thousand jobs are to be axed… by the Government!’ I was nonplussed. ‘And the punch line is…?’

‘Oh! You don’t get it, do you?’ said the Professor. ‘The joke is that the Government would never make such an announcement! Don’t you think it’s funny?’

‘Frankly,’ I replied, ‘No.’

Government policy on flip flops and tipsy women

‘Look,’ said Roundabout, ‘Let me explain. Hardly a day goes by without news of job cuts. BT is cutting ten thousand, Jaguar is cutting seventeen hundred, HSBC is cutting five hundred. Every day the dispatches from the front bring news of more casualties. And what is the Government doing? It is spending thirty thousand pounds handing out flip flops in Torquay so that tipsy women in high heeled shoes can get home on a Friday night without breaking an ankle! It’s crazy! At a time when the public sector should be economising it has absolutely no idea how of how to do so! Do give me a drink, won’t you. Red wine will do. And I won’t say no to a piece of cake either.’

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Bell-ringing had clearly sharpened not only the Professor’s wit but also his appetite, and I set about administering to his requirements while he carried on talking.

‘I don’t suppose you actually read Alastair Darling’s budget speech. You media people never get beyond the headlines…’

I started to protest but the Professor was not listening.

‘Anyway, I did read it,’ he continued, ‘and the wretched man cannot even make sense. Explaining the cut in VAT, Darling said “this is only possible because I have rejected advice to take no action”. This is a complete non-sequitur. That it is possible to cut VAT has nothing do with whether Mr Darling chooses to take or not to take advice!’

‘Well his whole speech was a load of nonsense,’ I said. ‘How could he possibly announce plans to borrow over £600bn in the next six years while at the same time talking about “putting the public finances on the right path for the future” and “fiscal sustainability both now and in the future.” It really insults the nation’s intelligence.’

‘I don’t know about the nation’s intelligence but it certainly insults mine,’ agreed Roundabout, lapsing into pomposity. ‘And Darling also said – and I quote – “As businesses and families across the country carefully watch what they spend, it is only right that the Government works even harder to make savings.” But saving money – cutting back its spending - seems to be the last thing the Government intends to do!’ The Government’s dangerous obsession

‘Too right,’ I assented. ‘Things work very differently in the private sector.’

‘The very point of my joke!’ said Roundabout. ‘You see if you take BT for example, it just decides that it must cut costs. It has no option. So people are made redundant, and then those that are left have to decide what work is strictly necessary and what is not, and then how to undertake the former as best as possible. It is a crude way to establish priorities and become more efficient, but it works.’

‘So you think the Government should be spending less rather than more?’ I asked. ‘Well of course!’ cried Roundabout. ‘The Government is obsessed with retail spending and the housing market, but these are only symptoms. The underlying problem is that we do not have enough genuinely productive enterprises in this country to create wealth for individuals and to support public services. So the Government should be cutting back its own spending, thereby allowing it to reduce the tax burden on the productive part of the economy, namely private sector business.’

‘Perhaps the Government should make a start by reducing university funding then,’ I suggested.

‘Don’t be silly,’ snapped Roundabout. ‘This country needs all the intelligent people it can get. I could just as easily pursue my researches overseas, you know.’

As I said, the Professor can be just a little superior at times…

Regards,

Tom Bulford
for The Penny Sleuth

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