Euro Paean

Euro Paen

The PM looked up. " So, how are we -you - going to turn this round?
"

The latest opinion poll confirmed what the politician already felt. Two
- thirds of UK

public opinion against joining the European Single Currency.

The Foreign Secretary tried to head him off. After all he was head of
the diplomatic

service.

" Prime Minister, perhaps we could..."

The PM didn't even look at him.

" I'm not asking you, the politician, I'm asking her,

the marketeer. Our uncommon marketeer. "

Farringdon, Prime Minister and First Lord of the Treasury, was an
interesting man,

not unfunny, but it was the sort of humour you simply observed, as it
went past you,

rather than guffawed along with it.

He was " old school ". The " new " stuff was old now. It was back to
deals, stitch ups,

trade offs, what was possible. In many ways it was a relief; not to
have to spin things

up any more like a Harvey Nicks window - dresser. Many around him found
him

intimidating. Francine Worth, marketing director, Britain Europe, found
the challenge

stimulating. After turning around Channel Six, a TV station so
downmarket it

fabricated weather forecasts, persuading Britain to join the Euro

would be a cinch.

" Prime Minister, how shall I put this...what do you think about sex?
"

" What's our position on this Foreign Secretary? "

Farringdon didn't bother if his Foreign Secretary's riposte was up to
anything.

Francine had his attention.

" Presentation, presentation, pres..."

" Strewth!" exclaimed the PM and HM Secretary of State for Foreign
Affairs

together.

Francine was holding up an A3 photocopy of latest page 3 lovely Lisa
Lone with only

two strategically placed ten pound notes keeping the poster this side
of the watershed.

The slogan underneath the picture read in Sun-style capitals:

CONTROL YOUR INTEREST: YOUR POUND, YOUR ASSETS.

In miniscule print on the edge of the poster there was a short
paragraph reading -

" The Euro means your interest rates, your jobs, your economy will be
controlled by

the barmy bureaucrats from Brussels. Keep the pound, keep control in
Britain.

Issued by the Vote No campaign. "

" Where the hell did you get that, " said Farringdon.

" I'm taking the sixth " replied Francine. It was her catch phrase from
the Channel Six

days.

" You're telling us that's it, that's the way the noes are going to
fight this? "

The Foreign Secretary sounded sceptical.

" I'm absolutely sure. Go as low as you can imagine, then lower, and
you might be

somewhere near. I'm advising you to rethink your strategy, Prime
Minister.

Farringdon seemed off balance. At a secret cabinet meeting three months
ago he had

personally committed all their referendum campaign funds to the most
ambitious

political campaign ever to be fought in British politics. The content
was secret, only

the methods were discussed. TV advertising, viral marketing, web
streamers,

sponsorship, endorsements, posters, all explaining why the UK should
vote yes and

get into the Euro now, at the relative beginning. The decision
was

trust the people, education, real information and now they were staring
at a tack fest.

The Foreign Secretary visibly reeled at an image of all this state of
the art marketing

languishing in a Labour party vault in Vauxhall. The PM heard him
saying:

" It would have been helpful if we had known about this before Miss
Worth..."

Farringdon couldn't decide which irritated him most; the Foreign
Secretary's ability

to latch onto the last point but one or the appearance that the
opposition had wrong

footed him. All his political career Farringdon had made a point of not
being nice so

he wouldn't finish second. His instinct to take control surfaced
fast.

He picked up the red telephone on his desk and curtly addressed his
principal private

secretary:

" Cabinet committee meeting, as before, PM, Foreign Secretary,
Chancellor, Press

Secretary - and ask the Home Secretary to bring DG MI5. Get with it -
now! "

??

Jamie Robertson's Harvard tinged Morningside accent was becoming
strained. As

leader of the Britain says No campaign his affair with Francine was
always highly

improbable but nonetheless thrilling for that. Their pact of secrecy
and their self

administered policy of separating work from pleasure was professionally
admirable

but personally stressful to maintain.

" No " said Francine, " and as you of all people should know, No means
No.

It's been a long day. "

" Tell me about it " drawled Jamie.

" I thought we said no more pillow talk. "

" Of course not. But at the end of the day we are a professional couple
at the end of

the day. Tell me about it... generally. You said no to the non talk
stuff so the onus is

on you. "

It was late. Francine wanted to sleep. She became unsure of whether she
was tired, or

tired of Jamie. They had met years ago as rising PR stars. It was all
so rock and roll

then. Parties, first nights, first editions, feeling you mattered, it
was PR people who

made policy. A world of oysters and champagne can cloy eventually. She
noticed him

on her first day at Good Day Knightly. Lying there in bedroom of his
Hoxton flat,

Francine realised she had never loved him, only admired him. The
realisation was so

stark it made her jolt. Jamie noticed. Minutes later, Francine,
released into clarity, was

asleep. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Jamie was not a morning person. It was a morning when he was first
asked to become

director of the Britain says No campaign and it was a morning when he
accepted. In

the morning he hated the Euro most vehemently. As a Harvard MBA he
could intone

the economic reasons for not joining the Euro in his sleep - assuming
he could get to

sleep. The one size fits all interest rate, the cigars and back
slapping of the faceless

ones at the European Central Bank in Frankfurt, the insidious
Euro-creep; first the

Euro currency, next Euro tax harmonisation, next...He could recite the
arguments all

night. He felt right in the Britain says No campaign. So right it
wasn't even a problem

sleeping with the enemy. In the evening the doubts came. How can we
accept the

single European market and not the concomitant currency, wouldn't it be
better to

have appointed bankers set an exchange rate than leave it to the
international

speculators. In the evening, talking to Francine, listening to
Albinoni, drinking

Armagnac, wearing Armani, the doubts came. Maybe it was true, the
Britain says No

cause was about the past. He was sick of references to the war, the
jokes about

Brussels and the straight bananas. Then the morning came, this morning,
when he

knew something was different. Francine was going to say No, to him, and
he knew

why, and why he deserved it.

They never talked much in the mornings anyway. Expresso, tube, text you
later.

This morning Jamie did say just one sentence.

" Francine, this Yes stuff, is that what you believe, I mean really?
"

" Yes...Yes, I do. "

That's all he needed to know. Francine and Jamie were marketing people.
They could

sell anything, they knew how it worked, they were the best. Belief
wasn't on the

agenda. Belief was a complicated option, it got in the way. Francine
had got

belief. They sat on the tube in silence. At Camden town, the tube split
and so did they.

Jamie to the No HQ in the City, Francine to the Yes HQ in
Westminster.

???

It was on Highbury roundabout that Jamie lost control. He had stopped
taking the tube

after losing contact with Francine. It was three days before the
referendum. As he

steered the Alfa Romeo ( he'd buy British after the No vote ) into the
City lane he saw

it.

" WE'RE GOING CONTINENTAL - THE EURO: GET WITH IT! "

screamed the poster. He nearly crashed the car. Slowing down he
instantly

recognised the famous footballer and supermodel smiling and brandishing
Euros.

Turning into the city road he was stunned again:

The poster was the size of 4 Wonderbra ads combined.

"STUFF THE POUND - THE EURO: GET WITH IT! "

A boring grey looking man was being refused entry to a club with his
pounds. Inside

the club you could see wall to wall soap stars, pop - idols, even
A-listers, buying the

hippest drinks with their Euros.

Jamie struggled to keep on the road. Something had gone wrong horribly
wrong.

His car phone rang. Jamie answered although his driving at that moment
was lethal

enough even with both hands on the wheel.

" How's the first day of the campaign going? " smirked Francine.

" Francine...Francine, I told you...You.... You knew..."

" Get with it " she said, " I'm taking the sixth! "

No sooner had he replaced the receiver then the ringtone went
again:

The Ode to Joy by Nokia. The morning was spiralling out of
control.

Jamie swerved into the right lane as he wrenched the phone from the
dashboard.

A white van faced him down.

" Oi, watch yourself mate, get back in the left lane, you think you're
doing the

continental ? "

It was a marketeers dream... or nightmare: the posters becoming a
street catch phrase

on day one of the campaign. Jamie stared at the C3 behind the steering
wheel of the

van: yesterday he would have been a natural No. The sinking feeling
came upon him

again. The phone chirped in his ear.

" Jamie, where the hell are you? Get with us. We're losing the war by
the minute."

It was Monica, his number two at the No HQ. He noted the ultimate
loser's ignominy,

your own side loving the opposition's slogan.

In a daze he finally saw one of his own creations - the No poster he
was only

yesterday so proud of. Times New Roman, no photos, an information
poster. The

gimmick was it had no gimmicks.

THE EURO HAS NO ECONOMIC ADVANTAGE
THE EURO WILL TAKE OUR SOVEREIGNTY
THE EURO MEANS THE END OF THE BRITISH STATE.

The next thing he knew he was at the HQ in a crisis meeting with
Monica.

" You're the Morningside Machiavelli, " she sneered, " get us out of
this one.

Somehow Farringdon knows what we are doing before we do. Mysteriously
all the

prime poster sites in main cities were taken in advance. Company called
It's Worth It.

Bells ring? You assured us Farringdon would bring his campaign so down
market

he'd be laughed off the sofa. You said...."

" I know what I said. "

Jamie was open about what he said. Only he, so he thought, knew what he
had done:

sold his soul. He'd deliberately let Francine believe he was going to
run the Lisa Lone

campaign. He planted the poster on her, knowing she was meeting
Farringdon that

day. It was the only time they'd broken the pillow talk rule. He'd
betrayed her. He

was a double loser. The campaign he was already beginning not to care
about, it

would soon be the past, but there would never be another Francine. He
heard Monica

continuing:

" We've spent our entire budget. I'm not sure which is worse - the fact
that our

posters are the deadest ever erected or the fact they are sited where
no one can see

them. "

There was something about Monica's figure that always made him go
confessional.

" But why didn't Farringdon swallow it? How had he realised? He was
meant to go

for the tack fest. Somehow he'd hit the perfect pitch. I
personally..."

he began to say. But even the Morningside Machiavelli couldn't confess
to this

one.

He'd spent all his capital on a negative, a No campaign. They had lost
a vote.

He'd lost his way.

????

It was the day after the referendum. Francine didn't have a hangover,
she hadn't

stopped drinking Krug all night.

She was ushered into the PM's office overlooking the number 10
garden.

" Francine ! " exclaimed Farringdon. He give her a kiss on both cheeks.
" We're

going continental. We , you did it ! Two-thirds majority. Champagne ?
Just say yes.

What now, on to Paris for lunch? You don't even need to change your
currency! Or

back to Hoxton to Mr No? "

" You knew ? " It was Francine who was off balance - and it wasn't the
Krug.

" But how ? "

The PM smiled: " I'm taking the sixth. "

?????

Ends

2000 words 8/8

ABC 2002

2002

1