23 November 2017
Ace Reporter!
Chin Chin turns to politics
By Chin Chin
Phew, the Shaw Sheet published my article last week. That is a big relief. Unfortunately though, my career as an investigative journalist has suffered a setback. You see a crucial part of the “Panorama method” is confrontation, hassling the victims so that they cannot collect their thoughts, catching them by surprise – a sort of information mugging if you like – and the best place to catch them is getting into their cars. Come up behind them as they are just getting in, stick the microphone up their nose and ask whether they have stopped avoiding taxes. Then you jump out of the way as the car speeds off and make an oyster face for the photographers.
As you only get one chance with each victim it is important to get it right so a little practice is in order. That is why I found myself waiting for my assistant (not a paid assistant of course, Shaw Sheet does not run to one of those, but that charming girl Flossie from the pub who thinks I can get her a job in journalism) in a car park in Docklands which was the nearest equivalent I could find to the yacht harbour of a sun-drenched tax haven. It was drizzling slightly and I grasped the mars bar which was to stand in for a microphone ready to pounce. Here she came, low top, short skirt, just as if we were in Bermuda or Cayman. She opened the car door. “Are you still avoiding your taxes?” I asked her in the best Panorama manner. She slammed the door and put her foot down so I turned away to make the right face to the imaginary photographers. Unfortunately, however, I had not got the manoeuvre quite right because the edge of my coat caught in the door so I spun round much faster than I intended, was severely bruised from my impact with the road and lost part of my coat which was, luckily when you think about it, ripped off. Anyway, it wasn’t a very pleasant experience and has persuaded me that investigative reporting is not for me. I need something that can be done from a pub bar or a warm library. Political commentary, that must be the thing, and with all this stuff about Brexit there’s plenty to comment on.
A political reporter has to talk to lots of people so I decided to start my research at a drinks party which some friends, Paul and Clarissa, were giving in Hampstead. Actually, friends is putting it a bit strongly. In fact I had never met them but I saw an invitation to their party on a mantelpiece and thought that if I turned up with the look of someone who had been invited I would probably get in. I was right. A man opened the door so I said that I was friend of Clarissa’s. A woman passed me a glass of champagne so I told her that I was a colleague of Paul’s. Fortunately I never came across the two of them together.
It may sound a little underhand but top reporters often have to go undercover and as Hampstead is the headquarters of the chattering classes I clearly had to get in there. I joined the biggest group in the room so that I could pick up points from their chattering and listened hard. They were talking about the performance of the contestants in “Strictly Come Dancing”. Well that was completely useless so I wondered how to get them onto the subject of the Brexit negotiations. “Do you think that this Brexit business is a good idea?” I ventured. They didn’t. Indeed they got very excited about it and when one of them asked me whether I was a Brexiteer and I answered noncommittally because I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, he became quite unpleasant and talked about “you people outside the M25” as though I lived in a sort of zoo.
Anyhow I learned a lot. Apparently Boris is not to be trusted and would betray the country. Someone called Michael Gove is apparently a treacherous nutter. What the country needs is Lib Dems who would rehold the referendum and take Brexit off the menu.
Well, at least I knew what to say in my article and as I sat on the bus I sketched out the headings in my notebook. Simple really; May out, Cable in, new referendum, stay in, execute Boris and Gove for treason. It sounded quite a punchy piece but as I sat back to admire my work I noticed that the man next to me, rather a hard looking character, was looking at the page as well. “Bloody remoaner are we?” he asked. I didn’t quite know what he meant so I grunted quizzically. “You’ve got it all wrong” he told me and then he explained it. Apparently another referendum would come up with the same answer as the one before so it’s pointless. Also it’s not Boris and Gove who are the villains. They are just for taking a tough line in the negotiations (he looked as though tough lines were rather his thing) and stopping us being ripped off by someone called Barnier (who didn’t seem to be his thing at all). The real villain is Hammond who hasn’t provided enough funds to prepare for a “no deal” Brexit because he doesn’t want to leave the EU.
Thank goodness I met this man before writing my article. It sounded as if Boris or Gove should be Prime Minister rather than being executed. What a mistake I could have made. I decided to pop down to the pub to rewrite my notes and a few minutes later was ensconced in my favourite corner. There was a group of young people at the bar and I heard the word Brexit being bandied about so I listened. The man on the bus had got it quite wrong. Boris shouldn’t be Prime Minister after all. It should be Mr Corbyn. There followed a rather confused discussion on where Mr Corbyn stood on Brexit but the consensus seemed to be that he’d like to be in the market and have control over immigration. That seemed the best of all worlds. This Corbyn chap is clearly brighter than Boris, Gove, May and Cable all combined. At least that’s what I thought for a moment but then a couple of chaps in suits wearing dark glasses introduced themselves into the discussion by shouting “bollocks”. They didn’t think much of Corbyn at all and said that he was “trying to have his cake and eat it”. That seemed a good idea to me but they clearly regard it as over-optimistic. Anyway they said that we needed Mrs Thatcher back, although, as she is now dead, it wasn’t clear how they would achieve it. Then one of the youngsters spat at the reference to Mrs Thatcher and before long they were all brawling and the police were being called.
I slipped out at the back. This political journalist business is too difficult and too rough. Maybe I’ll go for sport or pets.
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