by Terry Morgan
hollow plastic? When I'm on a job I can finish screwing in no time at all and I never get any bloody complaints. Yes, Alan, I am referring to bloody gnomes. So, seven thirty sharp. What? Yes, thank you for your good wishes. I hope you have a busy weekend too. I've got a couple of new suits being delivered on Saturday morning which might require some minor modifications by my tailor before I attend the gala dinner on Saturday evening and I'll need to get the Bentley polished in between. It'll be non-stop. By the way, if I'm not in on Monday it's because I've had to fly down to Spain on business."
Arthur Godley looked at the white phone, wiped it on the front of his shirt and replaced it.
"Sorry about that," he said. "That was Alan. Sometimes I think it was a mistake keeping him. But Alan's hardy - never complains about the lack of heating - so I keep him on. But never take on staff if you can do the job yourself, mate. That's one of my pieces of advice. More trouble than it's worth. Just look at the problem that old God got into. And it was his own bloody laws for Christ's sake. What a mess he'd be in now if he tried to comply nowadays - employment law, equal opportunities. None of us are equal are we, mate? Some are much better than others and success mostly depends on ignoring the red tape and takeovers and acquisitions."
Godley's throat was now very dry. The inside of his mouth felt like parched sand in the desert. He couldn't last much longer, but as the visitor was clearly enthralled by his teachings, he felt he should continue.
"So, where was I? Ah yes, I was explaining how I'd built my business empire and I was using the analogy of how that old God had created heaven and earth also from a blank sheet of paper. But he didn't have regulations to comply with then. It was a damned sight easier for him. Look at that bloody shelf over there."
Godley pointed to a shelf with a folder on it.
"Plastic Garden Ornaments European Standards CEN Mark 6.380,589 Revision 68. That's what it's like mate and they think my copulating gnomes are no different than statues of concrete fairies and angels with wings stood on pedestals. Who cares, I say. Who cares whether someone trips over one of my plastic leprechauns. They are only twelve inches high and weigh less than a bag of Tate and Lyle. It won't ever be the leprechaun's fault. Fall over it, I say. Break your bloody neck. See if I care. Trip over a fishing gnome, fall into the pond and drown, I don't care. You should look where you're going, not blame a plastic gnome that just stands there night and day fishing. Take me to the European Court of Justice and I'll bring samples of my copulating gnomes as exhibits - although that'll probably be enough to require a new law prohibiting sexual activity with gnomes.
"And another thing, mate, who in God's name decides what plastic our gnomes are made from. No-one's going to try eating a gnome that's been standing in the garden for ten years and is now covered in green slime. No, they don't live in the same world that you and I live in, pal. They should be paid on results, like you and me."
Godley coughed and glanced at his Rolex. His throat was now so dry he thought his voice might give up soon. He needed to get a move on if he was to show his famous PowerPoint presentation.
"So," he said between two more coughs. "What more can I say? I can hardly believe it's Godley's Garden Gnomes that interests you. Gnomes are finished, gnomes are yesterday's product. The only market left is the over seventies living in seaside bungalows. Leading expert that I am in the manufacture and marketing of plastic gnomes, it is quite obvious why I had to diversify and set up Godley Investments. As I always say, money is money and once you've made a bit you need to keep it going around and around, getting bigger and bigger. It's easy-peasy if you know how, but you need a keen brain like mine. You need to be creative and spot the gap in the market.
"You see - and this is where you need to understand business jargon - Godley's Garden Gnomes satisfies a whim whereas Godley Investments feeds the greed. Got that? Made a note? It's my slogan and my business in a nutshell, mate. Feed the greed."
Godley looked longingly towards his drinks cabinet again.
"Feed the greed. And I learned that in school as well. I was sitting next to Freddy Grimethorpe at lunch and I nudged him. 'Hey, Freddy, look,' I said, 'Monica's forgot to put her knickers on again today.' Course, Freddy looks around to check and I nicked his pork sausage. I fed my own greed on that occasion.
"Feed the greed," Godley repeated admiringly, "It's a good slogan, yes? And all I did was stick a few adverts in the Krupton News. Next minute I was inundated. No need to advertise now. Word of mouth, you see - another of my marketing strategies. Nowadays, I rarely meet the customers. Occasionally I bump into someone in Tesco's who I've never seen in my life and they say, 'Aren't you that Arthur Godley?' and I say, 'That's me, Godley by name, Godly by nature' - same as I said to you earlier.
"So how does Godley Investments work, I hear you ask," Godley said to his silent visitor. "Feed the greed. You see they all want rid of their mortgages and overdrafts, but there's no sense of compassion from the banks and so they come to me. They need presents for their kids at Christmas, a new car, a new fridge or washing machine. Sometimes they just want to pay off loan sharks. So, who do they ask? Debt Busters - also known as Godley Investments. Never say no, that's me. You've got to have a kind heart. I know all about the stress of being in debt, because I was there once, when I was ten.
"Yes, they call or phone my man in Catford or the one in Liverpool. I forgot to mention my salesmen, Abasiama and Khaled. There's plenty of opportunities around south London and Liverpool and a surprising number in Krupton. We've now spread to Birmingham and Manchester with Aba's cousin, Edwin, and Glasgow through Edwin's cousin, Kamal.
"By the way," Godley pointed a finger at the ceiling, "Did you know Abasiama means 'loved by God' in Aba's native language. So, appropriate don't you think, mate?
"But I keep a very low profile down here in Krupton. Aba and Edwin are the eyes and ears. This is the headquarters. I do the administration if you can call it that. Fancy headed notepaper, invoices that look proper and so on. We've got a nice glossy leaflet with an address in Slough that used to belong to Aba's third cousin to show we are legit. We don't want all the riff-raff coming down to Krupton, do we - trampling on my sunflowers. Aba sends me names and addresses and I send a courier up with an envelope or two of cash. Aba does the rest. He's a big lad.
"No cheques, you see. We can't have customers being embarrassed by questions about where cheques come from. When the cash comes back I pay Aba who pays Edwin.
"And here's another funny thing, mate. Edwin means 'wealth' in Edwin's native language, which he tells me is Welsh. But Edwin's a comedian so I'm not sure if he's telling the truth. But I don't argue - he's bigger than Aba."
"By the way," he went on, "I nearly forgot to tell you about Aba's other cousin, Titibola, the Godley Investments trouble shooter. Not that we get any bother you understand - we're far too customer focussed for that. But if we do get the odd query we say we'll send around our customer services manager to look into the matter. Titty is a woman by the way. Soft touch you might say. Titty is six foot three without her trainers, bloody big tits like you've never seen in your life and a face like old Joe Frazier. Are you a big tits man, mate?"
Arthur Godley sat back once more and eyed the drinks cabinet.
"And that's about it, mate. Any questions?" he said, still looking in the corner. "Godley Investments in a nutshell."
Unable to resist it any more, Godley stood up. "Would you like a drink, mate? You've done very well sat there all this time listening to me and my success story. Hardly a word. In total awe, I expect."
Godley pushed the swivel chair back
"Speaking to Alan earlier reminded me, it's Friday night and time for a glass or two. Alan stops off at the Red Lion on the way home. The bloody barmaid is bigger than Titibola and she's the only customer in Krupton we can't get to pay off her loan. But her boyfriend is only five foot six and plays darts every night. I'll get Aba to give him a game one night.
"Anyway, drink? And you've
not seen the PowerPoint presentation yet. You can't go without seeing that. No need to get up. I'll bring the drinks over. I don't mind being a servant for a minute or two. I've got a full cocktails cabinet over here. See the nice rose wood with mahogany inlay? Or is it the other way around? But just say what you'd like and I'm sure I have it. I even have a built in German refrigerator to keep ice cubes in. So what will it be? Never mind, I'll decide. Two doubles of malt with a dribble of Scottish mineral water from Loch Ness. You'll like it.
"And while I'm dealing with this, take a glance at the company brochure - that's it mate, next to Sporting Life."
Godley poured two full glasses of whisky, opened the 'fridge, dropped in a couple of ice cubes that were too much for the size of glass. He licked the drips and then half of the contents of one of the glasses.
"Check the front cover? See me? That's me at a reception at Westminster. The PM can be seen lurking in the background. Dirty bloody glasses, though. Shocking. I mentioned it to the Minister. Told him I always set high standards. That's why I got on in life. Standards. But they clearly wanted to rub shoulders. Wouldn't have been surprised if the PM himself invited me to dinner at Number Ten sometime - it's the way it works - networking."
He returned to his desk, put his visitor's glass on the edge of the desk, took his own around to the swivel chair, fell into it, swivelled around and downed the full glass.
"Ahhhh. Needed that. I'll get another. You finished yet? No, as I was saying, it's all about rubbing shoulders. That's how it is. I bet that old God never got invited to dinner by Adam. If he had...." Godley paused, swallowing his second, "Ahhhh, if he had I bet it would have been apple pie. Get it?"
He laughed, poured himself another. "God, I needed that. Slips down a treat after a hard day." He stood by the cocktail cabinet first looking at his visitor and then the colour of the neat malt whisky through the sides of the Polish tumbler. He then wandered away from the cabinet.
"So, he said," taking another sip, "Look at me. Would you say I've got success written across my face? No need to be embarrassed. Just look around my office. What do you see? Look at the carpet for instance. Guess how much. Go on, guess. Five thousand? Ten thousand? Let me tell you. That Chinese carpet cost be nothing. Zilch. You believe that? It's who you know, you see.
"I met this Chinese geezer at a trade show for garden ornaments in Frankfurt. Even the bloody event was free - clever, see. I got a government grant to join a trade mission but I didn't like the hotel that went with the package so.......sorry, tell a lie........yes, it did cost me. It cost me six hundred Euros because I checked in at the Sheraton instead. But the flight out was paid for and all the drinks and hospitality events were free. But the Sheraton was a bit of alright, I can tell you. ........By the way, you ready for another. No? Well, I will - after all, it's my cocktail cabinet, hah!
"Where was I? Where am I? Oh yes, talking about my Chinese carpet. Don't for fuck's sake spill your drink on it. It cost me a fortune....no, tell a lie.....it cost me nothing. I met this Chinese geezer at the bar in the Sheraton. He was a carpet salesman from Hong Kong or somewhere. Well, I negotiated for him for a bit of Turkish floozy that was hanging around outside and in return, he said he'd give me a carpet once he'd got to London and if I found him a similar bit of flooze around Harrod's in Knightsbridge. No, I thought, never, he'll forget. But no, true as I'm leaning here, I met him outside Harrods with a dish of an Ethiopian that I'd thought he'd fancy and he gave me one - even fixed it for a van to drive it to Krupton.
"Ready for another? But you see, such are the ways of international trade and the knock-on effects of networking with foreigners with samples of a couple of garden gnomes in your pocket."
Godley turned, filled his glass once more, carefully made his way back to his white desk without spilling his drink on the carpet and fell into the swivel chair. He screwed his eyes up and looked over his desk at the visitor. He scratched his head with his free hand.
"You're very quiet. I like men who listen. It shows respect, Respect is in short supply these days. God knows we need more respect. We also need more dignity, quality and ambition. Without respect, there won't be any money to go around.............Now, are you sure you won't have another? No need to be polite, just help yourself. Just don't trip on the fucking carpet, OK? And keep your glass on the placemat. I hate circles. Circles are no good. Straight lines are best."
Godley leaned across his desk towards his visitor who was still sat, feet together, hands in lap. It was the stubble on his face that bothered Godley. He screwed his eyes up for a better focus.
"I know - you've been waiting for the highlight - my PowerPoint presentation, is that it? Let's see it shall we."
The projector was already on his desk, but Godley could barely see the switch.
"Sorry, mate. Bloody technology." And he sat down for another sip before trying again.
Surprisingly, his quiet visitor suddenly moved. Godley's eyes opened as he watched the man with the stubble and Clark's shoes come to the desk and press a button.
"Ah, that's it," said Godley, "I knew it was that button. Now....while I talk, you sit back down and watch and listen. As I press the button, things will start to happen. Tables, numbers and graphs will appear on that wall - mostly pointing upwards."
With his drink in his hand, Godley collapsed back into his chair.
"OK, first slide is............."
Godley stared at the image on the wall. A dribble of neat malt whisky ran down his chin and dripped onto his shirt.
"Well, fuck me, I've never seen that slide before. Where the hell did that come from?"
Arthur Godley found himself staring at a picture of what looked like a tropical rain forest that stretched and now covered most of the wall.
"And so fucking enormous," he said, checking the inside of his empty glass.
As he checked, he heard a sound that started like a cow mooing but then became louder and louder like a stag deer during the annual rut, but where it came from, he couldn't be sure. Godley's ears were vibrating as he turned to face the wall again. It was as if he had suddenly entered a wide screen cinema with top quality sound effects. Everything around him - the desk, his computer, the bottle of best malt - faded as he felt transported into the dense jungle. The picture was so life-like and the deep bellowing seemed to come from deep in the jungle behind the wall and out into Godley's garden. And it was now in full Technicolor and high quality 3D.
Godley sank down into his swivel chair as the trees gradually began to surround his desk. Godley, himself, was now in the middle of a steaming, tropical jungle alone, without even a tour guide. His PowerPoint presentation had never done anything like that before.
A shrub was now growing out of his Chinese carpet and it moved and swayed as if a breeze had just touched it. Godley's PowerPoint had never done animation before either. A leaf broke free and it fluttered in the air before settling on Godley's desk as he pushed the swivel chair backwards away from it, only to feel the branch of another tree with a bright yellow flower like one of his sunflowers hanging over his left shoulder. Above his head and to his right were more trees like giant pineapples and, in the dry leaves that now covered the carpet he was sure he saw something long and black slither towards his desk.
Godley now felt hot and sweaty in the humid, tropical heat that surrounded him. He quickly checked his armpits for wet patches and then listened to something new - a shuffling, rustling sound like a heavy animal walking through the dead leaves of autumn. Then he heard the cow again, but it sounded far too loud for an ordinary black and white cow or a even a rutting deer. It was more like a distant bellowing.
Godley dropped his empty glass on the desk amongst the swaying branches of strange ferns and listened. His face was contorted, his eyes wide open and unblinking as he stared towards where the sound was coming from - the tall trees and grasses that had now taken over his entire corner plot on the Krupton Trading Estate. He knew he was still sitting in his
white leather swivel chair because he still had hold of the chrome arms, albeit with knuckles that had turned white. He blinked, then stared at what was going on around him. He put his hands to his ears to block out the sound but it was useless so he groped around for the empty glass instead. The bellowing was getting louder and louder.
But his visitor was still sat there, impassive as ever, feet together amongst the leaves on the floor, hands clasped in his lap. In fact, Godley noticed, his eyes were shut as if he had falen asleep. And where was the glass of whisky he'd given him? Thinking it might go to waste, Godley leaned over to drink it himself but, instead, knocked the bottle over and, as a sudden gust of wind from came from nowhere, lost his grip on it. It toppled, spewing what remained of the malt whisky onto the jungle floor that had once been Godley's Chinese carpet.
"Christ almighty," Godley yelled, but his tiny voice was lost in the bellowing. And then, as the floor started to shake and more leaves fell off trees and landed on his head and desk, he heard heavy footsteps. This was no friendly circus elephant arriving but a huge green lizard with a long tail covered in red and brown spikes. It walked through what was Godley's office wall and opened its mouth to expose row upon row of sharp pointed teeth. And out of its mouth came that now familiar roaring sound and a stench that was a hundred times worse than before Godley had cleaned his teeth on a morning.
And, as Godley covered his nose, another dinosaur appeared behind the first and this one looked up at Godley from a pool of blood at his feet and hissed as if he was just eating breakfast and Godley wasn't going to share it.
But it was the first huge animal that now looked at Godley. From a height, close to where Godley's ceiling had once been, it turned its massive head, peered at him through one big red eye and took a step closer.
Godley screamed as it's huge bulk sauntered around his desk, its spiky tail upending the cocktail cabinet as another creature, red and black and with wings, flapped overhead and appeared to evacuate the entire contents of its prehistoric bowels on Godley's desk. Godley cowered and trembled like a mouse, fearing that just one bite from the creature trundling around his desk would be the end.
But as he cowered and trembled with his eyes tightly shut in anticipation of the bite that would take his head off, the roaring and hissing sound that had rung in his ears for ten minutes suddenly receded. Silence descended.
Slowly, Godley opened one eye, then two.
Night seemed to have come to the jungle that was once
