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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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17-07-07 6M P3 |
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The Birminster Chronicle (Autobiography of the near future) by David W. Howard |
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Synopsis:
This novel is written as the autobiography of Andreas Nalbandian as at 2038. A European immigrant as a young man who qualifies as a town planner, he has overseen the foundation of England’s new Capital, Birminster, weathering both political and private storms on the way. However, despite the careful planning and ecologically enlightened design work of his Development Corporation, the inevitable fly in the ointment gives him grief as his life’s work draws to a close.
The serious public themes of the novel are balanced by adventure and romance in this fast~paced yarn. What does the future hold?
Extracts: 1. When I arrived at the Mayfair Conference Room, General Bigworthy was poring over a pile of papers. “Ah, young Nalbandian,” he said as I came into view, “glad you’re here in good time. We need someone to scribe for our first brain storming session. Advantages and disadvantages for each of the P.M.’s three options for a new Capital, y’know. There’s an electronic flipchart over there. You know how to use these things? Good man.” And he turned to greet the next arrival. “Ah, you have the advantage of me. Your name is?” “MacTavish, sir, Dagmar MacTavish.” “Pleased to meet you, young lady. Ah, I see your name on the list now. Do you know anyone else here? I’m General Bigworthy, aka Sir Nigel. And this is Andy Nalbandian, of water-taxi fame.” I shook hands with Dagmar, who was what the General once referred to, later, as a ‘spirited filly’. She was not yet an M.P., in those days. I could not have guessed that she would one day be the Prime Minister. “Hi, Andy,” she said with a smile, “you cut more of a dash now than you did on TV.” “Thanks,” I replied, blushing. “What is your field?” “You could call me an aspiring politico. I work for the Labour party.” “Eyes and ears for the Opposition, then?” “Partly, and partly the token female in the think-tank.”
2. “Will Government departments still be moving to Birminster?” I ventured. “Teddy, hack this man to bits, this instant!” “I take that as a ‘No’!” “Speaking personally of my department, it would be over my dead body, Andy. They can take Treasury, if they like. We wouldn’t miss them, eh, Teddy.” Edward dutifully laughed. “Or even Foreign and Colonial, not that they would ever agree.” Edward laughed even more raucously. “Unless the genie puts Whitehall on a magic carpet and sets us down in Yardley surrounded by dusky maidens pandering to our every need, we shall all stay here —it’s what we’re used to, I suppose. Don’t bother to note all this, Teddy, by the way.” I felt deflated by this, you can imagine. “I aim to build a new Whitehall so prestigious that even Moses will want to move there, Edward,” I commented, turning in his direction. “As for dusky maidens, I could try a requisition order when the time comes. You might have to help me with the P.C. code for them, though.” “Good for you,” Moses Gunter chuckled. “Not going to be beaten by us dinosaurs, eh! You will have to hurry up. I’m only eight years off retirement.”
That was the meat of our meeting: the rest of it was the potatoes, the detail of our plans for the next weeks and months. I left them, realising what an uphill struggle lay in front of me, and wondering if the original purpose of Birminster would ever be restored. I decided to concentrate on the very people whose opposition was most lethal to the Project: *The upper echelons of the Civil Service *The environmental lobby *The farming/landowner lobby *The Treasury — after all, if they decided Birminster was a white elephant, it would never come to anything. *The Opposition — after all, if the Government changed, and the likes of Dagmar came to power, I would need their support.
3. About this time there was a by-election. I forget now which Alliance-held constituency it was. Dagmar MacTavish won it for Labour. For the moment she was a celebrity, as it was the Government’s first defeat at the polls since they took office. On the spur of the moment I rang Dagmar, and congratulated her. “What topic will you take for your maiden speech?” I asked her. “I’m not telling you that, Andy. You’re too thick with that David Campbell!” I bridled: “We were both on the think-tank together. I don’t think I’m thicker than you!” She laughed. “Wait and see, anyway. I’m working on it now.” “I’ll look you up after the speech, then. You’ve got a flat in London, I suppose?” “Or I could come over to Olney — I hear that’s where you live these days — but don’t call me, I’ll call you. I can get you on the number you’re ringing from now, can I?” I was flattered that she had evidently tracked me since our think-tank days finished at the end of 2012, but perhaps I should have expected that of an aspiring politician.
It was the day after this that I received an email from Kin-tsukko. After apologising for not being in touch, she wrote: ‘Big news! I must come to England for a meeting with the BOSS. I am bringing Andoreasu, of course, so you can hold him. I will say more when I see you, on Sunday, April 20th. Love and kisses, Kin-tsukko.’ She enclosed some lovely photos of our son, which I had made up into large framed pictures for my flat. Even at under seven months he was already showing character, and a hint of his link to me, in his smile, his eyes. I wrote back a long e-mail, naturally, expressing my yearning to see them in only three weeks time, on Easter Day.
If I thought the three weeks would pass slowly, I was mistaken. I was fully taken up in the drawing up of the Birminster Comprehensive Plan, American style, for submission to Moses Gunter. I had to be careful not to imply that Birminster’s prime purpose was to be the new capital, yet that was in its very fibre. If Moses suspected this, he never mentioned it.
On Wednesday, 16th April 2014, it was the day of Dagmar’s Maiden Speech in the House of Commons. I was quite surprised by her choice of topic: it was the support of the Nanotechnology industry by the Government, which was lagging far behind our competitors in the Western world, so she assured us. In an impassioned speech lasting nearly an hour she tore into the Government’s record on this, citing statistics showing the critical importance of the industry to Britain’s future as a leader rather than a follower in almost every field. Britain’s dismal showing in the recent Sochi Winter Olympics, she said, was due in no little part to a failure of the Government to contribute to funding research in nanotechnology — other countries had shown a decisive edge over us in equipment, physiology, and training using nanotechnology. She gave specific examples. The Minister responsible was severely embarrassed. Her speech received a rapturous ovation from the Opposition benches, and even grudging recognition from some of the more open-minded Government supporters.
Three days later, in the afterglow of her Commons triumph, Dagmar paid me a visit at my flat.
The (ex) Prime Minister has given a rather flattering portrait of me in her account of the evening in the recently published excellent autobiography ‘My night in the sun’. I reproduce this extract with permission: “This tall, blond Lothario, with the sensitivity of a virtuoso concert organist, was able to coax a succession of beautiful fantasias and fugues from my restless soul, running his fingers and toes deliciously up and down my keys, whilst allowing me to indulge my cherished ambition of being the rider rather than the steed, fuelling the drive which led eventually to the noble office of Prime Minister.”
My own chief recollection of the evening with this slim, raven-headed young woman with film-star looks, and a quicksilver mind — I was not in her league intellectually, though we were both in our prime physically in those days — was that the only times she stopped talking were when the earth moved. I was under no illusion that our relationship would last. Her intense ambition stood in the way of anything as stifling as commitment, as several have found to their cost.
I must admit to buying, at her charity auction a few months ago, the thong she wore that evening, with its thistle motif stitched in red silk. Alas, we are both a great deal stouter nowadays... |