|
(Monday, 14 October 1968)
The Prime Minister wasn't a man for enthusiasms but he was feeling quietly
confident. The Romans would have felt the weekend's events in distant
Australia auspicious. The PM held a certain, it was almost a fondness, for
Australia. It was there, at the age of 25, he had taken up a position as
full professor[1] of Classics at Sydney University. Then the Second World
War had intervened. Ah well, one door closes and you kick open another one
whilst your comrades lay down covering fire.
Prime Minister Harold Holt, a true conservative despite the unfortunate name
of his political party, had called an early election on the theme that the
Vietnam War was going well and weren't the other side traitors for opposing
it. Powell felt a certain proprietorialness about the outcome as, despite
the current austerity measures, he had spent three hours on the 'phone
laying out this strategy to Holt.
But Powell had his own re-election to consider. Although he did not intend
going to the country until the next spring, preparations for any campaign
should start early. David Ogilvy, the reputed advertising genius, was
introducing him to his two best young thinkers to devise the advertising
side of the campaign.
"This is Nicky and this is Nigel, Prime Minister," Ogilvy said by way of
introduction.
"Don't they have surnames?" asked Powell.
"Not that they choose to use" explained Ogilvy.
Powell looked at the sorry pair. Nicky had shirt with a profusion of lace
at the wrists and throat but no tie. With his long hair he looked something
of a cavalier but Powell doubted he could handle a sword. Nigel was wearing
a mauve turtleneck top with what looked like an Iron Cross around his neck.
Second Class. Surely not won on the field of battle.
"Now, do you mind if we call you Enoch, sweetie?" asked Nicky.
Powell rounded on Ogilvy. "Who are these people?" he thundered.
"They went to very good schools, Prime Minister," the managing director
assured him, "You wouldn't expect a coal miner to sound or look like a
solicitor. Two different professions. So it is with the creative side of
advertising."
"Coal mining isn't a profession, it's labour," corrected the Prime Minister.
"It isn't even correct to call it a trade. And these two do look like
solicitors. Just not the kind I'd want to meet on a dark night."
To Ogilvy's relief, the outburst seemed to sedate his client, and there were
no further eruptions despite some undoubted indignities.
"Now Mr Prime Minister darling. Let's think about turning some of your
weaknesses into strengths." This was Nigel.
"I don't have any weaknesses."
"You saucy man! Dearest Nigel doesn't mean your weaknesses, he means
people's perceptions of your government."
"Well, there was that dollar thingie."
"Super!" enthused Nigel, "Can we say that with the introduction of the
dollar, you've doubled the number of millionaires?"
"It's not that simple. Although the currency has been halved in value, the
wealth distribution curve of the country is such that England now has 3.4
times as many millionaires since dollar denomination, or 280,000 in absolute
terms according to Treasury estimates. This excludes Scotland, Wales and
Northern Ireland of course."
"Bona! So there's 280,000 who've never had it so good?" asked Nicky.
"No. 198,000. You have to exclude the 82,000 who were millionaires before
decimalization."
Nigel was starting to get bored. He was fiddling with his cross. "You
haven't mentioned the war yet..."
"That's not a negative."
"Except to young people, love," quibbled Nicky, "but we can sell it to folks
who hate the young people. Who are, um, basically everyone else. War going
well. Photographs of you with General Walker (mmm, he's so butch) and
President Johnson."
"If Johnson wins next month," said Powell. "Although it seems likely going
by the opinion polls. I can't see what the Americans see in him. His
'Great Society' is almost socialism. Yet it's nothing as foolish as that
which the Labour crowd will do if they get in here."
"You want to bash Socialism?" asked Nigel. "OK, pussycat. Let's stop
looking at your weaknesses and look at those of the other side. Now, you're
not going to believe what our surveys are showing about the punter's
opinions are of that goddess Peggy Wedgewood-Benn..."
[If you'll just let me continue.]
| 