On the very day that 103 business leaders signed a letter to the Daily Telegraph thanking the Conservatives for their magnificent handling of the economy, George Osborne just happened to find himself dropping in on two of the companies whose head honchos had been signatories of the billet-doux. Truly God moves in mysterious ways; though it never hurts to make your own luck.
After necking a quick pint at Marston’s brewery in Wolverhampton at lunchtime, Osborne headed north to the Britvic soft drinks factory on the outskirts of Leeds. Here the chairman, Gerald Corbett, was so thrilled by the pace of the country’s economic recovery that he had shut down the entire plant for the afternoon to allow his staff to worship at the shrine of St George. “Thank you, thank you, Chancellor,” Gerry gushed. It was very much a first-names kind of day. “Thank you for visiting and for making me whole. You complete me. You are my rock. I can’t live, if living is without you…”
The lights were turned up as Osborne stepped forward to place his healing hands first in Gerry’s and then on his lectern. “We have just 36 days to save the free world as we know it,” he said, “36 days that will dictate the future of the planet. If you vote for a Labour government, you will all be out of work in 36 days.” No one in the press-ganged audience of Britvic employees looked unduly bothered by that. “And so will I.” That thought appeared to cheer them up a little.
The chancellor didn’t want anyone to just take his word that only his brilliance could save the country. He wasn’t that kind of guy. No. He had a letter that just happened to have been signed by 103 of the very brightest and the very best. Never in the whole field of economic conflict had so much been owed by so many to so few. These heroes – no it wasn’t hyperbole to describe them thus – had put their lives on the line in this, the country’s darkest hour.
“It is no coincidence that the new lower rate of corporation tax has come in today,” he continued, somewhat unnecessarily as no one had ever imagined for a moment it was. “Thanks to me, new jobs are being created every minute of every day.” Gerry squirmed with pleasure. “Oh really, chancellor, you shouldn’t have…”
Even by Osborne’s usual standards, this was all a bit hard-going. He is a man with a rare gift of being able to make every minute feel five times longer. If he keeps going for long enough, he can even put himself to sleep. Come the end, only Gerry had survived the chancellor’s tantric sensory assault through a wave of petite-morts: everyone else’s mort was terminal.
After a brief moment of introspection in which he declared he might find it a bit tricky to live on a zero-hours trust fund, George headed back to the Conservative battle bus. Two captains of industry down, 101 still to go.
“Very enjoyable,” a Britvic employee said on the way out.
“Are you a conservative?” I asked.
“Certainly not.”
“ What was so good about it then?”
“The whole thing overran so I haven’t had to do any work.”
George would have approved. Best not to let the economy overheat.
