Fisher's Fables Read online

  Fisher’s Fables

  It started with a blog

  Robert Crouch

  Copyright © Robert Crouch 2016

  The right of Robert Crouch to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2016 by Downland Publishing.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any mean, with prior permission in writing of the publisher, or in cases of reprographic reproduction, in accordance with the terms of licenses issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  http://robertcrouch.co.uk

  Cover design by Jane Prior, String Concept and Design

  www.stringdesign.co.uk

  For Carol, who shared every laugh with Kent.

  Contents

  From fact to fiction

  Characters

  Radio Star

  Muscle Bound

  Team Building

  All Change

  Transformed

  Coping With Priorities

  Empowerment

  Virgin Territory

  What a performance

  Calling Out

  Well Sick

  Unequal Opportunities

  More questions than answers

  Unnatural Selection

  The cardinal sin of pimentos

  Talking Nubs

  Bog Standard

  Penalty Shoot Out

  Burning Desire

  Sticky Willies

  Christmas Spirit

  Fraught Polio Holder

  Fraught Polio Holder (Part 2)

  SHAG

  A Dip in Fortunes

  Less is more – more or less

  Yogumbilates

  All Things Bright and Beautiful

  The Fifth Chair

  Should refuse collectors be given a tip?

  When the dust unsettles

  When winning leaves you at a loss

  Projectile Working

  Failing to succeed

  Fate delivers a fatality

  I hope you enjoyed the book

  From fact to fiction

  When I did a radio interview in 2007, how could I know it would lead to No Accident, the first Kent Fisher novel, published in June 2016?

  Smoking in public places was about to be banned across the UK and Sovereign Radio wanted to interview someone from the council.

  That evening, I wrote my first blog, Radio Star, using Kent Fisher to tell my story. I created a fictional council and world around him, populating it with characters, created in my imagination. Over the years that followed, these characters helped Kent bring to life many of the foibles of local government, which was going through a period of great change.

  While the events in this book are fictionalised, Fisher’s Fables is loosely based on my experiences as an Environmental Health Manager. As the blog progressed, it developed a life of its own, almost becoming a situation comedy once I introduced, Kelly, my favourite character.

  Late in 2014, having found my voice as an author, I rewrote No Accident, which became my first Kent Fisher murder mystery novel. Though different in tone and context, No Accident retains the cast and settings from Downland District Council. Kent remains his usual wisecracking self as he takes up where the last blog ends … with a dead body.

  If you want to learn more about Kent Fisher, the characters and the novels, please visit http://robertcrouch.co.uk. If you sign up to my email list, you’ll receive free copies of Kent Fisher’s Case Files and The Tollingdon Tribune, my monthly newsletter.

  Robert Crouch.

  Characters

  Colonel Witherington - Leader of Downland District Council

  Yvonne Thackeray - Chair of Downland District Council

  Gregory Rathbone - Portfolio Holder Environmental Health and Waste

  Frank Dean - Chief Executive, Downland District Council

  Wally Handley - Director of Internal Services

  Stella Musgrove - Director of External Services

  Dannielle Frost - Head of Environmental Health and Waste

  Kent Fisher - Public Protection Team Manager

  Nigel Long - Senior Environmental Health Officer

  Lucy Darling - Senior Technical Officer

  Gemma Dean - Technical Officer

  Kelly Morgan - Admin Support Officer

  Roland Foot - Environmental Protection Team Manager

  Terry Hall - Pollution Control Officer

  Felicity Trimble - Head of Human Remains (Resources)

  Sarah Keen - Senior HR Officer

  Susan Beaney - Senior HR Officer

  Liz Smith - Rationalisation and Restructure Manager

  Gerry Wardle - Head of Information Technology

  William Eckersley - IT Business Systems Manager

  Michael Punnet - Head of Waste Management

  Meg Collins - Waste Enforcement Manager

  James Hardy - Head of Leisure

  Charles Priest - Facilities Manager

  Bridgette Philpott - Finance Officer

  Geoff Lamb - Downland Communications Officer

  Thomas Hardy Logan - Editor Tollingdon Tribune

  Mike Turner - Scenes of Crime Officer, Sussex Police

  Julie Swan - Sovereign Radio Reporter

  Radio Star

  Downland’s Communications Officer, Geoff Lamb, affectionately known as Mutton because he never listens to what anyone tells him, rings me late Thursday afternoon. The local radio station wants to interview an eminent Environmental Health Officer about the new laws to ban smoking in public places.

  “Thanks, Geoff,” I say, “I’ve never been called eminent before.”

  “I thought of you because you like the sound of your own voice,” he tells me. “And your boss is incommunicado.”

  Thankfully, I’m not wearing my electric blue shirt, which is usually the only one that’s ironed and hanging in the wardrobe. I slip on my jacket to hide the crumpled white shirt I threw on this morning, straighten my Scooby Doo and Shaggy tie, and walk across the High Street to Downland Radio. It’s situated above a small parade of shops, which means the smell of fresh fish, mixed with teak oil from Tollingdon Antiques, permeates the plush waiting area, complete with vending machine.

  Julie, one of the morning news reporters, steps out of her studio to greet me. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, she has a confident stride and an executive haircut. Her large blue eyes twinkle with mischief when she clocks my tie.

  “I wake up with you every morning,” I say, surprised by how strong her handshake is.

  “Thankfully, I can’t say the same.” Her frosty look suggests she’s heard that line too many times before. “You’re the expert on the anti-smoking laws then?”

  “The laws are to protect people from second-hand smoke, not to persecute smokers.”

  She laughs. “Bring it on, I say. I’m sick of my clothes and hair smelling like an ashtray. I can’t wait for the ban.”

  I like a reporter with an open mind. To be fair, she asks all the right questions, puts me at ease, and then makes me nervous by saying she’ll need to make a few small edits. Did I say anything that could be cut down to something like, “all smokers should be shot”? Could my words be rearranged into a sinister threat to hound all smokers out of the district?

  The following morning I make a determined effort to avoid the half-hourly news bulletins. My girlfriend, Amanda,
calls from the bedroom to say I’m on the news. Fortunately, the flush of the toilet drowns out the radio.

  “You sounded great,” she says, curling her arms around my neck. “Sexy with a hint of authority. You should do more interviews. You’re a natural.”

  I manage to avoid the next bulletin and escape to work where suddenly I’m a celebrity. A new career in radio beckons. From what I can tell the station didn’t edit me into saying anything foolish, controversial or untrue. Then my boss waves me into her office.

  Danni’s a fast track graduate who’s 30 going on 60. She wears a brown suit, sensible shoes and has bobbed hair that frames a face devoid of humour or makeup. She parts the curtains of hair, looks me over and then gestures to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. I can’t help glancing at her desk calendar, which contains the inspirational quotes she prints off and fixes to a cork board on the wall behind her.

  ‘You never get a second chance to make a first impression.’

  That’s the inspirational message at the top of her Motivational Pinboard. It’s too late for me to find a tie, button my shirt collar and remove the greasy marks from my chinos. That’ll teach me to get on my hands and knees to look under units while inspecting food businesses. Next time, I’ll get one of my Technical Officers to do it, or wear disposable overtrousers.

  “I’ve just had HR on the line,” she says, her voice dour. “They’re not happy.”

  Human Remains are not noted for their cheerful disposition.

  “You’re not allowed to talk to the press, Kent. It’s not in your job description.”

  I look suitably contrite. “I told them they should be speaking to you, Danni, but they wanted someone who understood the law. How could I refuse?”

  Her expression says she wants to fire me. But she can’t afford to upset my father, the local Member of Parliament. As a cigar smoker he’s upset enough already.

  Muscle Bound

  I return from a few days leave to find over 200 emails in my Inbox. Most of them are from my boss, Danni, who must work until midnight. Like the quotes on her desk calendar she signs off her emails with an inspirational thought. Unlike her desk calendar, which has a different quote each day, hers persist for a week, sometimes longer.

  ‘Smiling uses fewer muscles than frowning’ is the latest gem. As imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, I’m adding, ‘A punch to the face uses even fewer muscles’ to my emails. I’m sure Danni will be so flattered she’ll be speechless.

  Oblivious to my attempts to endear myself to my boss, Nigel Long poses an interesting question. Known as Chaz Long, corrupted from Chaise Longue, Nigel’s more of a Lazy Boy in Danni’s eyes. He’s not slow, but careful, preferring to seek reassurance from his bosses before taking action. This is understandable as he has a broken marriage and a dodgy taste in music to unsettle him.

  “Before computers and email what did we do when we arrived at work in the morning?” he asks.

  Blank looks all round. The admin girls, who know the answers to everything, are unavailable for comment as they’re finalising their makeup in the restrooms. Danni’s asked that we call them that as ‘toilet’ sounds vulgar. As most people spend an inordinate amount of time in there, I think she’s got it right.

  I cast my thoughts back to the time before computers – BC – and try to remember what we did first thing in the morning. Suggestions include discussing last night’s TV, making cups of tea and coffee, photocopying private letters, and working out how long it takes three women to apply mascara when there’s only one mirror in the restroom.

  “We looked at the premises files,” Nigel says, patting the stacks of manila folders that cover his desk. This saves the office cleaners so much time they don’t show any more. “We used to open the files, write up our inspections and complaints, and then go out on the district to some more.”

  “But you have to get permission first,” Lucy says, sweeping back her lank grey hair, tinted various shades of purple. She’s about as cynical and hardboiled as you can get, revelling in her role as trade union rep for Environmental Health. “What happens if you’re the only one in the office?”

  “I … I … I …. I can make decisions,” he says, glancing at me. “Can’t I?”

  We laugh and breakout more biscuits to go with our coffee.

  “We still open files and write up inspections,” I remark, staring at the stack of unopened files on my desk. “Then we update the computer records that replicate the written files.”

  “Then ICT back them up,” Lucy says with an emphatic nod. “Before Danni asks to see them for her weekly report.”

  “That comes out monthly,” Nigel says.

  “And let’s not forget all those unwanted emails she sends, asking us to email her with suggestions on reducing unnecessary emails,” I add.

  That one gets them going, raising the noise level enough to draw in some of the Pollution Control Officers from next door. Soon, if the discussion becomes heated enough, people will start expressing their distaste in emails. Downland’s mail server will go into meltdown. This will then cause a backlog. We’ll have to spend even more time clearing that when the problem is fixed. The guys in ICT will launch an investigation, requesting feedback by email. They’ll email the results to everyone, naturally.

  If I’m really unlucky they’ll trace the fault back to me for starting an email debate. Or, if they’ve learned anything from the meltdown, they’ll hold the debate on Downland’s internal intranet, named DownNet for reasons I don’t need to clarify.

  Appalled by the idea of all this unnecessary email traffic, I update my messages to carry the following warning: ‘Emailing uses more muscles than frowning’.

  Hopefully that will make a few people smile.

  Team Building

  Danni’s late for the team meeting. I suspect she’s rehearsing the spontaneous speech she’ll deliver to inspire and motivate us. We’re suffering the usual problems – too much work and not enough staff. That means we’re behind on our inspections, which means we’re not prioritising, which means we’re inefficient and in need of a team talk.

  “Why don’t we set lower targets?” Nigel looks up from the monthly inspection statistics, which are three months out of date. “Why don’t we measure quality instead of quantity?”

  Everyone looks at me. As team manager, they expect me to explain away their poor performance and come up with answers that make them look better without doing any extra work. Having said that, the number of inspections doesn’t reflect the work we do to improve hygiene standards in food businesses.

  “Management will argue the more businesses we inspect the more customers we protect,” I say, using one of Danni’s mantras.

  “I’m surprised you remember that, Kent.” Danni bursts into the room and thumps a mountain of paper onto the table, sending shock waves through the coffee cups. “You’re attention span has improved to a whole sentence.”

  I ignore the muted laughter and turn my attention to the bundle of papers. I miss what she says next as I’m not great at reading upside down. I make out the words, ‘Better Regulation’. They can only mean more priorities to prioritise.

  “We need to think outside the box,” Danni says, making quotation marks in the air with her fingers. “It’s not rocket science, is it? Get out of the silo and embrace joined up thinking and working – that’s the key.”

  I assume that means we won’t need to reinvent the wheel, but to make sure I seek clarification. “You’re talking SMART working, right?”

  “Sounds more like smartarse working,” Lucy says, staring at Danni. “Do you want to find a window in your schedule so we can touch base on that?”

  “Touch buttocks, surely,” Nigel mutters, looking at me for confirmation.

  Danni’s glare could neuter an elephant. She means well, but her rapid rise through the ranks is based on the premise that clichés equal wisdom. She’s also had her sense of humour removed in case it undermines her authority, so i
t’s no laughing matter.

  “So Kent,” she says, giving me the full weight of her attention, “does smart mean you’ll be working with others for a change?”

  I smile. “You’re going to tell me there’s no ‘I’ in team, right?”

  She nods, no doubt pleased I can quote her motivational Pinboard.

  “But if you look closely you can find a ‘me’,” I say, giving silent thanks to David Brent for that gem. It means I won’t be teambuilding with my boss for some time yet.

  All Change

  Downland District Council has endured plenty of changes as a result of the global banking collapse, economic downturn, and a chief executive who attended a change management seminar with his wife and left with someone else’s. Eager to dispel accusations of a sex-swap romp, he published his seminar notes on our intranet and instigated the largest change management programme ever seen in Downland.

  He’s even given us a new slogan – “Downland – where change happens.” This is a welcome change from ‘Everything’s on the up at Downland’. We had to use this slogan as a signature on our emails until someone added, ‘except pay, morale, staff numbers, customer satisfaction, and the water temperature to the hot tap in the female toilets.’

  But no one can keep up with the pace of change, which is on the up. That’s the trouble. The moment one change is introduced another follows closely behind.

  In the last two years we’ve had restructures to deal with the mess caused by reorganisations that failed to make the original rationalisations successful. Job titles have changed, departments have become directorates, and we now have teams instead of sections. Oh, and I mustn’t forget service areas, which were created from the bits no one could devise a new title for.

  We’ve had disbanding, re-branding and backhanding, competitions to design a new logo, logos for new competitions, and a change management newsletter that says the same each month in a different way. Luckily, outward facing services like Environmental Health remain intact and relatively unchanged, mainly because no one knows what we do.