CHAPTER THIRTEEN
– A WHITER SHADE OF THAMES –
Oops.
All was not well.
Things were not all going to plan.
Problems began to appear.
Big ones.
Not just in Shellow Bowels but in London and other cities and towns around the country.
Of all developments that Fred and his PR man and his marketeer anticipated the most unexpected was that complaints began to be voiced.
The problem was that LIT-TISSUE was just too successful.
“What do you mean we have to cut back?” Fred was in The Outhouse and the question was directed at his BDM.
“Just what I said,” replied the marketeer. “I’m advising you to cut back on things.”
“What sort of things?”
“Marketing for a start.”
“Why?”
“And even before that get the Japanese to stop producing the British product.”
“Get the Japanese to…. What in earth are you talking about? If I do that how are we going to be able to supply the supermarkets?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We have to stop the supply of LIT-TISSUE.”
Fred shook his head even more agitated.
“Look, either I’m stupid or I’m missing something here. If we cut off the supply the supermarkets will have nothing to sell. If they don’t sell we don’t earn any income. If we don’t earn any income….well, we won’t be earning any income.”
The BDM looked Fred straight in the eye.
“We have a problem. A big problem. More than one actually. We’re being bombarded with problems from all sides.”
Fred returned the gaze. He had admittedly left much of the ongoing work to the marketeer, his PR man, the accountants and lawyers and as far as he knew at least another handful of professional business people. But up to this point he had not been made aware of any difficulties. The money had continued to pour in and while that was the case he had concentrated on settling into The Outhouse, had taken time out to spend weekends in Paris, Amsterdam and Brussels, and was even considering a return trip to Australia which would have to include a visit to Bundingo.
“What sort of problems?”
The marketeer hesitated and then spoke slowly. “Listen, don’t interrupt. Just listen to what I have to say. Alright?”
“Go ahead.” Fred turned and sat on the couch in the large lounge of The Outhouse. The marketeer remained standing in the centre of the room with his hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers. Then he removed them and rubbed them together briskly in front of him. When he spoke he did so slowly, carefully, articulating each word for clarity.
“You are too successful,” he began. “LIT-TISSUE is too popular.
“Too….!”
“Please! Let me explain it in detail.”
“I just…..ok. Alright. Go ahead. Tell me what’s wrong with being too successful.”
The marketeer moved to his right and sat in a high backed antique grandfather chair that Fred had bought from an Islington dealer. It was just one of many old pieces of furniture, mostly mahogany but with a few items of rosewood as well, that Fred had chosen.
“When your venture started, as you know pretty well everyone thought you were crazy. Such a hair brained idea could not possibly lead anywhere. Even your girlfriend of the time reckoned you had lost your marbles and left you. No doubt she spread the word that you were completely bonkers.
“But you persisted even when your first efforts to get an overseas manufacturer resulted in insults being fired at you. From the Chinese even. And the publishers you initially contacted too thought you were mad. But as I say you were convinced that your idea would actually work so. So you went ahead regardless of all the warnings and insults and accusations.
“And the result was that LIT-TISSUE became a phenomenon. Not just on a local basis but nationally. And from what we hear from your Japanese partners it’s hugely popular in Asia. So you have made a vast amount of money. We all have. And for that I’ll be eternally grateful.”
Fred held up a hand. “You stood by me. You joined me on my journey. You and a handful of others. So you deserve your rewards.”
“Thanks,” said the marketeer. “Anyway, I just want you to know how grateful I am.”
“So,” Fred said. “So much for the history. And the gratitude. Let’s come to the present and the future. What sort of problems do we have?”
“Right. Here we go then. I’m sorry about all this but it came up and hit us all at once. A tidal wave of sorts that started up in the Midlands but is now a serious matter in London.”
The marketeer examined the Persian carpet at his feet for a moment and then went on to explain.
It had all began in a fairly large village in the West Midlands called Wombourne. The old English word burna signifies a stream and a stream is a notable feature of the village. According to the Wikipedia description the village name was once thought to mean Womb Stream or stream in a hollow. But that opinion changed over time to mean Crooked Stream. Now the villagers had another name for it.
Shit Creek.
Wombourne they complained was up shit creek.
Thanks to LIT-TISSUE.
Womboune was followed by other villages.
All with the same complaint.
And then more appeared all at the same time.
Larger towns joined in.
They were followed by cities.
Manchester, Birmingham, Leeds, Liverpool, Leicester, Newcastle upon Tyne, Portsmouth and Southampton, Cambridge and Oxford, Canterbury and Salisbury.
Finally London itself.
The problem, as the marketeer explained, was down to LIT-TISSUE.
“You see,” he told Fred. “You were absolutely right. With your prediction. I remember what you told me about the arguments with your ex-girlfriend. What she said was the downside to your plan was in fact what you answered back was the upside.”
“And that was?” Fred asked.
“Missed chapters. The real gold in your scheme. Chapters that were used by others.”
Fred had indeed been correct with his projections. An awful lot of people began reading his LIT-TISSUE books, became engrossed in the stories, but when they returned to the toilet at a later time they found someone else had been there in the interim and used up the next chapter, or at least part of it.
So what did they do?
They went out and purchased another LIT-TISSUE roll that featured the same book. Or more often than not a number of rolls to avoid repeats of the lost chapters. And that meant that sales rocketed around the country. Which was why LIT-TISSUE became so famous and in such demand and why Fred and his closest colleagues became mega rich. It was like a prairie fire. However, like a prairie fire it caused a lot of damage too.
So many people bought and used LIT-TISSUE, or overused it, used it too often, in more than usual quantities, that the results were dramatic.
First to suffer were the domestic cisterns. They became clogged. Filthy waste water backed up. Sewers from houses, and most significantly blocks of flats, became clogged with discarded clumps of LIT-TISSUE, much of it clean and unused, or at least not used as toilet tissue was designed to be used. It seemed that many people might be reading the novels by chapter and simply tossing the paper into toilets to be flushed away. The problem was that it was not all being flushed as far away as it should.
“Here I have to tell you that not everyone is mad at you,” the marketeer said. “There is a group of people who love you to bits.”
“Who on earth…?” Fred did not finish the question.
“Plumbers. Plumbers and drain cleaners all over the country are cleaning up. In more ways than one. Drainage experts are being called out twenty four seven and are charging pretty well whatever they want. They love you. They love LIT-TISSUE because they’re getting rich too as a result.”
Now Fred was beginning to get anxious, very anxious. He began to see where all this was heading.
“How big is the problem?” he asked. “Tell me honestly, just how big a problem do we have here?”
“Let me put it this way,” said the marketeer. “If the problem was confined to villages we could deal with it. But once it reached the big towns and cities, and let me tell you the people of Newcastle are really pissed off, it then had a momentum of its own.”
He paused. “And now that we have London with its problems, we have no choice.”
“London?” Fred enquired. “How bad is it in London?”
The capital city has a static population of almost eight million. If you include the counties adjacent to the capital from where a large number of peolle commute to work on a daily basis, the population of London can more accurately be put at close to fourteen million. And a lot of them excrete at least once day while in the city.
“When was the last time you went into London?” the marketeer asked.
“I don’t remember,” Fred answered. “It was a while ago. I’ve been taking short trips to Europe lately. Maybe a month. Maybe two. Why?”
“Because if you had been to the city and been down by the river you would have noticed a change.”
“What?”
“The Thames has never been pristine blue. As you know it has been a rather dirty brown.”
“Don’t tell me that it is now full of crap.”
“Not at all. Quite the opposite in fact.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“The Thames has taken on the appearance of an ice river in winter. It is white.”
“White?”
“White. There is so much LIT-TISSUE floating on the river that it covers the surface and the Thames is now white.”
“Oh god.”
The marketeer gave a short laugh.
“It’s nothing to snicker about,” cautioned Fred.
“I can’t help it,” said the marketeer. “It’s just that it’s given rise to a campaign that started a few days ago and which now, thanks to Twitter and Facebook, has become a movement, or a crusade.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some guy out there in Twitterland started it. He offered a thousand quid to the first person who could design a pair of shoes that would enable the person to walk across the river from the Parliament side to the south bank without sinking.”
“You see,” he added. “There is no much LIT-TISSUE in the river he reckons it will be possible. And the upshot is that this guy has now organised a competition which is scheduled to get under way in a week. All the inventors will be lined up, a rocket will be fired into the air where LIT-TISSUE rolls will explode and drift down. The inventors will race to be the first to reach the other side. He’s charging a hundred pounds to enter so the prize money he’s offering now is five thousand all up. So that’s another person who has LIT-TISSUE to thank.”
“Bloody hell,” exclaimed Fred.
“However,” said the marketeer, “there is a small problem the guy faces.”
“Just one?” said Fred.
“Health and Safety.” The marketeer shook his head. “They obviously could not stand by and not interfere. They’re trying to stop the whole thing. And may well succeed because the police have now got into it and the commissioner has already intimated that there is probably some law which would be broken if it tried to go ahead.”
“Health and Safety,” Fred mused. “According to them everything is dangerous and should be banned.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not the worst part,” the marketeer said.
“No?” queried Fred. “What is the worst part then?”
“They’ve started legal action to close you down.”
“Close down LIT-TISSUE?”
“Correct. The problems everywhere have become so major they want to stop LIT-TISSUE being sold. At least until the problems have been cleared up. After that I don’t know but I wouldn’t hold my breath. If they succeed in the first instance as I suspect they might I think it’ll be extremely difficult to start up again.”
“Bloody hell,” said Fred.