The international political crisis

Our island rarely receives visitors. Bar the occasional visit from Mary Beard, I can’t remember the last time a mainlander set foot on our shores, so it was a great surprise when Alun woke me early one morning, in an agitated state.

 

“It’s the Prime Minister Jed,” he said, “he’s sitting on our beach waiting for the press to arrive.”

 

“Are you sure?” I said, it seemed unlikely. Sometimes the summer heat gets too much for Alun and he starts to imagine things.

 

“No, Jed, it’s true. He was holidaying on Posh Boys’ Island (one of the islands at the exclusive end of our archipelago) when there was an international political crisis.”

 

“Crisis. What crisis?”

 

“There’s a worldwide seaweed shortage, Jed.”

“Seaweed? That’s hardly a crisis, nobody eats seaweed.”

 

“Seaweed’s important for a million and one uses Jed: medicine, food supplements, fertilizer, combating beach erosion, adhesives dyes, gels, explosives, even toothpaste, Jed.  It’s just the Welsh that actually eat it, and that’s only because there are no other vegetables that grow in a climate that wet.”

 

“That doesn’t explain why he’s come here. Why doesn’t he do his press interviews on Posh Boys’ Island?”

 

“Because the US president won’t go to Posh Boys’ island, it would look like he’s at the mainland PM’s beck and call.”

 

“The US President?”

 

“Yes Jed. He was on holiday on Nomanisan Island when the crisis broke.” (One of of the islands at the democratic end of our archipelago). “They’ve decided to hold the international crisis meeting here, as it’s neutral territory, none of the leaders wanted to meet on an island where another leader was staying.”

 

“Other leaders?”

 

“The President of China was visiting China Island, where he was inspecting the new factories they have set up there (see Chapter 57, the Factory Problem). He refused to be seen to be cow towing (I think he meant kowtowing – it gave me the oddest image of the most important man in China, and consequently the world, tugging haplessly at a cow on a rope) to the US and insisted the US president go to him. But the US President didn’t want to be seen to be running to the beck and call of the Chinese.”

 

“So they’re coming here.”

 

“Yes Jed, every important leader of the free world, together with our PM.”

 

“We should go down to the beach and welcome him,” I said. “It’s not every day the leader of the mainland comes to visit.”

 

We found the Prime Minister of the mainland paddling in the sea, his suit’s trousers rolled up to the knees, his tie loosened. He waved at us.

 

“Hello,” he said, “are you leaders of some great country or other?”

 

“No,” I said, “we’re residents. We live here.”

 

“Oh,” he said, “I was told there was no-one living here, only madmen and goats.”

 

“They’re geep,” I said, “a goat-sheep hybrid.”

 

“Right, I shall remember that. It will be an interesting fact I can impress the US President with. He ignored me completely last time I met him, I spent half an hour talking to the party clown at the last international conference, as nobody else would talk to me.”

 

“That’s sad,” I said, meaning that it was sad that the mainland had elected such a loser as their leader, but I kept the sentence down to the two key words.

 

“The worst thing was I got mistaken for part of the entertainment. Instead of taking part in the key negotiations on tackling the international financial crisis I spent two hours being pelted with pies by the other clowns. I mean clowns, not ‘other’ clowns. I’m not a clown, I’m an important international political figure.”

 

“So what did you get out of the summit?”

 

“Well, because I was the only one not present for the negotiations they agreed that I’d pick up the tab for the whole conference. You’ve no idea how much those things cost, we had to close 30 schools to pay for it. Plus I had to get a new suit, mine was completely ruined. You can’t wash that pie residue out of your clothes.”

 

Luckily I didn’t have to stand listening to the PM babbling for too long. The press arrived on the next boat. We watched the Prime Minister make a speech. He stood at the edge of the sea, gesturing towards it every time he mentioned seaweed or China (suggesting that he’d somehow managed to confuse China with the underwater kingdom of Atlantis). Half-way through the speech an unexpected wave lashed into him, he back-stepped in surprise, tripped over his own clumsiness and toppled into the sea. Though the water was only knee-deep he bobbed up and down for a while as if wresting his way out of chains, before eventually working out how to stand up.

 

The press were united and universal in their praise. “What a great prime minister,” the mainland TV commentator said, “he’s so desperate to end this problem he’s dived into the sea searching seaweed himself.” Not one single journalist commented that the mainland had elected yet another prime minister who found standing upright one intellectual challenge too many.

 

We left the prime minister floundering in his attempts to stand upright. We saw an enormous boat arriving, unscheduled, and went to say hello. It was the President of the United States of America, and a scruffy mongrel dog.

 

I nervously approached the great leader of the freeworld. I felt awkward, in these situations it’s usually Alun who does the greeting and handshaking, but for some reason he had fallen to his knees and he was busy petting the president’s dog.

 

“Hello,” Alun said in official greeting, “who’s a good dog, who’s a good boy den?”

 

“His name’s Noodles,” the President said, not seeming to mind Alun’s poor manners.

 

“Hello Noodles, are you a good boy Noodles?”

 

Grinning my teeth into a gritted smile I put out my hand and played the part of good ambassador. “Mr President, welcome to our little island. It’s a real pleasure to meet you and to be hosting this important conference. I’m Jed, by the way, an islander.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” he said, “I didn’t realise the locals were so friendly. You obviously know me,” he said, “and I can see you’ve met Noodles.”

 

I gave the dog a friendly pat.

“And this is Alun,” I said, my …”

 

Before I could get any further the President was busy patting Alun on the head. “Hello Alun,” he said.

 

Our conversation with the President was interrupted by a gang of large men, dressed in the universal uniform of the security guard, an ill-fitting suit, who nudged us away from the President, claiming that there were “security issues.”

 

Alun was not in a good mood.

 

“You introduced me to the president as your dog, Jed,” he said.

 

“No I didn’t, I just said this is Alun.”

 

“He said this is my dog, and you said this is mine.”

 

“I did not. I called you by name.”

 

“He patted me on the head Jed.”

 

“Well you should have said hello. What were you doing crawling along the floor like that?”

 

“I was shy Jed. That was the most important man in the world. He could bomb our island off the face of the earth if he so chose.”

 

“Really?” I said. “He doesn’t seem the kind.”

 

“That’s because I won over his dog, Jed. The president never bombs nations that are on friendly terms with his dog. That’s where Gaddaffi went so wrong.”

 

As we were talking one of the security men approached us for a second time, even though we had ceased to hassle the President and Canine in Chief. “Who are you, let’s see some id.”

 

“We live here,” I said.

 

“We don’t have id. on this island,” Alun added.

 

The security guard looked confused. “In my country you can be locked up for not having id., no trial.”

 

Alun shook his head sadly. “It’s why we call Happy Island the land of the free,” he said, “you must be pleased to get away from such a draconian regime.”

 

We returned to the beach in time to see all of the leaders of the world’s leading nations, together with the mainland prime minister, gathered, ready to announce a joint statement about how concerned they all were about the crisis.

 

There was a quite still across the beach, as the President of the United States was about to speak and nobody wanted to offend the Chinese President by being the first to heckle.

 

However, the speech went unsaid, as the president was almost bowled over by his dog charging out of the water.

 

“Noodles, where have you been? You’re covered in seaweed. Seaweed? Where’s this seaweed come from?”

 

Alun decided to speak out, wanting, I’m sure, to make it clear to the President that he wasn’t my pet dog after all.

 

“Oh, he must have been swimming in Seaweed Bay,” he said.

 

“Seaweed Bay?” the President said.

 

“Oh yes, it’s full of seaweed. In fact there’s hardly any water there, it’s all seaweed. It’s hardly surprising there a shortage in the rest of the world, we’ve got it all here.”

 

The President studied Alun closely for a while before speaking. “Let’s go take a look at this Seaweed Bay.”

 

Which is how the international seaweed crisis was averted and how Alun and I became seaweed millionaires overnight.