The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (62 page)

Climthorpe Albion lay at the top of the Southern League First Division South, having beaten Dorchester 4–1 , with goals by
FITTOCK, CLENCH
(2, 1 pen) and new signing
BLOUNT
. It seemed that Reggie’s powers as a fairy godfather were not yet waning.

The post brought a letter from Mark. It said: ‘Dear Mater and Pater, I still love you. One day you will understand. Your affectionate son, Mahmood Abdullah. PS Love to Ponsonby.’

It also brought two invitations. He was asked to address the Climthorpe Ladies Circle on ‘Women in a Man’s World’ and to discuss the proposition that ‘The Profit Motive is a Dirty Word’ with the Climthorpe Manor Hill Boys School Debating Society.

That morning Perrin Products announced record profits, and Reggie dictated a letter to the Climthorpe Manor Hill Boys School Debating Society, saying: ‘I do not wish to discuss your illiterate proposition, but I am prepared to debate the subject: “The Profit Motive is Three Dirty Words.”’

In the afternoon he was approached by representatives of all three television channels,
Guardian
readers to a man, and asked to give an exclusive interview.

What an opportunity!

What a showcase!

He accepted all three invitations.

On Tuesday evening he appeared on BBCl’s magazine programme
Pillock Talk
. The eponymous interviewer was Colin Pillock.

They sat in elegant armchairs with a circular table behind them.

Colin Pillock introduced Reggie as the man behind the High Street miracle.

‘Less than three years ago,’ he said, ‘Reginald Perrin opened a shop called Grot in the dreary London suburb of Climthorpe. In its window was a sign saying: “All the articles sold in this shop are useless.” Now Reginald Perrin has more than sixty shops and is well on his way to becoming a millionaire.’

Reggie raised his eyebrows and smiled pleasantly. Upstairs, in the control box, Elizabeth was astounded by his self-confidence.

Colin Pillock described some of the objects sold in Grot shops. A faint ridicule could be detected beneath his surface sarcasm.

Then he turned to Reggie.

‘Reginald Perrin?’ he said. ‘Are you a con man?’

Reggie paused, thinking out his reply, determined not to be thrown out of his stride by this interviewer’s inhumanity to man.

‘I announce clearly that every item is useless,’ he said. ‘Con men don’t usually wear sandwich-boards that say: “Watch out. I am a con man.” No, I think I’m one of the few shopkeepers who isn’t a con man.’

‘But you sell people stuff that is useless. Doesn’t that worry you?’

Thousands of people sell stuff that’s useless. I’m the only one who admits it.’

‘In other words, Mr Perrin, you have hit upon a gimmick that enables you to sell worthless items at high prices, without anybody being able to do anything about it?’

Those certainly are other words.’

‘What words would you use, Mr Perrin?’

‘I am providing a valuable social service.’

Colin Pillock smiled his ‘ho ho ho, viewers, we’ve got another one here and you’re all going to be on my side, aren’t you, because I’m the champion of your rights’ smile.

‘Come, come, Mr Perrin. You’re not trying to tell us that you provide a social service, are you?’

‘I’m not trying to tell you that. I’m succeeding in telling you that.’

Colin Pillock smiled his ‘give a man enough rope’ smile.

‘All right then,’ he said. ‘In what way are you providing this social service?’

‘Have you half an hour? Then I’ll begin. People like to buy our stuff for many different reasons – as a joke for instance.’

‘A rather expensive joke.’

‘Jokes are splendid things. Why should they be cheap? And people buy my things as presents. A lot of people are very self-conscious about giving presents. They fear that their presents will seem ridiculous. No such fear about my goods. Everybody will know the presents are ridiculous and were meant to be ridiculous.’

‘But surely people often buy your products for themselves?’

‘Of course.’

‘Why?’

‘Perhaps you ought to ask them.’

‘I’m asking you.’

‘Well, Mr Pillock, maybe they like to have useless objects lying around. It shows they can afford to spend quite large sums of money on useless things.’

‘Quite large sums of money!’ repeated Colin Pillock gloatingly. ‘Would you agree, then, that your prices are high?’

That isn’t the word I’d use,’ said Reggie.

‘What word would you use, Mr Perrin?’

‘Exorbitant.’

Colin Pillock was actually speechless for several seconds. In the control box, the director had a feeling – part horror, part utter delight – that he would never speak again.

But he did.

‘Are you seriously suggesting that people like throwing money away?’ he said.

‘Of course. People certainly love spending money. It’s one of the few enjoyable things you can do with it. Have you ever been to a race meeting, Mr Pillock?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you noticed many people racked with greed as they try to get their grubby little fingers on their ill-earned lucre? Oh, some, of course, but I notice far more people flinging money around recklessly, cheerfully admitting how much they’ve lost. It shows what men of the world they are, what good chaps. There’s no point in having money to burn if nobody comes to the fire. Would you say that most restaurants in this country, if not all, are bad?’

‘Yes.’

‘When people go out to dinner, are they more likely to go to a cheap restaurant or an expensive one?’

‘An expensive one.’

‘Well there you are then. The point is to show that you can afford it. “One pound eighty for that,” people say when they buy my things. “What a liberty. It’s only two bits of paper. I could have made it myself for 5p.” It gives them a wonderful feeling of superiority over the makers. Wouldn’t you say that was performing a social service?’

Colin Pillock couldn’t remember when he had last been asked five questions without getting a single one in himself.

He ought to fight back, but he just didn’t feel up to it. It was the end of a long series, and his holidays were coming up.

‘Reginald Perrin, thank you. And now a man who farms worms. Yes, worms,’ he said.

On Wednesday it was the turn of ITV. Reggie met the producer of
The World Tomorrow Today
in the hospitality room, where enough drink is dispensed to make the interviewees indiscreet without being indecent.

The producer seemed narked.

‘You didn’t tell us Pillock was doing you,’ he said.

‘You didn’t ask.’

‘It’s spiked our guns.’

‘Use different guns.’

‘We’ll have to put you back to the end. We may not even get to you if Ethiopia over-runs.’

‘Wonderful.’

But Ethiopia did not over-run, and they did get to him.

The interviewer was Sheridan Trethowan. They sat in elegant armchairs, with a glass table between them.

Sheridan Trethowan gave a brief résumé of Reggie’s achievements. He took great care not to sound scornful or patronizing. He didn’t want to fall into the Pillock trap.

‘Tell me, Mr Perrin, how did you get the idea for all this in the first place?’ he said.

‘It’s not really such an extraordinary idea,’ said Reggie. ‘Most of our economy is based on built-in obsolescence. I just build it a bit further in. The things are obsolete before you even buy them. I haven’t gone as far as I’d like to. Ideally I’d like to sell things that fall to pieces before they even leave the shop. What a gift to capitalism that would be. “Oh, it’s fallen to pieces. I’ll have another one.” “Certainly, sir.” “Oh, that’s fallen to pieces too. I’ll have another one.”’

‘Did you really expect that you would be as successful as you have been?’

‘Good Lord, no. I only started it all as a joke.’

‘A joke?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you are on record as saying that you perform a social service.’

‘Yes. I thought that was the sort of thing they like to hear on the BBC, so I said that on
Pillock Talk
, which you asked me not to mention. Incidentally, your drinks are better than theirs.’

‘But do you believe that you perform a social service?’

‘No.’

‘But you said you did.’

‘I’m a liar. A congenial liar.’

‘Don’t you mean a congenital liar?’

‘No. I’m in a very good mood.’

Sheridan Trethowan looked as if he was about to be sick. Those with colour sets rushed to adjust them.

‘Social service schmocial schmervice,’ said Reggie. ‘I’d given a quarter of a century to puddings. I’d ended up working on a pig farm. I wanted a bit of fun. I thought I’d go down with flying colours, cock one last snook.’

‘Instead of which you’ve been a great success?’

Terrible, isn’t it?’

‘You don’t welcome your success.’

‘Of course not. Frightful bore.’

Reggie smiled angelically.

‘Very briefly, because we don’t have much time . . .,’ said Sheridan Trethowan, thinking privately: ‘Thank God.’

‘That’s your fault,’ interrupted Reggie. ‘You shouldn’t have squeezed me in at the end of the programme because you were narked with me for talking to the BBC.’

‘Very briefly, Mr Perrin, where do you go from here?’

‘Home. You should have cut that item about the reorganization of local government. Boring boring. Yawn yawn.’

‘Reginald Perrin, thank you.’

Nobody seemed very upset that Reggie had so blatantly contradicted himself. In fact they all said that they would watch him on
Money-Go-Round
on BBC2.

The producer of
Money-Go-Round
seemed a little narked.

‘You didn’t tell us you were going on BBC 1 and ITV,’ he said, in the hospitality room.

‘You might not have wanted me on your programme if I had,’ said Reggie with a sweet smile, accepting the proffered glass of whisky.

‘Anyway,’ said the producer, ‘I don’t go for the recriminations bit. Besides, your appearances have sparked off some interest.’

‘Oh good,’ said Reggie. ‘I’m trying to make things interesting for you by saying different things on each programme. I thought tonight I’d talk about the philosophical questions posed by my shops.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be quite relevant,’ said the producer. ‘You’re part of a series about British businessmen moving into Europe. Last week we did a featurette about how our washing up liquids are cleaning up in the Iberian peninsula.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Reggie. ‘I see. Is the programme live?’

‘Yes. We still go for the live bit here. It keeps us all on our toes, keeps us up to the minute news-wise.’

‘Good,’ said Reggie. ‘Good.’

The interviewer was Peregrine Trembleby. They sat in elegant chairs at either side of a glass table.

‘Britain in Europe,’ said Peregrine Trembleby, following a montage of introductory shots of the continent in question. ‘Tonight we meet Reginald Perrin, one of the most fascinating men on the British shop scene. High Street prankster or social visionary? Well, Europe is soon going to have a chance to make its own mind up, because Mr Perrin’s rapid-growth brain child, the rubbish chain Grot, is really beginning to move into the
Hauptstrasses
and
grandes rues
. Which countries are you aiming to infiltrate, Mr Perrin?’

‘Well, Peregrine, I’d like to talk if I may, briefly, about the philosophical basis of my commercial enterprise. I confess to being worried that there are innate and inevitable paradoxes inherent in the concept behind Grot.’

‘And you feel that this is relevant to what you may find in Europe?’

‘No.’

‘But it’s the European side of the venture that we are interested in tonight.’

‘Ah!’

Peregrine Trembleby smiled. His smile had charmed Vietnamese generals, British politicians, French financiers and even Norman Mailer. He saw no reason why it shouldn’t charm Reginald Perrin.

‘Let’s leave individual countries for a while,’ he said, ‘and talk about Europe in general. How do you expect the average man in the rue and the Strasse to react to your shops?’

‘I state that everything in our shops is useless,’ said Reggie. ‘Yet people buy them. Either they buy them because they can find a use for them, in which case they are ipso facto not useless, or they buy them because they like useless things. Are they therefore no longer useless? Isn’t to be liked to be of use?’

‘Mr Perrin, I do wish to discuss your ventures with particular regard to Europe. Have you had any marketing surveys made on the Continent?’

‘I’m glad you asked me that,’ said Reggie.

He paused. Peregrine Trembleby gave a little half smile. His little half smile had charmed half the little Vietnamese generals he had interviewed. He hoped desperately that it would half charm Reginald Perrin.

‘Let’s posit a man who makes an entirely pointless speech,’ said Reggie. ‘He is told: “I thought your speech was pointless.” He replied: “That was the point. I wished to prove that one can make a completely pointless speech.” Was his speech pointless or did it in fact have a point? I’m no philosopher. I just toss these things into the cauldron of speculation.’

A thin film of sweat was breaking out on Peregrine Trembleby’s domed brow.

‘Mr Perrin, I am talking about Britain in Europe,’ he said.

‘I’m frightfully sorry, Trembleby old man,’ said Reggie. ‘None of your questions has yet fired me with enthusiasm. Try again, though. We may get the European kite into the air yet.’

‘Have you learnt anything from the highly successful experiences of firms like Marks and Spencer in Europe?’

‘Take a cruet set with no holes. We say: “The purpose of a cruet set is for condiments to emerge when it is tilted, the better to season our food. We tilt this cruet set, but it has no holes in it. Therefore no condiments emerge. It is useless.”’

‘Mr Perrin, please …’

‘It is useless
as a cruet set
. But maybe it is decorative. Maybe it is prettier than a cruet set with holes. Maybe it amuses people. What merry laughter will ring round the family table as short-sighted Uncle George endeavours to season his soup!’