MR Bumble was delighted when he was appointed to his Parochial Office by the Pseudo County Council, a fine body for which he had always had the utmost respect, it could be stated without fear of contradiction.
But it was soon to prove a difficult situation for Bumble when one of his charges, Mobile Library, ventured forward to ask for more books.
‘More?!’ roared Mr Bumble, after he lifted himself up to his full Parochial Height. ‘Never, in my Parochial Patronage have I ever experienced such impertinence.
‘This is the politics of Vanity rather than Sanity.’
Mobile Library trembled, and before the poor defenceless book-carrying vessel knew it, found itself cast out of the Hamilton Work House.
It is to Charity and Charity alone that Mobile Library must turn now. It is not the Parochial Responsibility of the Pseudo County Council,
Meanwhile, we transport ourselves from this sorry state of affairs to Selfsatis House to consider the plight of poor, dear Estella, ward of Miss Havisham.
The wealthy spinster, mentioned in the latter, is a misguided harridan who, having lacked genuine love in her own life, has dedicated herself to wreaking revenge on menfolk by creating an ideal version of womankind, at least in her mind.
Thus it was that in Estella, she had produced a specimen of stunning beauty, but a heart of stone.
Estella married a rich company director. She did everything she thought she had been taught to serve the important role of a spouse of such an important person, taking advice from Miss Havisham and dismissing any other previous beliefs.
So it was that Mrs Estella Director’s Wife, when discussing quality of life, did not consider it to include such trivialities as a government committed to law and order, the education of children, or providing things like reading material to those who had no other access to books, nor should it concern itself with a commitment to look after the Aged P in his dotage.
Rather, quality of life was, to Estella Director’s Wife, more about whether the restaurant menu would meet with the approval of passing celebrities.
Because of this, dear reader, it seems Estella is destined to a life of emptiness that will ultimately lead her to a sense of regret, unless we can find a pip squeak to make her see things from a different perspective,
Once more, we transpose the narrative; this time to the heroic Dudley Nickelby who has tried all he can to rescue Family Library from its malignant masters, who have trapped it in a place where its value is not appreciated nor its potential realised.
The masters had other ideas when Dudley suggested a better way, so our hero is forced to hatch a cunning escape from Dotheboys Hall.
His attempt to take Family Library with him, however is doomed to failure
Sadly, after their escape, Family Library is run over by a passing locomotive and dies in Dudley Nickelby’s arms, leaving his protector distraught and available for small political engagements.
And so back to our primary hero; certainly it could not be suggested he is a nursery hero.
We can report that Mr Bumble went to the Pseudo County Council and spoke to Mr Allan Gradgrind and Mr Ebenezer Teare.
‘It is my humble, Parochial Opinion,’ said Bumble as he presented a Parochial Paper to the PCC, ‘that the deeds have been done in a manner in which they should have been done.
‘Would I be right to assume that I can continue in my Parochial Office?’
Mr Gradgrind was a man who dealt in facts. Hard facts such as the film industry was profitable. Not flim flam such as ‘let’s produce the evidence to support such a fact’.
The fact was that Mr Bumble had served an admirable diversionary duty for Mr Gradgrind and Mr Teare. They did not fail to notice the felicitous fortune that Mr Bumble’s Parochial Problems had brought with them. There were many more Parochial Pitfalls they could put his way. There would be collateral damage, of course, that was a Parochial Matter and not one to worry themselves over.
‘Carry on Bumble,’ they said.
They received support from Pseudo County Council colleague Mr Robertsbore. He gave a two-hour speech, Pecksniffian prose delivered with a pompous sneer that was all the more admirable for the manner in which it ignored the fact he’d only been there himself for five minutes.
His speech could be summarised thus: ‘I’m off to make cuts to a service for the needy.’
Passing Mr Alfred Sikes, who is busying himself with the worthy task of adminstering a sound whipping to the impudent union whelps who have dared to disagree with him; we all return to the Honourable Court.
At the esteemed venue, the long-running saga of Jaundiced versus Jaundiced, a legal battle over the future of a rotting lump of iron somewhere in the sea, continues.
Although Jaundiced versus Jaundiced has racked out immeasurable amounts of money, without any conclusion ever appearing in sight, it appears that those involved are happy to continue with the procrastination.
After all, an Honourable Court has to do something.
*With apologies to Mr C. Dickens. You can find his work in all libraries, at least you can before government closes them.