Free The Planner by Tom Campbell Page B

brought with him, expertly assembled his plastic stand and unpacked two canvas chairs for them. He pulled out clipboards and felt-tip pens, and a neat pile of blank yellow cards, on which people were encouraged to submit opinions and ideas.
    ‘Well, we’ve got four hours here. Let’s see if anything happens.’
    ‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll learn something,’ said Rachel. ‘I’m quite excited. I haven’t done one of these for ages.’
    James had done this many times before, and what had he learnt? Well, nothing worth learning, nothing that would actually improve the masterplan, nothing that would make the building materials stronger or the houses less costly or the public realm more attractive. How could it? It wasn’t as if anyone he ever consulted knew anything about these things. Felix had told him last week that he wasn’t a liberal, but maybe he wasn’t a democrat either. Rather, he was a technocrat: he believed in technical solutions to the city’s problems, and he knew he wouldn’t find them here.
    ‘I wish we didn’t have to be on this stage,’ said Rachel. ‘I don’t like being so exposed. All those gormless people staring at my thighs.’
    James gazed down the shopping alleys. As a rule, he wasn’t comfortable about being on view like this either, but he didn’t think they had much to worry about. It was a raised floor really rather than a stage, only one foot high, and it was unlikely that Alice, or anyone else he was at university with, was going to walk past.
    ‘I wouldn’t get bothered about that,’ said James. ‘The usual problem is trying to attract their attention.’
    According to some measures, London was the most unequal city in the developed world, and hardly anyone gave a shit. That was one of the hazards of being a town planner. You ended up getting cross and anxious about things that no one cared about. You worried about the amount of nitrogen dioxide in the air, the target rates for domestic recycling and why more people didn’t go to the theatre. You tried to absorb and articulate all of the city’s problems, and you did this so that other people didn’t have to. As a result, it was perhaps inevitable that you became fretful and unhappy.
    There was another reason too. The night before he had spoken to his family on the telephone. He had mentioned the job offer in Nottingham and his mother, who even more than most mothers hated London, had spent an hour making compelling arguments why he should take it. And what reasons could he give for staying? To attend book launches, hang out in bars and seek enlightenment? His mother prided herself on never being influenced by television commercials and would not be impressed with anything Felix had to say. And yet . . . could he really go to Nottingham? It had, after all, just come joint runner-up as the British city with the highest quality of life. Why on earth would he want to live there?
    The early morning shoppers walked past, curious only until they realised that they didn’t have any gifts or product samples to give away. Rachel’s enthusiasm had disappeared. There had been some spasms of disgruntlement, but that had gone too and now she was playing patience on her mobile phone. James was trying to read Sexheads , but was finding it hard to get into.
    ‘When are you lot ever going to learn?’
    James and Rachel looked up to see a short, middle-aged man. He was almost certainly the only person in the shopping centre apart from James wearing a tie, and he was shaking his head at them gravely.
    ‘Can I help?’ said James. ‘Have you got a view on the new plan?’
    James recognised the type all too well. Although he was dressed smartly, his suit could easily be second-hand. He had neat grey hair and a moustache. If you didn’t know any better, you might have guessed that he had served in the army, but in fact it was likely that he had spent most of his adult life on some form of welfare benefit. James knew that he would be