Category: Satirical Cartoon

Two council officials, in hi-vis vests and hard hats stand outside a locked building site. You know the council officials are Council officials as it says BIRMINGHAM CITY COUNCIL OFFICIAL on their hi-vis where it would say ‘Beckham’ if it was a late ‘90s No 7 Manchester United replica kit.

You know it’s locked building site as it says that on a poster across the way in. ‘Closed due to liquidation of contractor’ it says.
One official is reading the paper. It has a paragraph which reads…

“One Chamberlain Square will be eight storeys tall and is due for completion in summer 2019 when financial services firm PwC, which is handling the liquidation of Carillion, will move in.”

No caption is needed as this is the perfect satire of late-capitalism already.

It’s the morning, the results of the US election are in. We can tell this as a man in a suit in the background is holding a newspaper that says ‘Trump wins presidency’, despite that being both a shit headline and an impossibility because the papers were all printed before the results were in.

We’re in the Birmingham Chamber of Commerce office. It says so on the sign. There’s a bloke, well fed in a suit and tie. His desk sign tells us he is Paul Faulkner CEO of the Chamber. Let’s just say he’s made this out of a Toblerone packet much like you may have done playing offices as a kid, because, how would you get one of those these days?  He’s on the phone, but holding it off his ear, hand over the mouthpiece.

“It’s BBC WM on the phone, desperately casting around for a local angle on the Trump election. I’ve told her that Midlands business can help make America ‘great’ again. But now they want an example…”

He has a traditional secretary, glasses and a beehive. She’s bringing him in a cup of tea – with saucer – on a tray. She says:

We’re not sure how this ends, so you can pick your favourite response here. It’ll give you about as much power over what happens next as your average voter.

• “He could get the bricks for his wall at Wickes’s up by the Albion ground?”
• “It’s a pity they’ll now be able to make their dystopian films at home now”
• “Do they like award winning pop-up street food?”
• “I think they are capable of making up their own bullshit.”
• “You can get white sheets for Klan outfits and tin foil for hats at Latifs.”
• “I’m sorry, this retro construct of a scene is so far removed from reality as is the idea that a sensible member of the Birmingham establishment would say something so stupid, that I am unable to suspend disbelief for long enough to comment.”

Interior of the Council House, which you can tell because of the sign that says ‘Council House’.

There is a newspaper — why? no-one knows — on a desk, the headline reads “More Council Budget Cut — they can’t even afford the museum”.

A man is on the phone, it is Leader of the Council John Clancy. He has a name plate.

“Yes you can light up the Library in the colours of the Belgian flag. No, I know we said we couldn’t afford the electric for Paris, but this time  it’s 1/3 extra free.”

David Cameron is in a four-poster bed, wearing a Dickensian nightcap. He’s cuddling a big stuffed toy, which looks a little like a pig. He’s smiling, content snoozy Zs waft up from his chubby face. There’s an old-fashioned medicine bottle on the bedside table, it’s labeled ‘Dr Murdoch’s Neo-liberal Sleep Soundly Juice’, there’s a hardback copy of Hard Times which is covered in cobwebs unread. Readers may like to familiarise themselves with the oeuvre of Mr Dickens to get the most from this cartoon.

In front of him are stood three ghosts, you can tell they are ghosts due to the fact they’re a bit faint. And you can tell what they’re representing as each one has a descriptive sash around them: Albert Bore (Past) wears threadbare clothes and a haunted (gettit) look, Andy Street of John Lewis (Present) is carrying a metaphor for the public’s influence over the region’s economy wrapped up as a gift, and John Clancy (Future) carries a ballot paper for a metro mayor , he doesn’t look too chuffed.

The ghosts are shrugging, because Cameron won’t wake up and listen to them.

In the background a wrecking ball is swinging through Central Library, and some children are crying in front of a dour looking Christmas tree with no decorations. The tree is covered in hazard tape and a sign that says ‘cancelled’.

Caption: Gods bless us all, every one.

Exterior of Birmingham Council House – you can tell it is as the cartoonist has drawn roughly the neo-Venetian curves, but has also added a sign that says ‘Birmingham City Council’. There’s a smaller sign that says ‘Improvement Panel Meeting’.

There are two chaps in hard harts and hi-vis. One is holding a piece of paper that says ‘demolition order’, the other holds a newspaper that says ‘Kerslake report latest’.

“Yes, this is it,” says the second, “ugly, not fit for purpose, out of date and causing a huge blockage to progress. Bring on the wrecking ball.”

Four men in suits and one woman, are waiting for a bus at a request stop. The stop has ‘Birmingham City Council’ on it. Each of the five in the queue have a rosette announcing their names and their candidate status for Council Leader. It doesn’t matter who they are though. It’s raining, they are sad.

In the gutter a paper hyperlocal blog announces the hashtag #Brumleader, it’s melting with the water.

Worse than the rain, the old-fashioned routemaster bus has just driven past the stop, splashing the leadership hopefuls from a puddle. The bus’s destination board says ‘WMCA via Central Government Edict” Driving the bus, grinning inanely in a hat, is stoned chancellor George Osborne, while hanging off the back door pole is John Lewises’s Andy Street. His name is on the conductor’s badge he wears, the tickets flowing from his machine have ‘cuts’, ‘blame’, and ‘Noddy Holder?’ written on them.

One of the interchangeable councillors says to the others, “I thought it was going to be a Metro Mayor”.

The caption reads ‘Too shy to put their hands out.’