Who: Parkin-Miracles (Des, Janine, Gwen and Charlie) What: Sunday supper and political planning When: 4 February 2000 Where: The Parkin-Miracle abode in Wigtown Warnings: None! It's a family-friendly evening!
"'Solid self-promoter,'" Desmond quoted, passing the potatoes. "I suppose that's marginally more positive than 'shameless self-promoter.' Really, Peggy Urquhart's article was a delight. If she weren't so good at what she does, I'd say she has a future in humour, though I suppose she could always segue into that eventually given the family's publishing empire."
He applied himself to his roast, adding, "There was a time I thought I'd have to miss her when I moved on. I suppose Graham felt the same, given his sudden craving for politics."
"I've always said Peggy's one to watch," Gwen added with proprietary pride. "Some members of the media could learn a lot from her professionalism." She tilted her wine glass to Charlie across the table, though her eyes were still on her father. "Of course, with Graham in the mix, we can't rely on my dear friend Peggy to be entirely unprejudiced in her reporting on the appointment. 'Silence during the war' -- no mention of her family's wartime activities or lack thereof, I note."
"Ahhh, but Graham is a war hero of the Grindlewald era. Why should we care what he did during the recent war, which our entire community is still recovering from, when we could talk about a war half his prospective constituents weren't even alive for?"
His tone might be considered rather light for the subject, but this was a dinner conversation with grandchildren present. "Though to be frank, I'm unsure how being a war hero qualifies one for politics anyhow. Is there another war on the way that I wasn't informed about? It wouldn't be the first time, I suppose."
"Merlin I should hope not." Janine knew that her husband was being facetious, of course, but she still thought the sentiment ought to be stopped right there. No sense tempting fate.
"War hero just sounds... exotic, perhaps. To those who weren't alive to know just what things go into the making of said heroes." Heroes were people who got others killed, more often than not. "Especially if you add in Grindelwald, who is nothing more than the bogeyman of old stories, these days."
“-Alright Dad, early polls give you decent odds. They don't match up with my polls but I picked a very limited sample.” Charlie twirled his quill to indicate this table here. “Who had almost unrealistically high hopes for you. And byyyyy the way, Urquhart isn't the only one with kids in the business of media making you look good. I hear your son is a handsome radio host but we may have the inside track on someone with experience in handling publicity. Dreadfully boring job, I know, who would pick it, but hey maybe useful, who knows.”
"How very convenient," Desmond observed with a sly glance at his wife. "I knew having children would pay off one day.
"What are your thoughts then, Gwen?" He drummed his fingers once on the table and said, "On one hand, since it's Shacklebolt making the appointment that means it's only one person to convince. On the other hand," and he grimaced faintly, "it is Shacklebolt. He's not your common or garden variety Minister, and can be difficult to predict as a result."
Gwen threw a withering glance Charlie's direction, but his needling wasn't worth any true snark when there were more interesting matters to focus on. She finished buttering a piece of white bread for her finicky eater David while she considered the issue from her professional perspective. "Shacklebolt is the one doing the appointing, but you can bet he has his eye on the pulse of the voting public, particularly after the success of the referendum," she answered, wiping her fingers neatly on her napkin. "The court of public opinion is nothing to sneeze at for a Minister. You don't actually have to convince Shacklebolt you're the logical choice, if Scotland believes that you are."
"Is Granddad going to be Minister for Magic?" Anna piped up from her booster seat. She was patiently smashing her peas into mush in the hopes that it would look like she'd eaten more of them than she actually had. "Are you going to move to London, Gran?"
Janine glanced at her granddaughter with some surprise, though she tried to conceal it down to just a mere raised eyebrow. It shouldn't have really come as any sort of shock that the younger ones at the table (or one of them, at least) could at least partially follow along with this conversation.
"I should think not," she shook her head. "To either count." Granted, magical travel made such distances much easier to traverse, but she was still rather fond of where they had settled.
"Granddad wants to be Minister for Scotland," Desmond said, smiling at his granddaughter over steepled hands. He did like it when the next generation took part. Among other things, it was excellent training. "If I get it, I'll need to keep living in Scotland. So unless I annoy Gran very much, she'll still be living here too."
A look to Desmond, then, and a small smile at how freely he admitted his wishes here, among safe company. It was refreshing, especially as she knew how he played everything so close to his chest otherwise. "And even if Granddad does annoy me too much," Janine added, playfully, "I'd move back to Caerphilly long before I chose London."
Charlie paused in making faces at a giggling David to whisper (not at all quietly) to Anna. "Which means we'll need to learn Welsh properly so we better hope Granddad doesn't annoy Grandma too much, right?"
Anna wrinkled her nose at her uncle. "Yeah. Scots don't speak Welsh." She went back to mushing her peas into paste. "Granddad, when you're Minister for Scotland, can we change the laws? I think children should be allowed to stay up late and play games with the adults."
"Ministers don't have any authority over bedtimes," Gwen told her daughter dryly. "Stop playing with your food and eat it, Anna." She handed another bit of bread to David. "If you want, Dad, I can set you up with a journalist with a little more motivation than my dear friend Peggy had to write a flattering profile of you. I'm sure all the candidates the Prophet named will be flooded with press until Shacklebolt makes his appointment, but we can certainly give you a boost if we lean on the right angles."
Des nodded in approval, both of the offer and of Gwen's impeccable cultivation of resources. She had a journalist for every story, and often two. "Everyone will be sick of our names by the end of the month, but at least they'll know them and what we claim we stand for. Theoretically, at least, there's no such thing as bad publicity." He gave Charlie a look, fairly certain he'd get another offer there by the end of dinner, if not sooner.
"Parkin gets you good Quidditch name recognition but you really missed out on the campaign slogans by not going with Miracle," Charlie teased his father. "I mean if you want you can come by my show...-and yes okay Gwen approval first since we want to make you look good. Radio isn't your best side exactly and I wouldn't be able to interview you properly." Properly being with plenty of good-natured digs and poorly translated Parkinparseltongue. "But it would show a good humoured family man side that I really think will win over your naysayers..." Hey, he had to try.
Not his best side was an understatement. While the jokes about translating for him were just that, it was a fact that Desmond did better either on paper, where he could use whatever flowery speech he liked, or in person, where body language and hand gestures could help clarify. Not to mention he could look his audience in the face to see if they were getting it.
His particular impediments weren't such that people couldn't understand, for the most part. But all joking aside, it was far easier for the people who knew him, who were in practice. Radio was both too immediate and too impersonal for him to be entirely comfortable with it.
But appearing on Charlie's programme would be much less of a strain than on any other, and only a fool wasted resources. "I'll consider it," Des said, glancing at Gwen. He'd like to get Morven's opinion on the matter as well, so he wasn't going to make any decision tonight. "Suppose it might serve to counteract the appearance of being too political, if done right." He didn't really think it should be an issue, but if it was...
"I'd be wary about putting Dad on the wireless if your audience consisted of more than six maths nerds and Mum," Gwen said to her brother over Anna's head. "As it is, I doubt it'll make a difference one way or another, so if you want to go on, Dad, I don't see an issue with it. I'd still rather get you on paper, though." She rolled the stem of her wine glass between her fingers thoughtfully. "Also, we should work on what kinds of support you can call on from different corners. Anyone who has clout with the Minister or popularity with the Scottish public who'll back you. We can lean gently on that sort of backing -- nothing too overt, you're not actually campaigning for a vote, but the depth of your experience and your network both in and out of the Ministry are what you have over most of the other candidates. Let's use that. I'll send some owls out and get something moving in the Prophet."
She speared a bit of carrot on her fork and pointed it at her father. "I only ask, once you're moving in the rarefied circles of the Scottish department, that you not forget your early supporters. If there should happen to be a job opening for a new press liaison…" Gwen lifted one shoulder in a delicate shrug.
Desmond smiled. That was his girl. "Portree would collapse without you," he said, not without pleasure -- Gwen deserved better than that team, as he'd been saying all season, and it would be another win against Graham even apart from getting the job over him. "But I might be able to find something."