Guy Is A Power Broker (Pilot Three)

Bonus Guy makes a bold and illegal move for power.

Transcript

Hello, and welcome to Episode One of ‘Guy Becomes a South Devon Power Broker’ in which I return to my childhood home-town and attempt to be what Guy Snapdragon is to Robert Moses in Torquay what was in New York. 

The A380, the A3022, Torbay Road, Cockington Country Park, Torre Abbey Gardens, Torre Abbey Beach, Babbacombe Downs, Kents Cavern. Guy Snapdragon built all of those. The whole life of Guy Snapdragon has been a drama in the interplay of power and personality. Guy Snapdragon shaped Torquay and the rest of Torbay. But Guy Snapdragon was never elected. How did he do it?

I wrote those words in 2005 for my own obituary. I was 24 and by that point had read 200-plus of the 1,200 pages of Robert Caro’s masterful book about Robert Moses. Caro's work details how Moses, despite never being elected to public office, became one of the most powerful men in New York, shaping the city's landscape through his control of various public authorities. The biography explores Moses's transformation from an idealistic reformer to a master of political maneuvering, revealing how he accumulated and wielded immense power to realise his vision for New York.

It is now 2025. I am 44. I’ve just finished reading the whole Moses book, one page a week, and it’s inspired me to return to Torquay to put into practice my twenty-year-old plan. It’s time for me to live my obituary, literally. It’s time for me to get powerful. Just how will I go about this? Well, I will become a 21st-century Robert Moses, it’s as simple as that. For example, I’m stood right now near the seafront and in my mind I see a crazy golf course. It has 18 holes and a jungle theme. Players navigate through lush, jungle-style landscaping filled with obstacles like bridges, water features, and life-sized models of jungle animals such as tigers, gorillas, chimps, and snakes. The course is designed to be both fun and challenging, with features like water hazards where players can decide whether to retrieve their ball or "leave it to the croc.“ If you think that this all sounds totally shit, then you’re right. But this crazy golf course is an actual thing here in Torquay, people actually pay to use it. Well, I am going to build an eight-lane parkway through here, directly to the beach and connecting with Wellswood, the best neighbourhood in Torquay. It’s going to be beautiful and guess which theatre is directly on the route and will have to be knocked down? That’s right The Princess Theatre is going to have to be destroyed alongside Jungle Journey Adventure Golf and a bunch of homes. I guarantee I’m going to obliterate that theatre, one way or another. Like Robert Moses, I will be racist in my removals. Every single resident in Torquay is white, so I’ll need to be creative. I do know for a fact that there’s an Irish family living on Higher Lincombe Road and I’m going to displace the swear out of them, for the sheer racist thrill of it. 

Power without punishment is power wasted. I just came up with that. It’s not very good.

I did lots of preparation in 2005. I was always looking. Always taking notes. Knowledge is power. I have so much leverage over the people who control this town already, and I’m simply going to extend this to get what I want. And what I want is power, and to knock down The Princess Theatre. I also have one thing that Robert Moses never had: Google Drive. On Google Drive I have saved all of my notes on the great and the good of Torquay, from 2005, in alphabetical order.

For example, Adrian Sanders is the Member of Parliament for Torbay and he’s had Type 1 diabetes since 1990. There’s an exploitable sugar weakness, right there. Sanders replaced Rupert Allason, a conniving little shit, as MP in 1997 by just twelve votes. But I’m familiar not only with the politicians. I know everything of the 2005 businesses of Torquay, of those who control the money. Here’s some excerpts from my annotated copy of the 2005 edition of the Yellow Pages, based on my extensive research and snooping.

Abbey Road Garage. They aren't paying their taxes. 
Adams & Son’s Butchers. They put pigs' willies in their sausages. 
Acorn Antiques Restoration. The wife's having an affair with a much younger man. So is the husband.
Babbacombe Model Village. Safer than being in a hot air balloon above a real village. I adore this place and am going to buy it some day.
Bayview Bed & Breakfast. You'll often find him drunk by 11am. She doesn’t start drinking until mid-afternoon, but gets into a worse state than him by the end of the day. Surprisingly efficient operation, given everything.
Belgrave Road Hair Studio. Money laundering operation. 
Café Riviera. Not a clean place, but they know about me so cannot blackmail.
Carlton Hotel & Spa. Their air conditioning leaks. 
Compton Carpets & Flooring. He has sweaty hands and his favourite year was 1982. Coincidence?
Daisy Chain Florists. His brother probably did a murder in 1978.
Danvers Dairy Supplies. Massive earlobes.
De Ye Olde Chocolate Shoppe, with an ‘e’ in shop, Don't buy fudge from there because apparently he puts his cock in the mix for kicks. Their toffee is good, though.
Direct Plumbing Solutions. You can get cocaine there too. 
Eastgate Dental Practice. Check your change carefully before you leave. 
Fairlight Funeral Directors. He's a bit of an ice-cream vendor, if you know what I mean. 
Falcon Taxis. Gets pretty angry when people are sick in the back seat, or the front seat.
Fisher & Co. Opticians. Believes only 600 jews died during the Holocaust. Great frame selection.
Garden View Landscaping. Wipes snot on his right hand. Hosts The Sky At Night.
Goodwins Estate Agents. Postcard stealer. 
Harmony Yoga Studio. Member of Mensa and visits Stonehenge every Monday morning even though it’s a five-hour round-trip. Why doesn’t she just move closer?
Image Printing Services. Can do quadratic equations in his head. Was once engaged to a woman from Somerset, but she broke it off four days before the wedding.
Ingram’s Auto Repairs. Saved a dog from drowning and saw Alanis Morrisette at a really small venue. These events happened on different days and were not related. 
Jasmine Beauty Salon. Clearly in over her head. 
Kay’s Kidswear Boutique. Fucked a zebra in Tanzania once. 
Keystone Locksmiths. Can juggle but categorically and aggressively unwilling to dress up as a clown, even for 50 pounds an hour.
Lavender Health Foods. Worked for The Daily Mirror between 1992 and 1996. 
Lighthouse Marine Supplies. Graduated magma cum laude in History from Durham University, but has always rebelled against any authority and so has, throughout his life, failed to reach his potential. IQ isn’t everything.
Mayfield IT Support. Translates Russian literature into English, as a hobby. 
Neptune Fish & Chips. Nobel prize winner in physics in 1993. Responsible for Torquay’s infamous 2001 e-coli outbreak.
Newton Office Supplies. Cried during the Shawshank Redemption. 
Nuffield Health Physio Clinic. Won £20 on this year's Grand National. 
Ocean Breeze Guest House. Has a collection of over 700 LPs. 
Orion Photographic Studio. Terminal cancer but doesn't know yet. 
Premier Launderette. Feeds pigeons, shoots seagulls. 
Quick-fix Shoe Repairs. His friends call him Hugh Hefner behind his back, ironically. 
Riviera Cleaning Services. Watches the sitcom M*A*S*H on repeat. 
Rockfield Roofing. Was on Countdown in 1993, but lost at the conundrum. Never properly recovered and gets violent if you just hum the Countdown clock music.
Rusty Anchor Pub. Was stung by a big bee as a child. Scared of them now and hates the summer.
Sandringham Curtains & Blinds. WorkS for MI5. 
Sea View Property Management. Has an autograph from Brian Blessed. 
South Devon Garden Fencing. I don't know anything about her. 
Tania’s Bridal Boutique. Lost her septum a few months ago and also doesn’t like the Millennium Dome, even though she’s been four times. 
Templer Heating & Plumbing. Doesn't pay for his TV license and is 5 foot eleven inches tall.
Torbay Mobility Aids. Manager for his son's football team. He’s scared of dying, brackets but then again, who isn’t? Close brackets.
Torquay Baking Company. They run out of egg-custards by noon every single day. Why on earth don’t they just make more, it’s so frustrating. Some of us don’t get to the bakery until later and why do bakers assume that everybody needs everything first thing in the morning? Supermarkets don’t run out of Rice Krispies in the afternoon, so what gives bakers the right to run out of half their products before the day is even half-done? I like to have my cake in the afternoon and eat it in the evening, but apparently I don’t deserve to get to choose from a full selection of options but I just get to pick the cakes that nobody else wants. I’m so sick of eating gingerbread men. GS Entrepreneur note: set up a bakery which opens at 3pm and closes at 10pm. Call it ‘Night Owl Loaf’ or ‘Night Owl Bakeshop’ or ‘Night Owl Nibbles’ or ‘Night Owl Pastries’ or ‘Night Owl Crust’ or ‘Night Owl Oven’ or ‘Night Owl Dough’ or ‘Night Owl Parlour’ or ‘Guy’s Golden Loaf’.  
Upton Newsagents. Their roof leaks, even when it hasn’t rained for days. Plenty of pornography stocked in the backroom, however niche your requirements.
Ursula’s Craft Corner. Supposed to open at 9am during the week but you'll be lucky if she’s there before 10. 
Valley Road Garage. Gets migraines. 
Vanguard Securities. Their till makes a funny noise when it opens. 
Vintage Vinyl Records. Has a collection of over 700 LPs.
Walnut Tree Café. Always seems to be 68-years old, like Mick Jagger.
Waterfront Gallery. Nicknamed Bono because he wears sunglasses all day, even throughout inclement weather. 
Xpress Print & Copy Centre. Was in the army and is still intense. Voted most likely to have PTSD at the Torbay Business Association’s 2004 annual awards dinner.
Yarcombe Waste Management. Has a fetish about jodhpours. 
York Street Newsagents. Everything in there is out of date. Still accepts cheques. Votes in local elections.
Zodiac Suits. Has a closing down sale every year, but always stays open. GS to check if this is legal. If not, blackmail. 
Zorba Greek Takeaway. Blood stain on the carpet, almost certainly non-human. 
Zulu Fashion Accessories. Believes in reincarnation, but not anti-perspirant. 

Just imagine what I can do with this information; the opportunities for blackmail and power are ginormous. In the next episode I’ll be visiting Bayview Bed & Breakfast with some whisky and getting a new suit from Zodiac Suits, let’s see what kind of discount they’ll offer me after I threaten them. I’m also going to finally buy the Babbacombe Model Village and make it much bigger. Not too big, obviously. That would defeat the purpose. But big enough to demonstrate how I’m going to make Torquay the biggest city in the world without a theatre. The other 55 businesses have closed down since 2005, so I won’t be visiting any of them.

This isn’t a series is it? Why am I doing a pilot for something that doesn’t have legs, doesn’t have at least 100 episodes? This Pilot has no chance of being picked up, does it? Even I can see that. I don’t think it’s easy to get a mortgage on a model village, especially with my credit rating. I’m no Robert Moses, I can’t even swim, let alone be a power broker. I don’t have Moses’ energy and people skills. Did Robert Moses need two 90-minute naps every day? My focus is all over the place. Moses had a relentlessness that my generation just cannot replicate.

I cannot fathom why my Home Improvement and Childbirth pilots haven’t been picked up yet, though. Surely there’s some podcast executives out there who can see the potential? They say that you need to get a niche podcast audience, to know your listeners. Well, are two centimetres dilated women in the act of birthing not niche enough, as an audience? Give a Guy a break, won’t you, for the love of christ. Somebody, just give me a proper swear podcast series.

Anyway, I’ve been Guy. I’m stood outside of The Princess Theatre, and I’m going to blow you up, theatre. If any of you are coming tonight to watch the last surviving chuckle brother perform his show, ‘To Me’, I’d only book the babysitter for a couple of hours, if you know what I mean. You might want to leave at the intermission, is all I’m saying, however entertaining the last surviving chuckle brother is. The second half of the show could get explosively loud and the damage in the auditorium won’t be limited in extent. What I’m getting at is, I’m planting a bomb there right now, with a view to blowing the place up. You’ll be fine in the first half of the last surviving chuckle brother’s show, assuming I’ve set the timer correctly, but at 21:20 hours that huge bomb will explode and it won’t be safe any more. Essentially, what I’m hinting at, if you read between the lines, is that I’m going to physically destroy the whole of The Princess Theatre, plus much of the required route for my eight-lane parkway, this evening at 9:20pm, Friday 25 July 2025, using this hugely effective 55 megaton thermo-nuclear bomb, during the last performance of the last surviving chuckle brother. Overkill? Perhaps, but Moses chooses over- rather than under-kill any day of the week. Power without punishment is power wasted.

Goodbye, and remember that he who chuckles last chuckles longest.