MORE than 50 years ago Columbia Pictures released a delightful comedy about a tiny country that devised a novel idea to get itself out of an economic mess.

The Mouse That Roared starred Peter Sellers in not one but three roles – Grand Duchess Gloriana XII, Field Marshall Count Rupert Mountjoy and the Prime Minister of Grand Fenwick, Tully Bascombe.

The fictional Duchy of Grand Fenwick, at just three miles by five, had the distinction of being the smallest nation in the world and was located in the Alps between France and Switzerland. Being something of a late developer, the national wealth depended entirely on a rather special pinot wine.

To cut short a long but extremely funny story, when a cheap Californian-produced rip-off of the Duchy’s own label leads to Grand Fenwick’s economic collapse, Mountjoy, as commander-in-chief, comes up with a plan to declare war on the United States. The idea is to surrender immediately and reap the benefit of vat-loads of American aid.

The only problem is that they win the ‘war.’

Mountjoy and his 20-strong force – armed only with bows and arrows and dressed in medieval chainmail – land in New York during a nationwide nuclear air raid drill, can’t find anyone to surrender to and are mistaken for invading aliens.

In this hapless state, they nonetheless manage to capture not just America’s most secret weapon of mass destruction, but the scientist who invented it, to use as an invaluable bargaining tool in the subsequent peace talks, which in true silver screen fashion end very much in Grand Fenwick’s favour.

There are many occasions in Jersey’s political life that cause me to recall The Mouse That Roared, especially when the Island launches itself on the outside world to bat above its average.
How I have long wished to be a fly on the wall in Whitehall –or some government office in our new ‘best buddy’ countries in China or India – when the delegation from Jersey turns up. Are they really treated as equals, or does the money to be made here speak louder than our insignificant standing in world matters?

Unlike Grand Fenwick, Jersey is not an impoverished backward nation run by a coterie of hereditary autocrats (although establishment theorists may differ). However, it does keep all its eggs in one basket, and dangerously so, given the risky business that is financial services, as the recent disastrous global economic downturn has demonstrated.

It would be foolhardy to say the least for the Council of Ministers to declare war on America, even if the TA Unit is far better armed than Tully’s forces and the Chief Minister was recently in situ to deliver our ultimatum. Nonetheless, having managed to upset just about all the inhabitants of this little rock in the past week or so, diversionary tactics are likely to be looking an attractive prospect.

While their leader has been partaking of a big breakfast sunny-side up Stateside, the Chuckle Brothers and those who make up the numbers in the Laughter Factory have been causing mayhem and unrest among the population. Nothing new really, but this time they may have taken at least two steps too far.

The army of blue- and white-collar workers, not forgetting the already militant teachers, are up in arms following last week’s announcement of making £50 million cuts in public spending even before anyone has come up with any specific savings.

Outside the metropolis, the usually placid burghers of the vingtaines and cueillettes are threatening to march to the Royal Square at the States’ bizarre decision not to give them an extra day to celebrate the Liberation.

That really is rich for a body of people who manage to get away almost as much as Judith Chalmers when they should be at work!

Then along comes the Comptroller and Auditor General, Chris Swinson, with a dollop of icing for the cake in the form of a warning that unless the Laughter Factory gets a grip, then GST must go up to 12%. That lot get a grip? Give me a bow and arrow and point me in the direction of New York.

As the walls tumble down around us, just what did our beloved politicians devote their attention to last week? They decided to tackle global warming.

For a lump of rock not much bigger than Grand Fenwick, just what the hell would any contribution we could realistically make do to halt the melting of polar ice caps and all the other disaster movie scenarios purported to be coming our way soon?

Forty-two of our beloved politicians were moved to support Deputy Daniel Wimberley’s projet to consider the Copenhagen summit of climate change on the strength of a 1,000-signature petition. Yet previously the States ignored the 7,000 people who formed a Line in the Sand to call for protection of the Island’s coastline – not forgetting the more than 10,000 who signed a petition asking them to save Plémont headland. Confused? Join the club.

Or has this ‘Mary, Mary quite contrary’ nature at last revealed the way to influence Members’ thought processes?

When it comes to making decisions, it is not the size of public opinion at home that matters, but the prospect of getting to play with the big boys in the global league.

If the western world can’t agree on how to combat climate change – let alone reach a consensus that global warming is caused by human activity and is not just a natural cycle of life on earth – why have the States committed money that could be better spent elsewhere on yet another report aimed at formulating what will be a pretty useless policy?

The answer to combating the threat of rising seas levels to our crazy little world lies in the countless projects, reports, reviews, strategies, studies, plans, findings of hearings, seminars, panels, workshops and working parties and consultation documents etcetera, etcetera, etcetera gathering dust in the public vaults.

We could pile all these documents, one on top of the other, like sandbags around the low-lying coastal areas, to raise the sea defences by a metre or more – then relax safe and sound behind the solid bureaucratic barrier as the sea levels rise.