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For earlier Chapters and an explanation of this dreadful story, see full blog: The Cardiff Grandma. WARNING: This novel contains fake Welsh.
In the previous episode, The Vice-chancelor orders Peppet around. Next, that sinking feeling…

The Cardiff Grandma Chapter 29
The subsidence had already began. It had been going on for some time in fact. The relevant local council departments and government ministries, all the ones with a vested interest, had played down any talk of such talk. While, to the likes of the Vice-chancellor and those around him that he surrounded himself with, corruption wasn’t a dirty word; subsidence certainly was. So much so that the Vice had banned all future mention of it in all the future.

Rumours of things, people, buildings, places, sheep even, disappearing into the earth were attributed to a lone gossipmonger with a grudge. At the same time news of increased national wealth generation and profitability were played firmly up. Of course to talk of news was misleading. For years what was presented as news had been little more than a well-blended toxic cocktail of prodigious quantities of ‘celebrity gossip’ subtley laced with government press releases and corporate PR and garnished with coming attractions. Thirsty viewers did not savour the subtle nuances but chug-a-lugged it like so much – so very much! – cheap Beer‚. This state of affairs made it easier to control the status quo and change it at will, which suited those in a position to be suited, those with vested interests who now wanted the trousers and jacket as well.

There were always a few small set-ups who wouldn’t play ball and report on the things they were told to. In Wales, Channel 12 was one such TV station. While careful not to let on for fear of it going straight to her head and staying there, the top brass at Channel 12 were placing all their hopes on the young Samantha Panther. She was something of a rising star in the narrow world of independent Welsh news media.

The powers that be (in power) tolerated the independent broadcasters – to a point. They kept an eye and ear on their output but it suited them to let the small outfits think they were free to do as they pleased. The small outfits were no where near as impressive as the suited vested interests of the soon to be trousered big boys, and when push came to shove, the small outfits would rip in the seat.