In part one of chapter six, the bull herd learned what was in store for them at the bullring, find out what happens next in part two.
The birds finished briefing the bulls, and picked up lots of good attacking ideas from Randy, Tommy and Neil – who liked to be called Dud the Stud. They also got some not so good ideas from the bull that defended Kenny, the one they called, Interesting Bob. Their visit to the first farm over, they spent the rest of the day touring the other five farms, meeting with similar responses in each one – except for any more reactions like Kenny or Jenny’s.
Returning to Margarita’s house from the last farm, they flew over a big villa with a kidney-shaped swimming pool at the back. Standing by the pool munching at a bale of hay, was a type of bull they’d not seen in these parts before – a wee highland coo – with an orange-crested hoopoe bird perched between the horns on his shaggy head!
Intrigued as to what this long-haired ginger animal was doing so far south, they landed by the pool to take a look. The birds said hello, and the wee highland coo introduced himself.
“Oh, hi there, fet like loons – how are you? My name’s Andy, Wee Andy to ma pals, but as you can see, I don’t have any pals aroond here – apart from Wee Ally my hoopoe friend here. He eats all the wee bugs in my fur.” Andy went on to explain that his owner was a well known Scottish film star, and that he’d been flown to Spain from Inverness – where he used to live by the banks of Loch Ness. “It’s okay doon here boys, but I sure miss the glens – and the smell of the long, deep loch and the whisky distillery.”
To give Yul a rest. Bluey told Dickie and Mucky’s tale this time, and, having heard the story Andy promised to do all he could to help them.
“There’s one thing in particular I’ve got in mind, that might come in very handy on the day of the battle.”
With the roundup underway on both sides of the Mediterranean, Margarita and her team set to work in the town to address the list of problems passed to them at the meeting. She began by calling another meeting the following lunchtime, this time with more attendees than the night before, because word had spread. Margarita had been an active member of the SSPCA for a number of years, and had fought a long campaign to stop the bullfighting and bird shooting. Her group had last protested at the bullring on the opening day of the new season, waving banners and shouting at the officials as they herded the six bulls into the corral outside the ring. As they talked about that protest, the group realised they would need to do a lot more than just wave banners in nine days’ time, to play their part in the battle that the birds had envisaged. Margarita split this second meeting into three sections: logistics, media and espionage. First she spoke about logistics.
“Right, we’ll start by drawing up a list of anything we might need. Here, Rosa, you start writing on the board.”
Rosa grabbed two coloured felt-tip pens, and began to create a logistics list.
“Okay,” continued Margarita, “We need hundreds of posters. We need mail-shots, fliers and security guards’ uniforms. Oh, and of course we need to get hold of some microphones too. Can you and Colette look after those for us, and keep adding to the list as we think of other things?” “Now then.” Margarita drew a deep breath, and moved onto the next item on the agenda. “Media. I’ll take charge of the media aspects, as I work for the television company. Susannah and Joanna can give me a hand. We want maximum coverage of this event. We want it so big, that the whole of Europe will know what Valera and other people like him are up to. Leave the media and marketing to me. I’ve got a few ideas I think could work really well.”
Margarita moved onto the last item on the agenda. Espionage. “Right then, this is a tough cookie, and I want Philippe and Antonio to look after this one. There’s all sorts of things we need to do to ensure the plan runs smoothly. The most dangerous part will probably be getting to all the guns at just the right time. Too quickly and they’ll know something’s up. Too late, and a lot of birds – and bulls – could get killed.”
The main meeting finally broke up, and the fourteen people present split up into their respective sub-groups to go away and tackle their own particular challenges. Margarita, Rosa and Colette went for a walk – from the beach to the bullring – to see what other ideas they could come up with. Once at the beach, Rosa started taking photographs.
“One of the Bar, please Rosa,” requested Margarita. “Oh, and one of each end of the beach. Now let’s see, where could we position an outside broadcasting unit? Ah, over there, next to that old Moorish ruin. That’ll give us an excellent view, and it’s a safe enough distance away from the centre of the beach where all the action will be taking place.”
The reconnaissance of the beach complete, the women walked back along the road that led to the town, scribbling notes and taking more photographs as they went along.
“We should be able to run a truck down that side road over there,” considered Margarita, then exclaimed, “No! Even better than that, why don’t we try and get hold of a helicopter – and take shots from the air!”
The television and media aspects of the plan were taking shape. That left marketing.
“Right, we need to think of a way of enticing every single person out of the town and onto the beach before eight o’clock in the morning. What can we do to achieve that?”
The three members of the SSPCA entered the town, and walked through the streets that were normally used for the bull-runs. “We need to think of something so good that not one single man, woman or child will be able to resist going to the beach. Now what could it be?”
Just as the group racked their brains for the vital missing link in their marketing equation, the missing link presented itself. The town’s streets had cleared of people in the time it had taken to walk to the bullring, and why? Because their favourite programme was on the television – one of the shows that Margarita had helped to produce!
“I’ve got it,” Margarita whispered excitedly, “We need something on television at that time of the morning. Not something that makes them stay at home and watch the programme, but something that makes them think that the rest of Spain will be watching them! I know! We’ll organise an event down at the beach and get it on national TV. That Scottish film star who lives at the big villa down the road. You know. The one with the shaggy little bull, with the funny bird that sits on its head all the time. Oh, what’s his name? Let’s get him down there to do a live interview on breakfast TV.”
