DOME FLAKS

RUN FOR COVER

Charlotte Edwardes exposes the cowardice

of those who sold us the Greenwich puffball

NOW isn't that odd? Before 1 January there were, by the organisers' own admis- sion, 'at least' 100 public relations compa- nies involved in promoting the merits. of the Dome. And if we estimate conserva- tively that hype, promotion, spin and PR consumed 10 per cent of the £1 billion budget, then it is clear that the Dome has been, for them, exceedingly good business.

And before the disaster of 1 January, to be fair to the PR persons, they did a very good job of raising expectations. Among other things, we were promised by the New Millennium Experience Com- pany that the Dome would be a cross between `Disneyworld, the Festival of Britain and the Giza pyramid, launching with a glittering gala on the eve of the new Millennium'.

Since then the public has disagreed. Descriptions have ranged from 'a hellhole' to 'a flattened breast' to (the heir to the throne) 'a monstrous blancmange'. Atten- dance figures do not augur well. As for those who promoted the Dome, who bagged huge exposure from linking their names with this government project, where are they? We can expect a pregnant silence from Mr Blair, who once said that the Dome should be 'the first line of Labour's next election manifesto'. Having offered condo- lences to 'the VIPs and ordinary people' kept waiting at Stratford, Lord Falconer has decided to clam up. It is the privilege of politicians to tiptoe from disaster.

Jennie Page, the chief executive of the NMEC, has taken a fair share of the blame, even exonerating Mike Lockett of Live Productions, who was paid £4 million to organise the capital's most swanky party, for the shambles on Millennium eve. But what about the flaks, the hypesters, the PR boys and girls, whose skills are needed now more than ever? You never saw such a scuttling for cover.

`We had our own in-house PR but there were many other independent agents involved,' says Deborah Oliver, corporate relations director of the NMEC. 'Many of the sponsors used their own PRs. Others were employed to do regional PR for the Dome. I can't begin to list them all.' Mars Confectionery used a 'Brand PR' for their Dome sponsorship campaign. However, a spokesman is coy: 'I don't think I can tell `Gentlemen, Hell is now full. Any suggestions?' you which PR company we use for that. No, I can't give out that information.' Press officers from Boots rushed out statements distancing themselves from the mess, and refusing to pay fees until the attractions were improved. 'But they approved their zones before the criticisms flooded in,' grumbles a government adviser.

Among the well-known independents were Matthew Freud, who sat on the elite `executive committee', Belinda Harley, for- mer media adviser to the Prince of Wales, and former Sun newspaper editor, Stuart Higgins. Stuart Higgins set up his own PR company when he quit journalism. He organised a Dome preview party for VIPs and 'opinion formers' two weeks before the Millennium launch. Messages left at his Teddington offices are unreturned, but a Stuart Higgins Communications employee finally admits: 'He doesn't want to talk about it, even to give details of what he did. It's his decision.' Clearly the assistant has been strictly briefed, `I'm not sure what we did really; we all work on different projects here.'

In September, Belinda Harley also organ- ised a preview visit to the Dome, which included a boat trip and lavish lunch, on behalf of NMEC. Then, it is said, she glowed with premature satisfaction at her role in such a high-profile event. Now she is cooler. 'I am not a PR. I have not done PR for ten .years,' she says. 'I do charity galas and mainly work as a literary agent. I'm not keen on being confused with these Dome PRs because my clients will freak out.'

Defining her part, Harley explains: The difference is that PRs are people who pro- mote things and spin doctor things. I only organised a trip to the Dome ages ago, but this came under my work as an event man- ager, not PR. We do events without press and the advance preview of the Dome was for a mixture of "individuals". There were no journalists.'

Among those 'individuals' were BBC Radio Four's James Naughtie and Sue MacGregor, the writer Freddie Forsyth and the Spectator and Daily Telegraph columnist Frank Johnson. Belinda is well- connected, she reminds me. 'I am a very good friend of Kimberly Fortier, The Spec- tator's publisher,' she warns, adding: 'The people who PR-ed the event are people like Matthew Freud — I mean, he was actually on the board.' However, an associ- ate of Matthew Freud tells me: 'Oh Matthew was only really involved at the beginning. He came up with ideas and advice — he's not responsible for the open- ing night.' Furthermore, his company, Freud Communications, are anxious to point out their work directly with the Dome was in an 'unofficial' capacity. They refused to use A-list clients on their invita- tion list for fear they wouldn't turn up. Freud himself now blames the media, and feels that the Dome's own in-house PR was not sufficiently 'proactive'.

Freud was of course happy enough to attend himself, though not with the crowds at Stratford station. His entourage, which included Elisabeth Murdoch, were whisked past the crowds in a Winnebago and dropped at a meeting point where a luxury car picked him up and delivered him to the entrance well in time to accept congratulations, broach the crates of champagne and indulge in a schmoozing hug-frenzy with Tony Blair and Peter Mandelson. One of his henchmen was spotted kissing John Prescott's jowl.

Those who abstained from the Dome PR orgy are hugging themselves with relief. 'Thank God we didn't get involved,' a source from a well-known company says. `Given the outcome I don't think anyone would want to be connected with it. The mop-up operation has been the worst perhaps they should've hired more PRs to deal with that. I suppose the real question is how many PRs involved will put the Dome on their client list.'

Privately, one PR explains: 'The point of public relations or promoting publicity is to get attention for the event. Obviously the cream of PR were attracted by such a high-profile project but it's not our fault if the product turns out to be bad. If you think about it, it's not our responsibility.'

If the Nineties was the decade of public relations, then perhaps the Dome was the industry's defining moment. Perhaps peo- ple will wake up — as they are waking up in the world of politics — to the gap between spin and delivery. Perhaps it will be grasped that these PR dynamos are really interested only in promoting them- selves. Their faces adorn Sunday-supple- ment covers, they are photographed by the paparazzi, they date the rich and famous. Still the industry grows, having trebled its client-base across the board in the last ten years and expanded 15 per cent a year. And, they insist, they work for our good. Max Clifford, for example, says he works in the public's interest, though he admits he is, sometimes, 'economical with the truth'.

The less direct Matthew Freud grandly told Peter Mandelson at the height of Homeloan-gate, The one person you can't spin is yourself.' Which is cobblers. Freud has built a career out of spinning himself, starting with wrapping his pet python round his neck and hiring himself out to parties. A brief survey of Freud's clients shows that Planet Hollywood has gone bust; Bridget Jones the sequel bombed and Chris Evans and Geri Halliwell are among the most popularly mistrusted people in Britain after faking a romance as a publici- ty stunt. Yet the rise and rise of Matthew Freud continues. 'The day I become the story I will quit,' he says. After 18 months of sustained publicity, he remains firmly in situ at his Soho offices.

Of course he is not alone. He is the male version of the thrusting PR girls who promoted themselves by boasting of their celebrity contacts. Sophie Wessex, Sarah Macaulay, Lynne Franks, Liz Brewer and Aurelia Cecil are all now more famous than their clients. By their very celebrity, these PRs have unmasked the mechanics of their craft, and exposed their clients to an increasingly cynical public.

The old school consider this the worst crime. 'Discretion is everything,' says a retired publicist, who even now prefers anonymity.' We prided ourselves on being invisible and the industry didn't have an inch of glamour. It was once a perfectly innocent activity.' Beverly Benson, who has been in the business for 35 years, says, 'When I started in PR, it was the domain of ex-army officers, ex-hacks and what I used to call the "gin-and-tonic and suede shoes set".'

The job, she says, was socially mal vu. 'I remember attending dinner parties in the country with doctors and lawyers and when I said I was in PR they would be aghast. It was a below the salt profession. They would literally turn and talk to someone else.'

Then the Nineties fast-talkers arrived, feeding the new media hunger for showbiz stories and glamour. Taunting journalists with their control over celebrity access, they strike deals to suppress what's damag- ing and plant what's favourable, and they are, for now, the story. 'People like Freud and Clifford have turned the PR on them- selves,' says Benson, adding reassuringly, `But there are far more powerful PRs out there whose names you will never hear.'

And if there is one thing that can encourage a little old-fashioned discretion in the braggarts, it is a fiasco on the scale of the Dome, whose cavern somehow sym- bolises the emptiness of their craft. It is certainly causing, for the moment, a glori- ous silence.