The Crunch Campaign by Kate Hunter Page A

say to her? I told her I’ve got a solution to childhood obesity that’s better than the government’s ad ban. She probably has a hundred advisors who’ve done years of research and I’m going to come up with an idea that the PM will go for? No way is she going to say, “Hang on a minute everyone, this kid from Brisbane’s got it sorted.”’
    Dominic scratched his head.
    â€˜It’s just not a fair fight,’ she continued. ‘The junk food companies spend about a bazillion dollars on their ads, and the healthy food people don’t have that kind of cash.’
    â€˜Parfitt’s don’t have that kind of cash either,’ he pointed out.
    â€˜And that’s another reason the ban is unfair.’
    Dominic pulled a bean bag over next to hers. ‘Okay, let’s think about this differently.’
    The night was getting colder. Katie shivered and wished she’d worn a jumper.
    â€˜Do you want my shirt?’ asked Dom.
    â€˜No.’ She looked away. ‘I’m all right.’ The silence was awkward and she rushed to fill it. ‘Maybe – maybe it’s about making the fight a fair one.’
    â€˜Like how?’
    An idea took shape in her mind, like clay on a potter’s wheel and she leapt to her feet. ‘Okay, how’s this? Instead of banning ads, the government makes a few changes, just to even things up.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    â€˜What if the fruit people and the milk guys and the vegie farmers had more money for their ads?’
    â€˜Good idea, but where does the money come from?’
    â€˜Ah, the government –’ Why couldn’t he keep up?
    â€˜Kato, no one’s going to pay higher taxes so pumpkin growers can make better ads.’
    Katie shook her head. He just wasn’t getting it.
    â€˜Anyway, even if you could get the government to contribute to their ad budgets, the amount would be so minuscule it wouldn’t make any difference. Caesar Maxwell and his mates would just spend more on MyFries ads.’
    â€˜No, I’m not talking about the government paying for better ads for fresh, good food – I think the junk food companies should contribute.’
    A smile crept across Dominic’s face. ‘That’s smart, Kato.’
    Any bit of praise energised her. ‘So this is what happens. The government makes junk food companies pay a tax.’
    â€˜People hate taxes, Kato. You can’t call it a tax.’
    â€˜Okay, not a tax – we’ll call it a levy.’
    â€˜The Lettuce Levy!’ Dominic was enjoying himself.
    Katie walked in small circles, thinking fast, getting it clear in her head. ‘Let’s say MyFries spends ten million a year on advertising. They have to pay a percentage, say ten per cent, into a fund that goes to help farmers make decent ads for fresh food.’
    â€˜Who makes the ads?’
    â€˜We could – any agency could. The thing is, this idea levels the playing field. Less money for chips, more for chops.’
    â€˜Are chops healthy?’
    â€˜Sure,’ she said, ‘as long as you don’t fry them with chips.’
    â€˜Okay.’ He laughed. ‘I get it.’
    â€˜And they’d be great ads, because they’d be made by people who know advertising – they wouldn’t be lame old eat this because it’s good for you lectures.’
    â€˜It all sounds cool to me. But you know Parfitt’s would be classed as a junk food company, so they’d have to pay the levy.’
    â€˜So what? They’ve got hardly any money for advertising as it is. And they’ve got a smart agency who can do a lot with just a little. By paying the levy happily, Parfitt’s is saying, we want people to eat healthily. Great PR. Companies who object to paying the levy will look seriously bad.’
    â€˜Caesar Maxwell will hate it.’
    â€˜Of course he will. The last thing he wants is to