I set myself a creative writing (non-fiction) exercise. This is the result. This article was originally published on my Substack newsletter, Eclecticism. It would be great if you could subscribe — it’s free.
It’s a very rare occasion that finds me attending a large-scale meeting. In my experience, quite often nothing gets done as a result of it. We learn quickly that if someone asks “Who is actually going to do that?”, the Chair is likely to respond, “Good point. How about you?”.
But occasionally I do trot along. Here are my experiences of three such events.
The local political party meeting
A friend of mine persuaded me to attend a local Labour Party meeting, in what was then a very poverty-stricken part of London. (This was back in the days when the only parties obsessed with the colour of people’s skin were the very right-wing ones like the National Front, and the leader of the Labour Party was able to define the word “woman”.)
The only item on the agenda was a talk by Eric Heffer. He was a socialist, and I was not. (This was mainly because the only people I knew who espoused that so-called caring doctrine were the most obnoxious creatures one could meet. Is it too much to ask that anyone who promulgates a particular philosophy could at least try their best to live it?)
Nevertheless, I was impressed by his speech. He painted a picture of a new dawn of civilisation, when the whole world was basking in the sunshine of world socialism. I expected a Welsh choir to start singing at any moment. I had a vision of a Disney rainbow and cartoon butterflies.
At the end of the talk the Chair asked if anyone had any questions.
“Yes!”, shouted some bloke from the back of the hall. “When is the Council going to send someone to fix my bloody window?!”
That was the first and last time I saw a politician lost for words.
It was in that moment that I realised what a great metaphor that question was. It encapsulated everything that is wrong with people who conjure up visions with no inkling of how to get there from where we are.
It reminds me of a lecture I attended in a conference, given by a speaker who, I think, was being paid thousands. At the end of his 45 minute talk I turned to a colleague and said:
“Do you think a fair summary of that talk would be ‘There’s a problem in education and somebody needs to do something about it.’?”
He thought for a moment. “I think that about sums it up”, he replied.
Since that local Party meeting, whenever someone presents me with their vision of Shangri La, I am consumed with but one question:
“Yes, but who’s going to fix the bloody windows?”
The local survey
When we were invited to attend a meeting with someone from the Council, to find out what local improvements we thought should be made, I groaned inwardly. Being a bit of a cynic, and having had extensive dealings with Councils, I lacked the degree of optimism required to look forward to taking part. But on the other hand, to decline the invitation would naturally, and rightly, lead someone to say, subsequently, “Well what right have you to complain? You had the opportunity to air your views, and didn’t.”
So there we were in this local hall, sitting in a horseshoe pattern, with a lady from the Council in the Chair.
Council lady: Now, we’ll go round the room, and the idea is that you tell me what you think is not great, and I’ll write it down. Are there any questions?
Me: Yes. Will you actually do anything with your notes, or is this exercise for the purpose of enabling you to meet one of your targets for this year? In other words, is this just a box-ticking exercise?
CL: No! This is absolutely not just a box-ticking exercise!
I thought she was going to follow up with “How dare you?”.
So the meeting dragged on, and she proved to be the most inept Chair you could come across. She just let people go on and on in the way that some people do when they are given free rein and no boundaries such as “Everyone can speak for one minute on each of the areas I’ll read out. You’ll have a chance to add anything you think I’ve missed out.”
No, that would have required some skills and planning. Instead we had mini speeches along the lines of:
“The roads aren’t cleaned often enough. The street cleaner only comes once a week. The street gets really dirty. The street cleaner needs to come more often. It would be good if they could come every day, or even every other day. That way the street would be cleaner. He only comes once a week. It’s awful. I’ve even gone out with a broom myself, which I shouldn’t have to do. I know my rights.”
That was the abridged version. Imagine sitting for three hours in a meeting in which almost everyone carried on like that.
Still, at least the woman assured us that this was no box-ticking exercise, and that all our concerns would be dealt with.
That was fifteen years ago and we haven’t seen her since.
The noise abatement meeting
Our local Neighbourhood Watch person organised a meeting to discuss noise. The meeting was addressed by a police officer and a lady from the Noise Abatement section of the Council.
The Noise Abatement lady outlined when the Noise Abatement unit operated, where the police came in, and what to do if, say, a neighbour consistently played music loudly in the middle of the night. Then it was time for questions.
Attendee: Someone’s got a cockerel in my road, and it wakes me up every blasted morning at five o-clock.
Noise Abatement Lady: I’m afraid we don’t deal with cockerels. You would have to call the Nuisance Wildlife Department.
Attendee: Every morning. Five o-clock.
NAL: Yes, but if you just call the Nuisance Wildlife team they should be able to help you.
Attendee: It’s a cockerel. It starts up every morning at five o-clock.
NAL: Well the Noise Abatement Team only deals with noise made by human beings. You would need to call the Nuisance Wildlife Department.
Attendee: It wakes me up every morning at five o-clock.
Me: May I ask a question please?
NAL. Yes.
Me: Would I be correct in assuming that if the noise comes from a person we should call your team, but if the noise comes from a cockerel we should call the Nuisance Wildlife people?
The police officer was desperately trying not to laugh. The NAL managed to splutter out “That’s right.” The cockerel-obsessed attendee spent the next ten minutes glaring at me.
But at least we got off the subject of cockerels.
See more of my writing on my Eclecticism website and newsletter.