you listening, boy?
The honest answer was no.
No, I’m not listening, because nobody asked me if I wanted to do this, and actually I don’t – because I find it dull .
But that was an invitation to punishment. So we lied.
Yes, sir.
And upon this system we build the fabric of our society.
Half an hour into the meeting, there was a rare moment of audience participation. Those present were asked to vote on whether the village hall should adopt the new constitution that had apparently just been explained to us. (I was on horseback in the Andes at the time.) It must have made good sense since everyone in the room, including Fran, raised their hands. I raised mine too, simultaneously exercising and, given my ignorance of what I was now approving, abusing my democratic rights.
With the new constitution in place, two of the three men behind the table then announced that they were resigning and that a new committee was needed. The other man, the treasurer, said that he was prepared to stay on for one year. No real explanation was offered as to how and why this situation existed, but all we’d been told was that there had been a clash of personalities and that this was why fresh faces were needed for the committee. Untainted by the past. The moment that Fran and I had come to seize had arrived. The now ex-chairman asked if there were any people present who were prepared to form the new committee. I raised my hand.
For a moment, Fran seemed to hesitate. Was she going to betray me? To my relief, I saw her slowly put her hand up too. Those present turned and looked. A buzz of conversation echoed around the hall. I looked around to see that there were three other volunteers, two grey-haired ladies in their sixties and Brenda – the former owner of our house. The ex-chairman counted the hands and asked for each of the volunteers to be seconded. Seconders were not hard to find, and I got the feeling that there was immense relief that anyone was prepared to take on this task. It was announced that this was enough for a new committee to be formed and the AGM, wonderful spectacle that it had been, came to a close.
History had been made.
There was a part of me that kept thinking – could it really be done like this? You could simply put up your hand and that was enough to get you on a committee? Were there no votes? No declarations of policy? Was this how rural Britain operated?
The new committee were ushered to the front table, whilst everyone else slowly dispersed from the hall, chattering excitedly. Perhaps it wasn’t quite our village’s equivalent of a new pope being elected, but it was still reason for a good old gossip. To the relative noisy soundtrack of an emptying hall, the new committee (all of retirement age but for me and Fran) were introduced to each other and then asked to sign a document that was witnessed by the outgoing chairman. We were then instructed to have our first meeting, and we were invited to sit down around a table.
I felt rather unnerved at this point. The way sportsmen feel when they’ve won a big trophy, but without the elation. I was experiencing the ‘Ah, this has actually happened’ moment. As we gathered around the table, the new committee eyed each other in turn. The looks weren’t suspicious, but they could have been interpreted so by any onlooker who didn’t know what was going on. Introductions were made, followed by hasty judgements. There was Rose, apparently strong and confident. Ann, sweet-looking and timelessly dressed. Brenda, whom I already knew, well-dressed and genial as ever; and Mary and David, a smiling and assured couple. Then there was Fran. I knew her. I’d slept with her. Good. Always good to have slept with at least one person on any committee on which one sits. It’s the British way.
We all sat down and David, the incumbent treasurer from the previous committee, showed himself to be the only one who had the vaguest idea of the protocol.
‘I suppose the first
The honest answer was no.
No, I’m not listening, because nobody asked me if I wanted to do this, and actually I don’t – because I find it dull .
But that was an invitation to punishment. So we lied.
Yes, sir.
And upon this system we build the fabric of our society.
Half an hour into the meeting, there was a rare moment of audience participation. Those present were asked to vote on whether the village hall should adopt the new constitution that had apparently just been explained to us. (I was on horseback in the Andes at the time.) It must have made good sense since everyone in the room, including Fran, raised their hands. I raised mine too, simultaneously exercising and, given my ignorance of what I was now approving, abusing my democratic rights.
With the new constitution in place, two of the three men behind the table then announced that they were resigning and that a new committee was needed. The other man, the treasurer, said that he was prepared to stay on for one year. No real explanation was offered as to how and why this situation existed, but all we’d been told was that there had been a clash of personalities and that this was why fresh faces were needed for the committee. Untainted by the past. The moment that Fran and I had come to seize had arrived. The now ex-chairman asked if there were any people present who were prepared to form the new committee. I raised my hand.
For a moment, Fran seemed to hesitate. Was she going to betray me? To my relief, I saw her slowly put her hand up too. Those present turned and looked. A buzz of conversation echoed around the hall. I looked around to see that there were three other volunteers, two grey-haired ladies in their sixties and Brenda – the former owner of our house. The ex-chairman counted the hands and asked for each of the volunteers to be seconded. Seconders were not hard to find, and I got the feeling that there was immense relief that anyone was prepared to take on this task. It was announced that this was enough for a new committee to be formed and the AGM, wonderful spectacle that it had been, came to a close.
History had been made.
There was a part of me that kept thinking – could it really be done like this? You could simply put up your hand and that was enough to get you on a committee? Were there no votes? No declarations of policy? Was this how rural Britain operated?
The new committee were ushered to the front table, whilst everyone else slowly dispersed from the hall, chattering excitedly. Perhaps it wasn’t quite our village’s equivalent of a new pope being elected, but it was still reason for a good old gossip. To the relative noisy soundtrack of an emptying hall, the new committee (all of retirement age but for me and Fran) were introduced to each other and then asked to sign a document that was witnessed by the outgoing chairman. We were then instructed to have our first meeting, and we were invited to sit down around a table.
I felt rather unnerved at this point. The way sportsmen feel when they’ve won a big trophy, but without the elation. I was experiencing the ‘Ah, this has actually happened’ moment. As we gathered around the table, the new committee eyed each other in turn. The looks weren’t suspicious, but they could have been interpreted so by any onlooker who didn’t know what was going on. Introductions were made, followed by hasty judgements. There was Rose, apparently strong and confident. Ann, sweet-looking and timelessly dressed. Brenda, whom I already knew, well-dressed and genial as ever; and Mary and David, a smiling and assured couple. Then there was Fran. I knew her. I’d slept with her. Good. Always good to have slept with at least one person on any committee on which one sits. It’s the British way.
We all sat down and David, the incumbent treasurer from the previous committee, showed himself to be the only one who had the vaguest idea of the protocol.
‘I suppose the first
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