“If you want to be lied to, all you have to do is believe everything that the government tells you.”
Steven Magee
I think I may be having another mid-life crisis. Last Tuesday morning I turned up for the 6.30am spin class at Kents Gym something I had not done for many years and then it lasted as long as most fads do. Regular instructor Paul blinked several times, suggested that sleep walking was normal at my age and offered to ring the “nursing home”. Despite his attempts to turn me back to the car park, I found a bike, perched on it, yawned and wiped the sleep from my eyes.
I looked out of the window; the sun was rising and all seemed fine. Other people were there too, clad in lycra, some in full make-up. I wished I had at least done my hair and gobbled some mouthwash. The music started and it was time to pedal for my life, all before any normal thought of escaping the duvet for the comfort of the kettle. It is a surreal feeling, sweating to death on a gym bike as most of the nation sleeps.
Fortunately the class seemed to pass quickly and there seemed little appetite for “busting it” at just gone 7am from Paul. I might try it again although a few hours later, convinced it was lunchtime, I looked at the clock to find it was only 9am. My afternoon siesta was in danger of not seeing midday.
How Not To Organise A Music Festival – Part Two
You may remember my “scoop” a month ago concerning the Bingley Music Festival, where I exposed crass incompetence down at Muppet Hall. The T&A were on to the story soon after me, claiming all the credit as well, nice chaps!
As I predicted, the event will not take place this summer. It might be laughable were it not so serious a financial failing by the publicly employed buffoons; quite simply there should be resignations.
The T&A (23rd April) quoted Steve Hartley, Strategic Director of Place at Bradford Council attempting to explain away what should be cause for an internal investigation. Fortunately, The Trumpit was able to afford an interpreter well versed in Council Speak.
“Unfortunately, we have had to take the difficult decision to take a year out of Bingley Music Live this year.” Boy we really screwed up this time.
“…we need to take a year out to take stock of the event’s organisation.” We’ve been rumbled…now they all know we are clueless. Please don’t be rough on me as I won’t ever get another job like this again.
“We care about Bingley and know the event will be missed by the many people who have grown to enjoy it.” Where is Bingley?
“We’re also aware that Bingley Music Live has been a boost for the town’s economy…we have decided to give £20,000 to Bingley Chamber of Trade…to support the local economy.” Go fetch the petty cash tin now! Can we run a tombola instead?
“Taking a year out will allow for the delivery in 2020 of a well-planned, sustainable festival that provides a great experience for visitors to and residents of the district.” And give me time to find another job.
There are hardly words strong enough to describe the deceit here, try as they have done to delay this news. One wonders if they really were trying to sweep it under the carpet till after local elections?
That they turned a £200k profit into a £300k loss in one of the best summers ever defies belief; half a million quid blown away in the blink of an eye. Hartley is paid over £130k a year and it is hard not to wonder how?
It also appears that they had an offer to take it off their hands risk free and yet turned it down. Strangely there has been no sight of Hapless Hinchcliffe nor her trusted sidekick, Comical Alex to front up as they surely must when public money is so clearly wasted.
Perhaps they are too busy electioneering? With local elections on May 2nd I will not waste my vote but I will avoid any of the mainstream parties that have proven so shambolic. I hope they get the kicking they deserve.
Tight?
As Treasurer at the cricket club the pennies matter, at least until Murdoch offers to buy The Trumpit. This week we had electricians in to fit energy saving devices including new motion sensors in the toilets. The old ones worked well, from a Treasurer’s perspective at least, often leaving people in the dark, stretching out blindly to push the buttons back in.
Setting the new ones, the electrician advised these were on five minute timers. I looked him squarely in the eye and asked what was the lowest. He advised two minutes was the lowest and that the usual effect here was a wet floor. I relented, remembering Mother Theresa’s pledge that austerity was over; five minutes it would be.
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