Double Vision

Nobody really had any idea what a Charrette was. Except Lunchista, because in her previous job, some arbitrary chain of contacts had landed our firm with the chance to take part in one. In East London, of all places. And so I'd been dispatched down south to a swanky hotel in Greenwich, to help a panel of architects, urban planners and property finance experts come up with interesting ideas for a regeneration project for the lucky citizens of Deptford. Lunchista's contribution had been to consider anything in the area connected to energy and sustainability.

The idea is to put together something like a brainstorming session, except instead of taking an hour or so and producing a list of possible ideas on a flip-chart, this was to take a week (plus extra days for feedback from, then to, the public) and produce proper architects' plans for what to do with the entire area. The name derives from the carts upon which Parisian art and architecture students of the previous two centuries would dispatch their project work so as to meet examiners' deadlines. The same carts, I might add, upon which undesireables were dispatched to the guillotine. But I digress.

Our city has so many giant projects ongoing, and so many possibilities, that Yorkshire Forward had decided we were in need of some serious brainstorming, to come up with a Vision of what the city should look like over the next 25 years, and how it should work. All local organisations, including our Party, were invited along. The panel, as in the Deptford excercise, weren't locals but were given several days to get to know the area's geography and apply their brains afresh to problems with which we ourselves may have become too familiar. We were offered two whole days of presentations and feedback on a range of subjects (such as Transport, Parks, Communities...). And someone with a wicked sense of humour had allotted Lunchista the subject of Business.

So as I sat down round the table with five other consultees and our panel representative, I was wondering which parts of our beautiful city all the others wanted to obliterate with large lumps of Business. But it didn't quite happen like that. Everyone around the table was so enthused by the possibilities offered by the University's expansion programme (which is already under way, and includes a science park, a theatre, a swimming pool and for all I know a spaceport) that they decided that, at least as far as buildings were concerned, was all the growth we need, for now. They then decided that the best business area to grow in was renewable energy: the Council, even as I write, are putting together a feasibility study for precisely that. Then how about a total refurb of the city's office space? And growth in local, organic food?...And...isn't it great that the time-frame of our "Vision" stretches over the time when all this work needs doing, but not into the unknown territory beyond, when the economy will still need Growth but he rest of us will already have all we need, or indeed are able to afford?

Now when asked to a process such as this, it's useful to know in advance who started it, and what they might be looking for. In this case, as I mentioned, it was Yorkshire Forward, and they (after all it is their job) are looking for Prosperity. So when the time came for each panel representative to sum up what their table had put together, I was fully expecting, for example, the Transport table to express a collective want for more road space, but we were instead treated to a delightful prospect of an entire city centre without cars.

I wonder how far all the inspired ideas from this far-from-cheap excercise will propagate up the edifice of government? After all the very same government are still encouraging us to buy more cars, and reports still bemoan the recent reduction in road traffic as a sign of the Recession. All the while they're cheerfully shelling out for adverts to persuade people to reduce their Carbon footprints (for example by driving less).

Lunchista gets double vision when extremely tired. Might HMG be tired?

Worth the candle

It's getting towards the shortest day, that time of year when in this part of the world there exists such a thing as "Four o'clock in the evening". There have been some pretty long days, though, for the heads at the COP (where COP apparently doesn't stand for COP-enhagen, or even a football stand in Liverpool (recent viewer poll question: "Marmite or Custard?"), but is actually short for "Conference of the Parties". Earlier on in the week, candle-lit vigils had been organised around the world, to give all the heads there a bit of a boost.

Because Lunchista has it on good authority that all the poor guys want is to be confident in the knowledge that, if they come up with some drastic agreement which means we no longer have the right to get up before dawn and drive 90 minutes to a pointless and overheated (or over-air-conned, or both) job each day, we're not going to vote them out of office. Or burn them out, depending on your country's constitution. And so Lunchista grabbed some of our emergency supply of candles, and a pretty painted jar to put them in, and headed off to take part.

That jar has a bit of a story.

Way back in 2003 Lunchista, along with rather a lot of other people, just couldn't see any point in going to war in Iraq. Better government? Not usually to be found while you're being bombed. Terrorism? All the terrorists were elsewhere at the time. Oil? Already got ours, under the North Sea. Jobs? The forces already have a useful line in peacekeeping and disaster relief. And that's before you start on the "moral" thing. Even Colin Powell, a military man from the crew-cut to the boots, didn't rate the idea, on the grounds that there wasn't an "exit strategy". Sensible chap.

So as part of an international wave of protests one Sunday, I organised our own small effort under a tree at a nearby roundabout. We put out only a hundred or so flyers, made a banner (the sheet and gaffer-tape method), stood at the spot and waited...and were joined by dozens of people! Not to mention a phone-call from the local press, who gave us a couple of column-inches. And a Sunday evening, when most people below retirement age are heading from where they like to be, back to where their work makes them live, isn't exactly quiet on the roads: lots of people saw our message.

As we were packing up after our appointed hour I noticed that someone had left their home-made night-light in the tree. I let it stay there for a few days in case they wanted to return and claim it, but they didn't, so I did.

Back to this weeek, and here we are at 5:30 pm on Saturday in a shop-lined city centre square, lighting our candles. As luck would have it, that time in our city centre was "not optimal" for silent vigils, or indeed silent anything. Someone, in this case the City Council in a filthy great truck, has to clean up after a whole week of the pre-Christmas shopping frenzy. Why they had to do this by reversing around the entire square (as opposed to going forwards and sparing us 20 minutes of safety warnings) is anybody's guess. Perhaps it was a two-fingered gesture to a past government election campaign. I can only hope that our MP, who was good enough to join us and read out the first part of our "Declaration", wasn't offended.

Is it all worth it? Well it might be time to think of Battenburg cake, or even Mr Pareto with his 20% of the effort leading to 80% of the result. The cost to Lunchista of taking part in all this was one candle (you could be more energy-efficient, but who would take a "CFL-lit vigil" seriously? And anyway, I was glad for some of that energy-lost-as-heat on my hands). The odds of success are unknown, but the possible reward is, well, about the size of a small planet.

Some like it hot

Just for the record, here is Chateau Lunchista's weather station showing today's lunchtime temperature: 32 degrees Centigrade if you please! A second glance will reveal that the humidity, at 65%, is kind of tolerable, and that our weather station believes it might rain later. The bottom line shows the date (so you know I'm not fibbing), and the frame, as ever, advises a light snooze.

A third glance will reveal that Chateau Lunchista is not a modern house: the indoor temperature, in the face of this thermal onslaught, is a blissfully cool 23 degrees. Heat is soaking into the walls, ready to re-emerge after sunset and do something useful, like keep the damp off as the outdoor temperature goes down to the 'teens and the dew falls.

Talking about cool people reminds Lunchista that today's lucky recipients of that ticking timebomb that is the rotating EU Presidency (passed to the next player every 6 months) are the Swedes. Yes that wonderful country who brought us 3-point seatbelts (deliberately left un-patented so that everybody could enjoy them, saving millions of lives) and compulsory triple-glazing, saving millions in fuel bills. Incredibly, they have a president called Fred (well alright then, Prime Minister).

They are going to try and clean up the Banks and the Baltic (Sea, not Exchange), and for good measure they're going to get everyone else who matters in these things to agree to the same climate-change targets as the EU already has, while at the same time ensuring economic growth. Lunchista also has it on good authority that they are working on delivering "The Moon, with brass knobs on" by Christmas.

We can all take the mick, but every now and again there are times when you really need to aim high. Lunchista feels the urge to write to the Swedish Prime Minister and wish him luck.

Election special

Lunchista has always regarded Democracy as a very physical thing; something that happens between people, rather than as just an abstract sytem. For that reason I would no sooner vote in absentia (including by post, by proxy or electronically) than, for example, get married in absentia.

It probably all started with the tale, early in my voting life, of the many dead people in St Ives who voted (all for the same party) in 1992. Hard on their heels came the story of the elderly WWII veteran who, having walked from his care-home to a polling station with great difficulty but even greater determination, was dismayed to find that a proxy vote had been cast on his behalf, to a party (the same one with the dead voters, in fact) that he loathed.

Nope. Really, you have to be there. Seen To Be Done, and all that.

And so Lunchista has always made an effort to vote in person, and if my address moved faster than my vote it made for a lot of travelling. Brighton to Lancashire (for my first ever vote) is the distance record so far. On another voting trip (Berkshire to Portsmouth) I was served the delightful butty whose wrapper is shown at the top of this post, and which I kept (the wrapper not the entire butty) for posterity.

In a more-recent election the powers-that-be decided it would be a good idea if everyone voted by post. Everyone, that is, except Lunchista and a bunch of other die-hards for whom our Guildhall was opened specially on the day and the proper clerks and little cubicles deployed. The postal process degenerated into farce as envelopes were lost, names were transferred in error and half the women of Bradford were rumoured to have missed out altogether. But we die-hards, our votes were counted properly!

As a passionate supporter of one of the political parties, Lunchista takes part in much more of the election-related activities than just the voting. In one notorious case I blagged my way into a national election vote-count as a party scrutineer watching the tellers sort the ballot slips. I saved 51 votes for my party from going into the wrong tray. In a more recent, local, election, the count went on into the small hours as it was twice declared too close to call. Being June, it was already getting light when we emerged. It was quite surreal. As a scrutineer you get to see what people have written on the "spoiled" papers: "None of the above" is quite common, as are religious comments (of both the sacred and profane variety). I have also seen my own vote being counted: not everybody can recognise their own cross.

If you're not at a count in person, coming home just after close of polls to sit down with your fellow supporters (and some beer and snacks) to watch the results come in live is all part of the fun. There are a few constituencies who take it upon themselves to get their results declared first, giving their local tourist-board the chance of a bit of free publicity. Torbay came in first one time, another time Chris Mullin's constituency in the North East came in first, and he pointed out, in his victory interview, that he could, in theory at least, nip down to Westminster and take advantage of the 20 minutes or so for which he was the country's only MP to pass laws he'd always wanted but knew wouldn't otherwise get through. I would expect no less from the author of the tale "A Very British Coup"! And does anyone else remember the Junior Doctors' Party (in protest at their too-long working hours) "Struck Off And Die", with their peach-tin logo? In one particular count I could swear that there was a character (probably Loony Party, bless 'em) whose very long nom-de-guerre included the word "biscuit-barrel".

It goes without saying that Lunchista was "Up for Portillo".

It is common for party enthusiasts to wait at polling-stations and collect the voter numbers of the people coming in. In case you wonder why we do it, it means we can nip round to the addresses of people who've promised us their vote but not turned up: we can offer them a lift to the polling station. Although a little OTT, this is considered perfectly fair.

And so I spent yesterday (apart from the time it took to cast my own vote) sporting a rosette standing outside polling stations smiling and saying "hello" to people on their way in to vote. No counting-them-in was happening though: we can't send cars picking up stray voters all over Yorkshire! So it was really a bit like the Japanese practice of shops hiring nice-looking people to greet their customers (not sure about the "nice-looking" bit, mind!). It sometimes fell to me to explain the Euros' unfamiliar voting system (along with the fact that it gives our little party, for once, the chance of a seat).

The most memorable thing was the temperature: I'd seen a weather forecast earlier and there was wind coming straight down from the Arctic. Canadian coat and Russian thermals it was, then! The most annoying thing about the Euros, in contrast to the other types of election in which no other country is involved, is that because most of the Continent traditionally cast their vote on a Sunday, we have to hang about for three days before we get to find out what's happened. What with that and the arctic conditions, I suppose we must all suffer for our beliefs.

So I think the physical side of voting, and democracy, is crucial. Without these little reminders of what it's all about, and that affirm our sense of fairness, it would become completely meaningless. And if you think about it, voting and getting married could be said to have rather a lot in common. Both involve parties, for a start. Both have a public and a very private side. In both cases tradition has it that you are presented with (or present someone else with) an idea of how you'd like the future to pan out, and then a choice is made about whether to accept this or look for one that's more to your taste. Promises are made. If you find out later that you didn't like what was on offer, or it turns out to have been a pack of lies, you throw them out and have another go.

What would really add to all this would be, if the Boards of the world's largest companies, whose turnovers and influence are larger than those of many countries (democratic and otherwise), were to go through the same process. As a shareholder, Lunchista often has the chance to vote for or against their appointment, or their "benefits package". But these "votes" are just shots in the dark, because unlike, say, my City Councillors or my local MP, these shadows of people have no public life whatsoever.