In a week of admirable citizen engagement elsewhere in the country, things were rather more sedate at the annual general meeting of our allotment site. The date had been moved from February, when the little room off the pub was bursting, to September but this time round it was just the already-existing committee plus a couple of stalwarts plus me, whose vote is amalgamated with OH's, who's on the committee -- it's one plot, one vote.
There's something endearing about these stately protocols of local self-government: reports from the chairman, the secretary, the treasurer, approving last meeting's minutes, nominating, seconding... We now have an absolute stickler for correctness as secretary, and I for one am very grateful that she would need to get past OH on the committee before she issues any warning letters over weedy plots. She is the sort who is probably completely incorruptible but neither would she tolerate a single dandelion in flower if it was the plot next door to hers. The Plot Newbie took a lift with us -- and found himself joining the committee too -- and even he admitted he was scared of her.
In the annual local allotment competition, we had one of our Old Boys swipe a prize for a plot that is, admittedly, an inspiration to us all, especially since he's survived several heart attacks already.
Tomato Seedling Man, who had been embroiled in tiring disputes with someone else who used to be very powerful, was relieved to see the person in question not show up and therefore not stand for any posts. For him, it finally looks to be a quiet season 2014/15. He was smiling all the way through the meeting.
The meeting was over in 30 minutes, everyone drained their pints, got into their cars and vans and went off into the night.
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