18 May 2015, midnight
So. I am no longer the Pee-to-Be. I am the real, actual Pee. I have spent the last twelve months, as VeePee, waiting to be found out. It has not happened. I have learnt many things, some of them about CIPA and some about myself, but the biggest revelation is that you can hold office for an awful long time before people realise you are totally unfit for it. In fact, they may never realise. You can drop all sorts of hints – and all sorts of straw; you can confess to knowing nothing, and indeed provide convincing proof of the fact; you can trip over your rucksack, spill tea on a baroness’s aide and drink so much gin that the juniper fragrance wafts ahead of you into the following morning’s meetings. And what is the mechanism within CIPA for dealing with this? What protection do the Bye-laws provide against straw-shedding, biscuit-crumb-dropping wurzels? They make you President. Congratulations, everyone. You have just elected the most un-Pee-like Pee that CIPA has ever had. This is a proud and historic moment for all.
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