3 March 2016, 2 pm
Highlight number three of the day is a packet of biscuits and a can of Red Bull® back in the CIPA library, where we are holding a meeting of Past Presidents to talk about what Future Presidents should do. It is another of those end-of-series episodes of Doctor Who: Return of the Time Lords. The biscuits are the usual CIPA biscuits and nothing to write home about. The Biscuit Pixies do not visit that often anymore because I am too busy, so instead we put up with what Mr Davies allows us to order from the office supplies people when they bring the paper clips. I wish I had had time for pudding in the lovely restaurant just now. I would have ordered the salted caramel. There is always something with salted caramel on a dessert menu. It turns out that most of the Past Presidents have been unable to make the meeting and don’t really care what Future Presidents get up to. They are just glad to have escaped. But the ones who are there help Mr Davies and me to write a list of things the CIPA Pee has to do. Mr Davies says part of the Pee’s job is to be the Chief Eggsek’s friend. I say nobody ever told me that. He says yes, that’s evident. I say: whose job is it to be the Pee’s friend? But nobody can answer that one. We decide that although Council hates the word Leadership, nevertheless the Pee has to display some kind of Leadership otherwise we would never get anything done. We don’t get much done anyway, because even when we try out a little bit of Leadership it is a cautious, polite kind of Leadership so as not to offend people. Every now and then some maverick comes along and attempts the fierce kind of Leadership and we all know what happens then. Yes indeed. Half-way through the meeting, the VeePee remembers to arrive. He is a touch forgetful, the VeePee. I realise I shall have to ring him every week from now on, to check he still plans to be the Pee. Clearly it will be very bad news for me – and indeed for most of CIPA – if he forgets that. The VeePee says that where I have gone wrong as Pee is that I have done things in too much detail. He says that is why I am so busy all the time, and that is why everyone else is so busy dealing with my emails. I do not point out that doing things in detail at least means I turn up at the start of meetings, as opposed to half-way through them or three days after they’ve finished. The EyeEyePeePee and the Onssek are not at the meeting either, even though they know lots about what a CIPA Pee has to do and still have nightmares about it. This week they are busy invigilating for the EQEs, in the frozen wilds of Brizzle. Of course, Brizzle is not usually a frozen wild, but the EQEs are being held at the Ashton Gate Stadium and the owners of the stadium have got it into their heads that because footballers are happy enough working al fresco, it is OK to hold exams under similar conditions. They are not impressed by the namby-pamby London folk who get upset when the ink freezes in their pens. Apparently they have brought in some additional heaters for the exam hall, but the additional heaters blew the electrics. This is precisely what you would expect to happen if you lived and worked in the Wess Curntry, but the namby-pamby London folk had been hoping for something a little more luxurious. I remember with nostalgic fondness the year that I invigilated the EQEs at Ashton Gate. I handed out chocolate mini-eggs and Morris-danced in the aisles, and the temperature was Just Right and the lighting was Just Right and the only thing the candidates had to worry about was the invigilators being asleep when you ran out of paper. Oh, and the Morris dancing of course. This halcyon experience took place before Ashton Gate Stadium underwent extensive refurbishment. The purpose of the extensive refurbishment seems to have been to render the indoor spaces more like outdoor spaces, which is nice if you want a picnic but not so good if you want somewhere to sit very still at a desk being scared witless for five hours in a row. I think the EyeEyePeePee and the Onssek are a little bit cross about this. So is Mr Davies, whose friend I am supposed to be, but he really shouldn’t look at me as if it were my fault. Not everything in Brizzle is my fault. Not everything in CIPA is my fault either. Although a lot of it is.
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