6 December 2017, 5.30 pm
The meeting has been going on a long time. There was lots to discuss although I forget now what most of it was. Brexit and Bye-laws and regulation and the strategic plan; the usual stuff. The President tries to be upbeat about the lengthy discussions by referring to ideas positively “crackling” around the room, but he is not fooling anyone. We are not crackling. We are wilting. My Christmas jumper is looking forward to Twelfth Night already. There is a Christmas happy hour after the meeting. Mr Davies and I take a detour via an associations bash which he has assured me is a great party, because he has a mad plan that he can get rid of me to another association in order to make things more efficient at CIPA. But the great party is dark and hot and noisy and crowded. My Christmas jumper proves to be inappropriate attire. I am hungry, but it is the type of event where platefuls of snacks float past you at random moments, and if you are not quick enough they float on by, leaving you feeling even more hungry and also left out. And I only have Mr Davies to talk to, and Mr Davies is looking miserable. Also there is not much gin on offer, which turns out to be a bit of a problem. Once the magnitude of the problem becomes apparent, and Mr Davies has given up trying to introduce me to anyone on account of they have all been quicker at getting away than even the floating snacks, we head back to the CIPA happy hour after all. The CIPA happy hour has already been going on for longer than an hour, and it goes on for far more than an hour after we arrive. There is gin by the gallon. Several people collaborate to ensure I am never more than half-way down one glass before the next one arrives, which I think is very solicitous of them. Then they ask my views on things and enjoy the spectacle of me trying to string answers together. I console myself with the fact that the questions are not particularly well strung together either. It is great fun being back with the CIPA staff and I enjoy myself immensely, even though there is still nothing to eat. The Christmas jumper comes off for good. There is even a little light festive dancing. I hope no one remembers it afterwards. If they do, I will say it was the Pixies.
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