27 January 2016
This evening we are gathered together at CIPA Hall to welcome the lucky people who became CIPA Fellows last year. Let me tell you how classy an event this is. The tables have been pushed back against the walls. On the tables there are some paper plates bearing supermarket own-brand nibbles. There are also some bottles of wine, some of beer and a rusty corkscrew. When the guests arrive they must either serve themselves or wait for the President of CIPA to open a bottle for them. This she does with characteristic cackhandedness. For those who don’t fancy alcohol, there are jugs of supermarket own-brand fruit juice and some plastic beakers. At least twelve people arrive to join the celebrations, two of whom are proud spouses accompanying their loved ones to this most momentous of career-defining occasions. Later in the evening, a couple of Council members turn up because they have heard that there is beer on offer and because they enjoy talking to younger members of the profession, who might let’s face it be poachable from your competitors. Also from CIPA we have Amazing Dwaine, our Chief Shouty Person Mr Lampert, Mr Lampert’s camera, Mr Davies, the VeePee and the Pee. The Pee is still me – although only for another 104 days and 23 hours. And we have the Chairman of IPReg, Mr Heap, who I suspect is used to classier occasions than this. The CIPA people mingle with the rather lost-looking new Fellows. Mr Davies reaches for a bottle of beer. The Pee takes it away from him, because he has had a completely dry January thus far and she doesn’t want him to spoil everything for the sake of the few remaining days of the month. Mr Lampert finds Mr Davies a replacement bottle while I’m not looking. There is no formal presentation of fellowship certificates. But there is a box containing some blank sheets of paper rolled up and tied with ribbon. I offer these pantomime certificates round but only one person is really interested in taking one. The others do not seem sure whether they already have proper certificates or not. We sure as hell won’t be able to tell them by looking at the membership database, which has been in crisis since we rebuilt it last autumn and often refuses to divulge its contents unless we can produce a freedom of information request first. The Fellow who takes a certificate asks me to sign it for her and so she lends me a biro and we make up some wording and I sign it with hugs and kisses from the CIPA President. Someone takes a photo of this historic moment on his smartphone. (Where is Mr Lampert when you need him?) (Oh yes, there he is, handing Mr Davies another bottle of beer.) After a while the new Fellows get bored of talking to the CIPA pantomime cast. They have not eaten many of the nibbles and they have not drunk much of the alcohol although that matters less now that Mr Davies has finished January early. I decide it is time to head home. Someone suggests there ought to be some speeches before I go. So I stand in the middle of the room and shout at everyone to shut up and then I make a brief speech in which, as usual, I say absolutely nothing but sound very friendly about it. To be fair, I did have a proper speech prepared, but it was a speech for a different type of occasion and also for a less weary-feeling President to deliver. So it is not much use to me here amongst the cheese straws. Mr Heap then makes a brief speech about how people should be proud to be CIPA Fellows, although he seems to be looking round the room for evidence that this is the case. The final speech is by Mr Davies, about how CIPA relies on its volunteers. He urges the new Fellows to join the CIPA cause and put something back and presumably what he means is we are short of people to (a) buy nibbles, (b) print proper certificates and (c) make proper speeches. Still, at least we didn’t wheel out the collapsible coat rack today. And on the plus side, Mr Davies reckons he’s recruited at least two new people onto Council, although one of them lives and works in Munich and this will mean – we all agree – that for one month in twelve, probably September actually, Council meetings will have to be held at the Hofbräuhaus. We locate Mr Lampert and unite him with his camera, to prevent him trying to take an important CIPA photograph using a half-empty beer bottle. He takes the important photograph. In fact, he takes several, just in case I come out ugly on some of them. We forget to give the new Fellows their pantomime certificates to hold so the photo is just of a group of people with beer bottles, cheese straws, plastic beakers and forced smiles. One for the album, Mr Lampert; thank you.
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