Its Parking really

One reads of grand passions, one understands obsession, one empathises with the unhinged mind.

But the Sutton Councillors have set the bar to a new and exciting height.

This is a commercial. You have to be there. This is going to be on the the ‘must see’ events in the West Midland calendar.

Councillors meet with their constituents in Trinity Ward every month. A large agenda is published, various officers are required to attend, there are, amazingly, some members of the public present.

And the councillors grapple, in public, with the major questions affecting the voters. We did rubbish collection and we had a gentleman talk us through the brief for the restoration of the Town Centre.

And then. It was Parking.

It was as if someone had switched the light on. I ought to explain that three councillors had attended. On duty were Waddington, Parkin and Pears. The latter two were definitely alive, if somewhat torporous. You couldn’t image them hoppin’ and boppin’. Hoppin’ would certainly have us up before Trades Descriptions. We’ll leave out boppin’. But Mrs Waddington was giving serious cause for concern.

It wasn’t that she didn’t speak, smile, leer, nod or smile. She didn’t move. It came as a very considerable relief when the Chairman asked the Members (the other two!) to approve the minutes. She said ‘Agreed.’ Quietly.

But to get back to Parking – this electrified the other two. They carried large holdalls with petitions and protests and pleas and threats. They threw themselves into passionate denunciations of irresponsible parkers. The unfortunate Traffic Management Officer found himself battered by questions, suggestions and entreaties. Even the constabulary was dragged into the debate. One formed the impression that hanging was too good for the more obvious miscreants.

And this ecstasy lasted all of twenty minutes. And then it stopped. There were bottomless sighs from two thirds of the top table. That was very obviously that for another month.

The Councillors P, deflated, turned their attention regretfully to the crossroads at the Anvil. Whatever the solution, traffic lights, calming measures, stop signs, it was unable to hold a candle to the main business of the meeting. The light had gone out of their eyes. They trudged, metaphorically to the end of the meeting. They woke up Mrs Waddington and off they went.

There’s always next month. You have to be there.

Nightwatchman

How it’s done

Every so often, Nightwatchman is asked- ‘How is it that a prosperous leading Town north east of Birmingham can decline ungracefully into Sutton Coldfield 2008?'

The answer is to be demonstrated in glorious living colour over the next six months. Allegedly.

Regular reader will know that Sutton is about to be subjected to a log awaited redesign of the Town Centre. Councillors are about to appoint a consultant to come up with a vision. Serious vision will inform a blueprint. Developer will build to blueprint.

It is, of course, necessary for this exercise to take place in the unforgiving glare of unforgiving public.

Councillors commonly prefer to be somewhere else when the pellet hits the liquid. One alternative device is the erection of a willing heat shield.

Skilled players will find respected local dignitary and place the findings before them. Dignitary conducts fevered investigation among the hoi polloi. And lo, comes up with a measured decision not a million miles from original concept which is fully endorsed by something south of three per cent of the population thought to have a useful voice.

Reader will understand that M/s Allison, Chairperson of the Civic Society possesses exactly the clout which could deliver a result precisely to the taste of the Councillors.

The Society Web Site does not inspire expectations of imaginative approaches to cumulative problems. The dread word conservation is at the heart of the mission.

Perhaps however, perhaps the Councillors are wedded to an exciting, ground breaking, trend bucking solution tailored to break the dead hand firmly attached to a wheezing town stuck somewhere between 1919 and 1937.

And then again…………..


Nightwatchman

I lift up mine eyes

Councillor Pete has found a Consultant.

But Pete’s interview with the Sutton Coldfield Observer was cautious. ‘Consultant will be appointed soon’.

Furthermore, ‘this will produce a vision of the future, it may not result in Town Centre Designs. That will be up to the developer.’

Sp Pete is going to pay for a vision.

Strange that. The Tories, age old protectors of the public purse, are splashing out on a vision. Here is the unchallenged leader of a party in power since the Ice Age, who believes he has to spend our cash on a Vision.

You have to ask what his role is in all this. Why couldn’t he have the Vision himself. What does the Consultant bring to the party? Is, perhaps, the Consultant closer to the thoughts and dreams of Mr & Mrs Sutton Coldfield than the Councillor.

Perish the thought.

So, why spend the money?

Is it the Vision thing itself? Pete hasn’t got a Vision. Pete doesn’t know how to have one. Pete is terrified by the prospect of Visions. Where would he start; what would he say; and what if it were crap?

There’d be noone to blame if Pete’s vision didn’t pass muster. The desperate poverty of ideas within in vacuous heart of our local Tory cognoscenti would be exposed for the world to see.

So we can find it within our generous selves to feel sorry for Pete and his gang. Who among us would go out of his or her way to embrace public humiliation?

And we shall await both the selection of Mr Consultant and His Vision. When we shall have the opportunity to comment. And Pete can relax. If Vision is wonderful, it’s Pete’s. If it is less wonderful, Consultant had better look out.

Would it not have been better to ask us for a Vision?

And a lot cheaper.

Nightwatchman