Meetings

I had to leave the meeting about council housing sell off's just as it really got underway as I had to go and meet the Trumpet Player (yep, sorry folks, not the French Horn...)

The housing meeting was good. There were about eight of us. I certainly felt like the new girl and was very quiet amongst this vocal bunch.

They talked about deputations to councillors and moratoriums and I thought must look up the meaning of those words when I get home.

A deputation is the act of appointing somebody to represent or act for another or others or
The person or body so appointed or authorised.
From what I gathered not alot of councillors want to climb on board, particularly the Tory or Lib Dem ones.....

A moratorium is a suspension of activity or an authorised period of delay or period of waiting. Stop the sell off's, get a consultation going before the council privatises caretakers.

That was the order of the day. Oh and getting more 'grassroots' on board. People like me. Tenants. They are going to put out leaflets. There must have been much discussion as to what should go onto this leaflet going by the number of emails I've been cc'd in since.

It's a big campaign. Huge. A battle on two fronts - the council flat sell off AND the privatisation of caretakers. I have such little energy for it but I must, I must find some.

So it was good to go and sink a glass of wine and not talk about any of it with the Trumpet Player. He turned up late with a white shirt unbuttoned to the navel showcasing a hairy chest which I found quite funny; Magnum without the tash kind of thing.

Oh and I wore boots. A black dress and brown biker boots. I applied lip gloss in the Crown and Goose loos on my way to our gastro pub venue. I was neither glam nor Milly Tant. I was just me. It was good.