Sunday, 8 November 2009

Dinner, conference, party, exhaustion

Feeling a bit better now so I’ll write up the bits I can remember of the last few days.

The pre-conference dinner on Wednesday evening went off incredibly well. We had 8 MPs, 2 permed secretaries, 3 mincers and the head of the no. 2 policy unit. So plenty of meat for my members to get stuck into, though on reflection we probably should have served chicken rather than roasted human flesh.

I had to have a quiet word in the umbrella minister Veronica “Gubbins” Squif’s shell-like after she took the piss gently out of me during her speech. No one gets away with that. And when talking to an influential guest with the ear of the Chancellor, I slipped him a micky then tattooed the words “Umbrella Bank needed urgently” on his forehead.

It ended up being a late night but it was an early start at the conference the next day, where we had more top speakers than you could shake a brolly at. Although I did try.

I kicked things off with some wise words from Genesis. In many ways the situation that BUBB is in at the minute as an organisation mirrors this pop combo’s own in the mid 70s. I am obviously Peter Gabriel – flamboyant, larger than life, sometimes incomprehensible while Hector is Phil Collins. Quiet, steady and providing the strong backbeat that underpins my own work, while waiting patiently to unseat me and change direction. And then release a series of ever-increasingly bland MOR solo records.

As Phil put it himself:

“Just as I thought it was going alright
I find out I'm wrong, when I thought I was right
It's always the same, it's just a shame, that's all

Running around, staying out all night
Taking it all instead of taking one bite
It's always the same, it's just a shame, that's all

I could leave but I won't go
Though my heart might tell me so
I can't feel a thing from my head down to my toes

So why does it always seem to be
Me looking at you, you looking at me
It's always the same, it's just a shame, that's all”

I can’t remember all of the presentations as I was twittering away like a good ’un (“If you follow me, I will follow you”) rather than concentrating. But my Great Aunt Maud and Vanessa Doublechin both sounded eloquent and erudite without actually saying much.

BUBB’s own Northern soul, Ben N’Jerry also quoted some Genesis.

“Ooh, Superman where are you now
When everything's gone wrong somehow?
The men of steel, the men of power
Are losing control by the hour

There's too many men, too many people
Making too many problems
And not much love to go round
Can't you see this is a land of confusion?

Well this is the world we live in
And these are the hands we're given
Use them and let's start trying
To make it a place worth living in

I won't be coming home tonight
My generation will put it right
We're not just making promises
That we know, we'll never keep”

Some appropriate philosophy there I am sure we can all agree.

Then it was off to party. The brilliant Fab Jobsworth had got hold of some fireworks but there was a bit of an incident involving Barkles. The age-old safety rule says that pets should be kept indoors on bonfire night. However, I can report that this is daft advice if you decide to light fireworks in your house. Unfortunately a stray rocket set fire to the hound’s back leg. Geof Sachell responded instantly by dousing the poor mutt in champers, while I shouted out “Don’t waste the good stuff”. We had a good laugh afterwards, especially when my superb head of comms, Marina McMoan joked that we should rename the singed creature “Sparkles”, which ironically is the name of the dog in my spoofer Stephen Bubb’s blog.

It is all a bit of a blur after that but I must have gone for a late night bike ride if the evidence presented in this picture taken the next day is anything to go by.

As I blog I look at the lemon that my sister gave me and contemplate how many BUBBles I have consumed over my 5X years.

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