I had a “licensing hearing” at the Town Hall this morning. We were applying to have music removed as a permitted activity from a Bar where we seized the sound equipment a couple of months ago, and this involved me presenting the case to a panel of Councillors, who would also hear the licencee present his case and then decide whether the Bar should no longer be permitted to play music. I’m normally quite relaxed about these hearings, and have been to many of them – a hearing is held whenever a Bar wants a new licence, or a change of licence, and someone either objects, or wants the licence to have specific conditions if it is granted.
This morning’s was a bit different. I didn’t want to ask for music to be taken away from the Bar, since they have behaved themselves for two months, and taking away the music would effectively close the bar down. However my manager instructed me, as the case officer, to request the licence review, and told me that I was arguing for the sake of arguing when I attempted to suggest that maybe a warning be given that any further nuisance would result in the potential loss of music. Presenting a case that you do not believe in is not easy (although solicitors and barristers manage it). I also knew that I would face some stiff questioning from the Bar’s solicitor, again something that would not bother me, but in this case I would have to answer carefully. “How do you justify the consequences of removing music from the licence?” “My boss is fierce and it’s best to do as she says…”
Anyway, you will understand that I was not as relaxed as usual, as I was gathering my files and paperwork before heading for the Town Hall, with a colleague who was presenting a separate case. As I turned to leave another colleague exclaimed “You can’t go in those trousers. They have a big hole in them!” “You’re joking!” “I’m not. There is a big hole in your arse””. Well, that is obvious, but I think he meant the trousers.
Sure enough there was a big very visible hole, and, having cycled into work, I had no second pair to rely on. Bugger. By this time some kind sole had shouted across to Chantal that her husband was not properly dressed. Chantal sits on the far side of an open plan office, and consequently the news spread. One of the Team Assistants offered Chantal, who had come over to enjoy the fun, some needle and thread. By now, with just 6 minutes before the hearings, I was getting flustered, and put on a fleece to try to hide the hole. It worked as long as I stood bolt upright, and preferably didn’t have my back to anyone.
We walked quickly to the Town Hall, and up to the anti-room leading to the Council Chamber, where the hearings are held. Everyone involved in the three hearings that morning were gathered and preparing for their cases. I quickly located Rachel, the Licencing manager who co-ordinates the hearings, and interrupted her conversation with a brewery representative.” Rachel!” I said, “When is my hearing?” “You are in second.” “Have I got 15 minutes?” “Yes, but no longer”. The people involved for the first hearing were already heading into the Council Chamber.
I shot out to the town centre and went straight to Marks and Spencer, collaring the first assistant that I found in menswear. “I need a pair of these!” I said, pointing to my trousers, “and I need them quickly!” Without batting an eyelid, she went straight to the right rack, and found the right size – I had taken the precaution of visiting the Town Hall toilet to confirm the correct waist and leg length, because I never have a clue. I tried them on. Perfect. I ran to the checkout, which for some illogical reason was as far from the changing room as it was possible to be, and paid for my purchase, before running back to the changing rooms, bag in hand. No assistant. I searched, and found one polishing picture frames, who was a bit confused as to why I couldn’t just go into a cubicle without help, but I explained that I needed her to cut off the various labels so that I could wear my newly purchased trousers. She quickly did so, and shortly afterwards I was heading up the Town Hall steps, just 10 minutes after descending them, this time wearing smart new trousers.
The hearing went well; I was closely questioned by the licensee, his solicitor, and by Councillors, without me revealing that I was only there under duress (and without revealing my bottom). After a long session, “my” application was refused, which I was pleased about since otherwise it would have meant an appeal in the Magistrates Court – the Bar just have to “within three months take whatever steps are necessary to prevent a nuisance, including a sound insulation scheme”. In other word, Keep Calm And Carry On. But I didn’t care.
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
