Community Council Meetings

I went to my first council meeting the other night.

As I sat at the back of the hall, waiting for my 5 minutes slot to speak. As I sat there it came to me that this might be the place where I become, as it were, a man. Or at least, a real man, an adult. This might sound strange to some, after all I am 33, no sorry- 34, I have a solid partner (although without a ring she will not let me call her a wife but she is, in all but name), a 3 year old son - I even have a pension! But sitting here, sweating and worried about the show of sweat through my shirt on this warm spring evening, I wondered if my professional identity would be born here: 'Dave the researcher', to later become 'Dave the consultant', or 'Dave the academic', maybe one day 'Dave the Prof!' I am soberly reminded of William Sutcliffe's book "Are you Experienced" which I read, suitably, whilst travelling in India. The book's whit centres around 'Dave' a north London boy who wonderfully positions himself in the world with the classic line "It's true what they say about people from South London, they really do have a different outlook on life", mocking the often heard phrase of the green hippie traveller (of which I was one) so prevalent then. In the book he returns from India - having had sex, got ill and seen too many temples, and becomes 'Dave the Traveller' the instant identity through the construction and narration of his past... and here I am doing just the same.

It probably has got something to do with the new business cards I had printed before the meeting: It’s all gone to my head.

The meeting contained a plethora of different juxtaposed personalities; the charismatic councillors, the angry locals, the troubled souls who seem to have missed the point and the over large men who feel that the sandwiches at the back have been made just for him. Maybe that is the only reason he is here. There are more statements than questions, people want to project themselves into the arena more than they want to affect change or influence those in power (or at least in closer proximity to ‘those in power’). My slot arrives quickly and my name, miss spelt and miss pronounced, jolts me out of my seat and I take my place at the microphone.

I am sure I speak too fast, I am sure I was red faced and many didn’t understand, and therefore care, what I said. But before I get back to my seat I have already got one name, one informant for information. By the time the meeting ends (half an hour late and 3 hours after I spoke) I have several more, a few leads to follow and I am positively bouncing with the experience of it. I walk off down the street through an area I would soon know all too well, a place that, until recently, I could not walk down through fear of personal attack.

I wonder through the streets to my bus home thinking about getting a bike to make these trips more fluid (and cheaper). I romantically place myself on the bike, laptop in the bag and my headphones playing back to me a recent interview. ‘Dave the researcher’...

My smile is quickly washed away as two young men throw themselves out of a nearby alley and my heart races and the imagined laptop in my bag vanishes... fieldwork.