I have had a most frustrating time. Last night a long and tiresome meeting culminated in disagreement with every proposal I had made. Testosterone was in the air, and I only hope that these people do not, in their hubris, prevent the receipt of a large sum of money which we very much need by pushing for more. I was very cross when I arrived home last night, but slightly calmed down by a phone call from Romy in Spain. I often think we do our jobs quite well, despite, rather than because of any help from trustees, who only have to reap the praise given to our organisation. Oh well, retirement looms thank goodness, but I nearly walked last night. No wonder I want to move to Devon to get away from these people. I think my successor should be someone who can keep them in order, which I have failed to do. When I ran the CHC in Hammersmith for ten years, over 20 years ago, the members were very civilised by comparison.
Dorothy thinks Devon is a very silly idea, but since Dorothy would then not have to pay my mortgage one would think Dorothy would welcome it. Sitting in a thatched cottage overlooking the Exe estuary, doing a bit of painting seems idyllic compared with the dreariness of my current existence. I found quite a few of these pretty cottages online for around £210,000. Oh well. I may have to settle for summer boat trips on the bloody Thames.
Minutes to be concocted this morning, in which I shall gloss over the events of last night. I sometimes wish I were a football hooligan or preferably a gangster so my problems could be sorted in short order. Unfortunately I do not have any unlicensed weapons on the premises. Temptation is so strong. Watch this space.
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