If there were raps on the door with staves, tall and pointed hats removed to reveal flowing grey locks and pipes puffed upon, I didn't hear, see or smell them but there were twelve of us in the room and we did sit in an Avalonish circle and tell our tales.
It wasn't the Shire but a High Council of a sort, in the Chamber of Environment Southland this morning.
No hobbits or dwarves either, though most were shorter than me, bar Maurice, who's shorter than none!
The informal get-together of the new councillors was a relaxed affair, at times and set the scene for many a future meeting I'm sure. We didn't take our places at the High Table - that's for the formal meeting in 10 days time when we'll get to cast votes and assume mantles (some of us), lick wounds (those who miss out on plum roles) and generally get used to our places around the table. There will be swearing too, in that is, oaths taken and then it'll be down to business!
3 women, 9 men. Polished wood furniture and paneling and earthy subjects to tease out. Water on the table. Decisions to be made, questions posed, points argued. The crossing of swords perhaps!
Rather than writing a book, I'll post my thoughts here. From inside the chamber. Of secrets.
2 comments:
Day by day, inch by inch, file off the bottom of Maurice's chair legs without him knowing like in 'The Twits'
Ha!
Bring him down to our level eh!
Good plan.
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