Victory is Mine!

So I'm sure you're all lolly-gagging to know how I got on this morning, representing a colleague in a Stage 3 Final Written Warning disciplinary hearing.

Well, things didn't start well when I fell over very painfully on the wet slate entrance floor. Dignity: begone! Suit: not looking its best. Still, it could have been worse: one of the rooming administrators fell down the stairs while we were waiting for the verdict and ended up with a horribly gashed leg. Thankfully several nurse tutors were on hand to provide first aid. The victim turned out to be someone I exchange emails with frequently so although the circumstances were painful and unpleasant, it was nice to meet her. Not everyone I meet has to go home in an ambulance though, unless with split sides after paying attention to my jokes.

The hearing itself was of course uncomfortable. My client was being investigated/prosecuted by his associate dean, so making idle chit chat before the event was a bit uncomfortable. Inside the hearing the mood wavered between interrogatory and kind. They read a formal set of allegations, we challenged a lot of them and introduced information we thought they'd overlooked or ignored. I contributed by saying as little as possible, which is probably for the best.

The result was very surprising, and very fair. Instead of a final written warning which would lead to dismissal if anything else happened over the next two years, a 'stage one' written warning lasting six months was issued. My client was a model good citizen throughout a stressful event and everything ended well.

I celebrated by going to M+S to buy cheese between other meetings. And now I'm off for Christmas drinks and Thai food with the English department. We've had a two hour meeting to moan about things, so it's all sweetness and light for the rest of the evening. See you on Monday!

I was going to leave you with the Go-Betweens' 'Rare Victory'. But it's not on Youtube. So instead you can have Felt's lovely 'There's No Such Thing As Victory':



and Faith No More's less cute 'Small Victory':

Sigh…

So here's how my meeting supporting my union colleague went this morning.

Them: We've looked at your complaint about being bullied and belittled by senior management. They say they love you very very much and wouldn't dream of being nasty to you. But you can always ask the VC to look at it again and we'll remind them to play nicely. Any questions?
Us: Er…

I'd better not say any more, but you can imagine my mood.

You can't touch me…

'cos I'm part of the union: a rather neat old Unison advert for the benefits of solidarity:

A Vole's work is never done

Excuse of the day for a student not coming in to chat about her dissertation:

'I'm really busy going down to London producing my album'. 

What can I say, other than to wish her luck? You can hear some of her cover songs here.

But away from the world of rock and roll, it's not quite so exciting. I have union duties this afternoon. When I signed up, it was on the strict understanding that I'd be in charge of a) constructing petrol bombs b) thinking up chants for demonstrations and c) strong-arming management by leading mass walkouts at the drop of a hat. That's what you get when large parts of your learning comes from reactionary 1950s British comedies like I'm All Right Jack and The Man in the White Suit. I also understood that kick-backs would be involved along the way.

Sadly, no. I'm off to a meeting about Car Park Policy.

Support the flying pickets

There's a British Airways staff strike starting tomorrow, after weeks of legal shenanigans on behalf of the airline, which is determined to turn their workforce into a bitter, resentful bunch of underpaid minions - like Ryanair etc.

Shamefully, BA's Irish chairman, Walsh, is a former union official.

The workers aren't being greedy: they've offered to take a substantial pay cut and reduced terms of service while BA have resorted to underhand legal action, but BA's plan is actually to replace the workforce with a new, cut-price airline.

When I'm in charge, there won't be airlines. There may be some aircraft for emergencies, but everyone else can use highspeed rail on their own continents, and the space elevator and orbital link for long distance travel.

It's OK, I'm not grumpy any more

Well, apparently the antidote to feeling miserably ill is to go to a union negotiating committee. I don't feel physically better, but my spirits have lightened considerably. We've got a clear strategy and a solid plan of action which will discomfit the idiots who claim to manage us.

Meanwhile, here's some of the music I'll be hearing next month: one of the recitatives from Vaughan Williams' A Sea Symphony and an extract from Elgar's The Dream of Gerontius

Gilded youth and how to pass the time

Of what, you might ask, does my glamorous life consist? Long, lazy holidays, oak-panelled libraries and intellectual discussion? Dry sherry in the senior common room?

Not exactly. I've just returned from a three hour meeting with six other people on the ramifications of grading caretakers as C or B on Question 43. It was a fascinating insight into management techniques, and everything unfolded as my briefing predicted: decisions taken suddenly hadn't been taken, minutes were available only to the other side (despite my colleague being on the panel which had taken a decision), definitions were fudged, dubious alliances were mooted and voices were raised. The past was rewritten and everybody went home older, unhappier and none the wiser (except that my Marxist principles were once again reinforced - sorry Ewar!).

A good shoeing

What are you all doing today? I'm stuck in this office for another hour (and had to miss a swim for the second time this week), then going to a union meeting to find out what fresh horrors the university has in store for us.

After that, I'm sorely tempted to go to Birmingham to buy some new Doc Martens, as my black boots have a massive rip in the soles and my black DM shoes are completely knackered. I'm left only with some new cherry red ones, some tired brown nubuck ones, the exhausted suede ones, a new pair of brown shoes (technically meant to be for women) and the sandals. Perhaps I should diversify a little, though DMs are just part of my 90s indie culture - early Blur, Steve Lamacq etc. I do have some posh leather-soled brown and black brogues for funerals and weddings, but I never wear them otherwise. Then there are my fencing shoes (shiny silver and black, not to be worn off the piste) and some 1990s Adidas fencing shoes which are very cool indeed. Your suggestions? I no longer yearn for flashiness, if I ever did, but don't want something too staid.

I didn't sign up to be a primary school teacher

What a thoroughly depressing teaching session - a great lecture from William drowned out by what sounded like a kindergarten class dropped into a zoo's snake-pit. Some of the class are getting to the end of their tethers, frustrated by the extremely vocal minority (some of whom manage to talk all the way through without removing their headphones, then walk out early glaring at the lecturer)…

I almost forgot. I went to my Union's AGM and branch meeting today. I'm not convinced about the tactical strengths of the wider UCU (we went on strike and folded immediately in the first week of its existence - that'll show management who they're dealing with), but the Wolves branches are packed with feisty and dedicated activists. And now I'm one of them - yes, I've added a union committee to my portfolio of stuff to stop me reading. This is how the revolution ends, not with a bang but with a meeting…

If you aren't already in one, join a union. Better 'them and us' than 'them and you'.