Brian Coleman: clinging to the wreckage - last night's scrutiny meeting

Dealing with a badly behaved child is something all parents have to face, at some point. Tantrums, fighting, arguing, a whole range of misbehaviour that must be met by firm discipline: of course Mrs Angry never quite got the hang of this, and was always puzzled by the advice given in parental guides that bad behaviour should be met by sending your errant child to sit on the naughty step, or upstairs to his or her room. Mrs Angry's daughter would simply wobble her lip, and cry, and make Mrs Angry feel dreadfully guilty, and her brother would fold his arms defiantly and say: No. I won't: and you can't make me. Boys, see.

Earlier this week, Barnet Tory leader Richard Cornelius, in a belated response to the news that his chum Councillor Brian Coleman had been charged with assault by beating and a driving offence, indicated that his colleague would not be suspended, as that might prejudice his trial, but would merely be asked to 'take a back seat' in the political life of Broken Barnet. 

This reaction  provoked a universal reaction of astonishment and indignation, including, it seems, within senior Tory ranks, and Councillor Cornelius was obliged to perform a speedy u turn, announcing that he was instigating the procedure to suspend him. 

Last night at Hendon Town Hall saw the meeting of the Budget and Performance Overview and Scrutiny committee, a committee chaired by ... Councillor Brian Coleman. Would he be allowed to chair this, in view of the proceedings to suspend him? Surely not, you might think. Surely Brian would feel that his position was untenable and would agree to stay away?

No. I won't: and you can't make me.

And when we arrived in the committee room, there was his name in the Chair's place at the table, and look: as members took their seats, in came a familiar figure: the elephant entering the room.

There was a lot of coughing, (and not just from Mrs Angry, who is still suffering, yes, thank you for asking) and a fair degree of repressed amusement in the public seating - which was in fact filled almost entirely by senior officers. 

Councillors sat opposite the Chair with bemused expressions.

The Chair tapped his little hammer: Coleman is the only Chair of any committee who uses such a prop, of course, appealing as it does to his need to feel omnipotent, Thor like in his super powers. Last night's opening tap, however, was rather less confident than the performance at the previous meeting he chaired, in which he treated members of the public and fellow councillors with gobsmacking officiousness and condescension.

Coleman was clearly on his best behaviour, in fact: subdued, quiet, no grandstanding, no ranting, a few timid attempts at the odd mildly humorous remark, but nothing on the usual scale of performance.

What was on the agenda seemed hardly of any importance, compared to the the extraordinary circumstances of the meeting itself, but on we went.

Alan Schneiderman pointed out that the so called savings in the library budget were nonsense. A senior officer tried to make out that they were real. A typical One Barnet argument, in fact. 

Cabinet member for libraries, Robert Rams, sat at the table, swinging his little legs, clearly bored, covertly looking at twitter on his phone. Mrs Angry sent him a stern tweet, reprimanding him for sitting at the table tweeting, rather than listening to the committee. He turned round and laughed. Another councillor who should be sent to his room, preferably until well after the next election.

Councillor John Marshall had made it to the meeting, with arm in sling, after falling in the park the other day. Mrs Angry had commiserated with the old boy at the beginning of the meeting, and tried tactfully to establish whether or not anyone had pushed him, but apparently not. There may however have been an undetected blow to his venerable old head, as he now piped up, in his peevish patrician voice, and suggested that Councillor Robert Rams was now one of the 'heroes' of Hampstead Garden Suburb for his wonderful support for their - ha - 'community library' with its millionaire Tory volunteers: proof, he said, of the Big Society in action. Marvellous. Wonder who Councillor Marshall thinks is the hero of Friern Barnet, and their small society venture, the people's library? Occupier and community librarian Phoenix?

 After an awkward mention of street lighting, and erm, a legal challenge of the procurement process, we moved swiftly on to ah ... oops, parking. This was, of course the highly contentious issue which has galvanised the borough's political insurgence, and played a major part in the political downfall of the Chair, Brian Coleman, at the GLA elections, and in his previous capacity as Cabinet member for environment. 

Again, much debate about whether or not any of the mythical One Barnet savings have been produced, as promised by the privatisation of the parking payment contract so fortuitously awarded to our friends at NSL - or whether in real terms, income has dropped rather alarmingly. 

No: Ms Pam Wharfe was very reassuring,  and seemed to think it would all balance out nicely in the end. Aww. That's nice. Mrs Angry likes a happy ending, don't you?

There followed a rather unfortunate performance at the table by Councillor Dean Cohen, who is the successor to Coleman's cabinet post, referring, with Freudian slippage on a grand scale to, oh dear, incidents of illegal parking, CCTV, and suspension  ...  of parking bays. 

A matter of real public concern, of course, in all our high streets.

Following in his new role of One Barnet sceptic, Tory Councillor Hugh Rayner remarked that he did not see why we should pay for any inefficiencies of our parking contractors, despite the fact that, as Ms Wharfe informed us, the contract made it impossible to demand real changes in the way the parking is run. 

Oh dear, oh dear, elected members and senior officers of the London Borough of Barnet: no, and this is the point which you have refused to address: you are about to surrender control of £1billion worth of our council services to the private sector, and the history of total incompetence in this borough's management of procurement and contracting hardly inspires one to believe that the new contracts will address the needs of residents affected by the new provision of service delivery, does it?

Ah, but - more worrying signs of confusion from Cllr Marshall. He wants to tell us that  of course residents are now getting a much better service, as a result of the newly privatised parking services. 

Erm: no, Councillor Marshall, dear sir - no, they are not. 

Parking attendants do not have targets to meet, he informed us, with the authority of someone who knows nothing about the finer details of any given subject,  but has been educated to sound like he does.

Finally a discussion about the committee's ability to scrutinise the One Barnet process. Labour leader Alison Moore thought it was clearly a good idea to look at recent examples of failure, or where authorities had withdrawn from such proposals, as in Cornwall, Somerset, Suffolk, Edinburgh, etc etc. 

Of course at last night's meeting, new interim CEO Andrew Travers had been asked which sort of similar case studies his officers had looked at, and he could not quite recall, but agreed to come up with a list, one which Mrs Angry would certainly like to see, although she suspects it will be rather short.

Alison also reminded the Chair of the need to establish clearly what is happening with the last minute proposal - by the senior management team, acting without authorisation from the members - to change the model of outsourcing for one set of services to a joint venture. 

Coleman announced grandly that there would be no joint venture, as the leader had categorically informed the committee last time. Ah. Funnily enough, the new CEO had referred again to the consideration of this new model only the night before, with absolutely no suggestion that it had been discounted. This is, of course, because the senior management team are really the driving force for One Barnet and have every intention of promoting their own favoured option.

Coleman, continuing his finely observed portrayal of understated martyrdom, and dignity in adversity, remarked that in regard to the Labour leader's concerns, 'I don't disagree with anything you say' ... his only objection was really as to the sort of advice the committee ought to take.

Coleman, for all his faults, is a pragmatist, and knows that One Barnet is doomed. Hugh Rayner knows it too: and so does almost everyone now, it seems, apart from the leader and deputy leader of the Tory group.

The Labour group has now called for a vote of no confidence in leader Cornelius over the One Barnet fiasco. 

This will take place in the next few days. Between then and now, a lot of interesting manouvres will be taking place, Mrs Angry would imagine, as the increasingly open dissent amongst the Tory backbenchers comes into play. 

Many of them are deeply worried - at last - by the extent of the enormous committment to One Barnet and they are also concerned by the continual flow of negative publicity related to their colleague Brian Coleman. They know that their chances of being re elected in 2014 are fatally compromised. They have an opportunity to do something now, and frankly if he loses his position, Cornelius has only himself to blame.

And that was that.

Coleman took his little hammer and tapped it, lightly, just once, declaring the meeting ended. People drifted out of the room. He left quietly.

And that, citizens, is how the world ends, in Broken Barnet: not with a bang, but a whimper. The slow, painful recognition that finally, the impact of the things we do, and the things we fail to do, catch up with all of us, eventually - and then we have to face the consequences.

Swinging in the wrong direction -the Big Society and localism in Broken Barnet

Tory councillor Andrew Harper, seen right, swinging, (but in the wrong direction - see below) is, as I am sure you will know by now, a man with an enormous portfolio - he is not just the representative for the downtrodden masses of Hampstead Garden Suburb, but also serves as Cabinet member for Education, Children and Families, and, most importantly, still clinging to the wreckage as deputy Leader of Barnet Council.

Sadly, Andrew failed in his bid to become Leader this month, due in no small part, perhaps, to an excess of enthusiasm, and running a campaign that peaked rather too soon: the day after the resignation of ailing former leader Lynne Hillan, in fact.

Andrew has not allowed this setback to deter him from all political ambition, however, and only recently he addressed the Tory Reform conference with a wonderfully stupid speech, 'The Big Society in Barnet', happily published on the Conservative Home website for our further edification.

Mrs Angry thought it would be useful to share with you some of the highlights of this speech, and Andrew's thoughts on localism, and the Big Society.

Andrew tells us: 'In Barnet, we have been talking for some time about how we open up our services to greater localism, greater involvement ...'

Got that: greater localism, greater involvement ... Sounds good, doesn't it?

Oh, but what do we mean, here in Broken Barnet, when we use the word localism?

Please do not jump to the wrong conclusion. You may be under the misapprehension that the purpose of localism is to enable local communities to have easier access to the democratic process. This is misguided.

As Eric Pickles has stated, the move to localism will require the cutting of red tape, and the severance of 'the leash' of central government. It is, according to Eric, about 'pushing power outwards, downwards as far as possible' but not in the direction of the communities so much as their elected representatives, 'to act in their residents' best interests'.

Unfortunately, as we know only too well here in our beloved borough, elected representatives assume the mantle of responsibility for their residents' best interests without bothering to consult them and gain their approval for the course of action they pursue.

The limited agenda that is put forward at the time of election fails to give any real indication of the policies that will be enacted once in power, and once in power, the same elected representatives truly are a law unto themselves.

Here in Barnet, for example, almost the first act of our greedy little Tory councillors was to try to sneak in a proposal to increase their own pay, despite the savage budget of cutbacks in frontline services they gleefully informed their residents were on the way, and the number of job losses planned for council staff.

Another item which failed to make it into the election propaganda was the plan to take a hatchet to the council constitution, cutting off the rights of opposition councillors to engage in debate over council policy, and preventing residents from raising issues of their choice at the local forums.

Mrs Angry was present at the special committee where these wicked proposals were voted through by the Tory majority, and heard Councillor Tom Davey agree that such a move might be undemocratic, but as the voters of Barnet had elected into them into office, anything, absolutely anything that they decided to do now was with their approval.

Er, yeah. The furious reaction of residents at this week's newly censored forums shows only too well just how much they approved of the council's contempt for their opinions, and exactly what they thought of the Barnet Tories' demonstration of localism in action.

As for the Big Society, well, according to Mr Harper:

'we feel the balance of social responsibilty has swung too far in the direction of the state - many of us in Barnet quote a headline in one of our local papers about changes in support for residents in sheltered housing :('changes in support' meaning callously removing the wardens) - "The neighbours forced to care", it read. The article went on to say that outraged residents complained that they were now checking on their elderly neighbours each day to make sure they were OK. What can I say but "Good". I think it is worrying that our society has ever felt that caring can simply be a fiscal action - and that it can be delegated in its entirety to the state.'

Look at the attitude this extract inadvertently betrays: 'outraged' residents having to be forced by the council to care for their neighbours. The Big Society must take over much of the responsibilty for caring: and of course not because of the savings to be had in getting rid of luxuries like sheltered housing wardens, no, no: because it is morally incumbant on people to step in and provide such services on a voluntary basis.

Hmm. Well, I'd like to think that Mr Harper is always rushing up and down the leafy lanes of Hampstead Garden Suburb, delivering home cooked meals for elderly neighbours, doing their laundry, and giving them blanket baths. Perhaps he does. He certainly worries a good deal about some of his neighbours, whose empty multi million pound properties are at risk from the plague of squatting he claims is blighting our lives. Mr and Mrs Saif Gaddafi, of Winnington Road, for example.

Alright. Let me introduce you to Mrs Angry's neighbours ... (no, not the ones from hell, now safely removed, no thanks to Andrew Harper). Next door lives eighty five year old Padraig, and his middle aged son Kieran. They are like an Irish version of Steptoe and son: Padraig is a naughty, charming, blue eyed old devil who somehow always triumphs over the romantic ambitions of his son, who rages against the old man's intransigence and mischief, but cares for him, as well as working full time, with great patience and devotion.

Padraig came from Sligo, just after the war, and settled here, working as an engineer on the railway for more than forty years. He came from the same part of Sligo, in fact, as some of Mrs Angry's distant family, from a village at the foot of the Ox Mountains, a place to leave and never come back to. Visiting the village, a couple of years back, Mrs Angry teasingly told Padraig that she saw a farmer drive past on a tractor, who looked just like him. He was of course, said Mrs Angry, a very handsome farmer. 'Ah. That would be my cousin Sean,' said Padraig, nodding, not batting an eyelid.

He has a rich and colourful vocabulary, of eye watering rudeness, and an interesting, if somewhat intolerant world view, with a particular contempt, for example, for the indulgences of celebrity culture. I can't tell you, for example, which politician he describes as 'nothing but a big bag of shite with a piece of string tied in the middle', or the botoxed celeb he claims has had, oh dear, 'more pricks in her than a dartboard' ... He once appeared at Mrs Angry's door, scarlet faced, holding up a copy of The Sun, and jabbing at a particularly silly photo of Elton John. 'Have you,' he spat, incoherently, 'EVER seen the feckin' like?' 'You are a wicked old man', said Mrs Angry, trying not to laugh, as he hobbled home, beside himself with rage.

Padraig's wife Rosie died a few years ago, in a Barnet nursing home, suffering from dementia, around the same time as Mrs Angry's father. And as in the experience of Mrs Angry's father, Rosie's treatment was less than caring. She was found to have suffered a broken arm in unexplained circumstances, deteriorated quickly, and died. He visits her grave every day, to tell her what mischief he has been up to, and every night he still lights a lantern and leaves it at the end of the garden for her, so that she will remember where her home is, and where he is.

Both Rosie and now Padraig have relied heavily on support for their needs, their health. Padraig spent much of last year in hospital having a series of operations, and has become much frailer as a result, and less independent. He is as obstinate as an old mountain goat, and refuses to acknowledge his declining strength, of course.

At this time of year, he will often appear at the door with a bunch of roughly cut, beautiful, scented red roses from his garden, which he shoves in your hands, without speaking, and usually scuttles off before you can catch him and give him the big hug he deserves. He used to give the flowers to Rosie, I suppose. Sometimes he puts them in a Tesco carrier bag and throws them over the fence, or lays them on the recycyling box for you to find when you get home: and to Mrs Angry, no romantic gesture could be more lovely. (Sadly, this is about as good as romance gets, in her experience) ...

The last time he did this, she called round to say thank you. He was in a tetchy mood, having just read the paper. The conversation moved to politics, and the Coalition government. What did he think about the way things were going? Uh oh. His face contorted with fury. He jumped up and grabbed Mrs Angry's arm, leaving a bruise that took a week to fade away.

'I tell you what ... I tell you what, boy ... (he calls everyone boy) and excuse my language ( he always says this, before launching into the most appalling, foul mouthed rant, so caustic it could strip paint at a distance of twenty yards) them f*cking b*stards are all a bunch of f*cking a*seholes, and I don't mind telling you that each and every one of the lying, f*cking sh*ts is an absolute f*cking c**t - if you will please forgive me for sayin' so ...'

I forgive you, Padraig.

'I worked for over forty years, and never once had I a day off sick, and how much tax did I pay, and what now, after all that? What good has it done me? Or Rosie, when she needed it? They don't want to keep me alive, do they? I'm costing them too much ...'

'Yes,' says Kieran. 'You've outstayed your welcome. Look at all these pills you have to take to keep you going, all the operations, and trips to the doctor - an absolute bloody fortune, David Cameron's not going to keep paying out for that, mate ...'

For a fleeting moment Padraig's eyes betray a fear that there is more than an element of truth in what he is saying. He knows how bad things were when Rosie was at the end of her life, and he knows that things now are about to get a whole lot worse.

'Dig a hole and throw me in it,' says Padraig.

'Give me a f*cking spade, and I'll start digging, then, ' says Kieran.

Mrs Angry decided at this point to make a tactful exit, before the old man was in need of hospitalisation again.

Kieran is at work all day, and travels away from home from time to time. When he is not around, do we keep an eye on Padraig, and make sure he is ok? Of course we do. Do we have to be told by Andrew Harper to do this, as our duty on behalf of the Big Society? We do not.

Doesn't it tell you all you need to know about our heartless, selfish Tory councillors, here in Broken Barnet, that they assume that the residents they represent think 'that caring can simply be a fiscal action'? They are so engrossed in their own dysfunctional, selfish world views that they cannot appreciate how the majority of ordinary people live, as part of a community, and relying on relationships that sustain each other. They reduce everything to monetary worth: in short, they know the cost of everything and the value of nothing. This is the real face of the Big Society, especially here: an excuse to cut costs, and to hand lucrative business over to the private sector, no questions asked - and localism?

Oh please.