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I remember sitting in a drafty church hall back in ’98, watching the chair of the neighbourhood watch group slowly wilt over a lukewarm pot of tea. She wasn’t lazy; she was just exhausted because she was doing the work… Continue reading

I remember sitting in a drafty community hall back in the nineties, staring at a blank grant application while a local councillor insisted we needed a professional consultant to calculate our “human capital metrics.” It was absolute nonsense. People get… Continue reading

I remember sitting in a drafty church hall back in the nineties, watching a perfectly good neighborhood garden project fall apart simply because no one could prove how much work had actually been put in. We had passion, we had… Continue reading

I remember sitting in a drafty church hall back in ’94, staring at a pile of half-finished minutes and a group of people who had all promised to “help out” but hadn’t shown up for three weeks straight. It’s a… Continue reading

I remember sitting in a drafty church hall in 1994, watching a perfectly good street garden project fall apart not because we lacked funds, but because two lovely women stopped speaking to each other over a disputed seating plan. There… Continue reading

I remember sitting in a drafty church hall back in ’94, staring at a half-empty table and a pile of unfiled invoices because our treasurer had suddenly decided to move to Spain. There was this panicked, whispered feeling in the… Continue reading

I remember sitting in a drafty village hall back in ’94, watching a perfectly good community garden project fall apart simply because three people had promised to weed the beds, but nobody had actually written down who was doing what.… Continue reading

I remember sitting in a drafty church hall in 1994, clutching a lukewarm cup of tea and watching a well-meaning woman dismantle our entire floral display because she “felt it lacked spirit.” There was no HR department to call, no… Continue reading

I remember sitting in a drafty church hall back in the nineties, staring at a mountain of damp flyers and a lukewarm pot of tea, feeling my heart sink because I was the only one actually doing anything. I had… Continue reading

I remember sitting in a drafty village hall back in the nineties, watching a perfectly good community project dissolve into nothing because the chairperson spent forty minutes arguing about the brand of biscuits rather than the budget. It’s a tragedy… Continue reading