Tag Archives: meeting

2419. Parliamentary sub-committee meeting…

I can understand you wanting a pay rise.

At the end of the day the bottom line is on a go-forward basis. To be honest the reality at this moment in time, if you really think about it, is that it all boils down to it being what it is. The fact of the matter, with all due respect, is that it all adds up to the one thing that matters.

To make a long story short, that really is it in a nutshell.

Have a nice day.

2043. Nancy’s meringues

Nancy would dominate every situation; but, my word, did she despise anyone who criticized? Criticism may not have brought out the best in her, but it brought out her creativity. When the pub proprietor near the local golf club suggested she was too loud during the after match spree, she managed without detection to slash the proprietor’s car tires. Well, that’s what was suspected. It wasn’t the case at all; she had paid someone else to do it.

And now Audrey, the timid little chairwoman of the meeting, who also organized refreshments after the monthly meeting of the City Suburbs Women’s Institute, had dared suggest that the cupcakes Nancy had brought along were crumbly. How dare she!

“How dare you, you little twerp,” spouted Nancy in a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the suburbs. “Meringues! Are these your meringues? They’re sticky and chewy. I‘ll show you how to make meringues.”

The next meeting Nancy brought along a large plate of meringues she had paid someone to make. Each was doubled over with whipped cream in the middle like a sandwich. The cream was Nancy’s contribution to the meringues. It had been designed to make everyone sick. (I don’t know what she used; I’m not a know-all). The whipped cream was infused with stuff that would make everyone get stomach cramps and vomit.

“This is how you make meringues,” declared Nancy, dumping her plate on the table prior to the monthly meeting of the City Suburbs Women’s Institute. “And they’re certainly not crumbly, nor sticky and chewy like yours.”

“The first item on the agenda,” said timid little Chairwoman Audrey, “is the removal of Nancy from the meeting.”

The motion was agreed to almost unanimously. (Is it possible to be almost unanimous?) “And don’t forget to take your plate of meringues,” said Audrey as Nancy passed the refreshments table. Nancy grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and took it with her. All plates of goodies clattered to the floor. Nancy swept into departure.

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” said timid Audrey.

“I don’t know,” laughed Camilla the vice-chairwoman of the City Suburb’s Women’s Institute. “She’s a woman I admire so much for taking a stand.” Camilla laughed at what wasn’t even a joke. She giggled, and squealed, and shrieked, and twittered. And guffawed. “I admire her so much first and foremost for being a woman.”

“Perhaps, now that Nancy’s gone,” added Audrey, “we can start to get a few things done. But first, let’s get rid of Giggling Gertie. Hands up those in favour.” Camilla didn’t gather fragments of a broken plate of foodstuff as she passed the refreshments table, for she had brought nothing to the meeting.

2042. A secretary’s report

I never like it much when a committee I belong to elects me as its secretary for a meeting. It has happened quite a few times throughout my short life. It was an initial thrill to be chosen to represent Planet Earth at a meeting of COPP (Coalition of Populated Planets). There were forty-three other planets represented. These forty-three members had been meeting for years. This was the first time Earth had been invited to the discussion. It was exciting! but then they went and elected me as secretary. I presume they did so to shut me up. I guess I should be pleased, but a chore is a chore.

The subject of the meeting was “Whether to invite Planet Earth to become a permanent member of the Coalition of Populated Planets.” I should make it clear from the start that I had recused myself, even though I didn’t have the right to vote anyway. Oicurmt from Planet Cuzique suggested that my very act of recusal when it wasn’t even applicable was reason enough to bar Earth from joining. “We don’t want stupidity to enter into COPP. Nonsense! Complete balderdash! Utter rubbish! Silliness has reached new heights! It’s bonkers! Nincompoopery at the apex of ridiculousness!”

Pkjzqqht from Planet Bvdcjllp (these Bvdcjllpians always seem to have unpronounceable names) thought that leaders on Planet Earth were two-faced. “They haven’t yet proved that what they say and what they do is the same thing.” “Yes!” agreed Oicurmt from Planet Cuzique. “It’s stark raving stupidity! Madness! I’ve never heard of anything so loony in all my life!”

Yulululu of Planet Kangaflufu said that Planet Earth’s preference for war over negotiation was not something they would want to influence the deliberations of COPP. “They’re constantly at each other’s gardła (“gardła” is Kangaflufuvian for “throats”). “Yes!” agreed Oicurmt from Planet Cuzique. “It’s so very…”

This discussion went on and on. It is unnecessary to report on all forty-three negative comments from all forty-three member planets. Suffice to say that the result of the final vote was 43-1. You see, even though I had recused myself I voted anyway. I couldn’t believe the negativity of all these inferior planets.

The bit I didn’t like was having to return to Planet Earth and announce that our inclusion into COPP had been rejected. Instead (since I was the secretary) I told everyone that “it was a very easy call. The other planets love us and feel that they could learn so much by assimilating something of Earth’s over-powering magnanimity. The final vote was unanimous.”

As a footnote, it should be mentioned that the leaders of Earth were enraptured. We are certainly more powerful than other planets in terms of the military, and since our peaceful request has been accepted we shall now more easily influence the decisions of COPP by resorting to threats and violence.

2006. Online business meeting

Well! What an unbelievable mess! Olga, who lived in New York, had been asked by Hector, who lived in South Africa, to organize a meeting online. The two of them were to discuss an important business deal with Jack, who lived in Scotland.

The meeting was to seal a multimillion dollar transaction. Jack in Scotland had the money, Hector in South Africa had the imagination, and Olga in New York had the drive. It was easy-peasy! All three knew it. A deal could be struck so effortlessly that possibly a deal could be struck even before a deal could be struck!

The business of different time zones was easily solved; as was taking into account Summer Time and all other unnecessary foibles of modern time-foolery. Such a thing was simple arithmetic. All three came online at the same time. That was when the confusion began.

Not a single one of the three had the slightest inkling as to what the other was saying. The accents caused total muddlement. It was all Double Dutch. Olga, Hector, and Jack might as well have spoken in turn in Njerep, Kaixana and Paakantyi.

The meeting was worse than a waste of time; it was a disaster. Afterwards, Olga jumped off a bridge (in fact it held up traffic for quite some time). Hector took his elephant-hunting gun and went for a walk (he has never been seen since). Jack went and dined as usual in a fancy restaurant. (He had so much money he didn’t give a hoot about some silly failed transaction).

And that is why the antidote for the common cold has never been made available.

1135. Hi Blogging-Boo-Boo-Blondie

Hi Blogging-Boo-Boo-Blondie.

We’ve followed each other’s blogs for so long now that I almost feel like I know you. You must have buried yourself deep in my psyche because last night you appeared in one of my dreams.

You were a lot shorter in the real than I thought you were. I always thought you were relatively tall. But no! You are quite dumpy. When you threw off your dress I got the fright of my life. Thank goodness you were wearing something underneath. But the bulges! I never knew you were that over-weight. In fact, from the photos on your blog, I thought you were quite thin.

The thing I would like to know is why did you refuse to shake my hand? Quite frankly, it upset me. I put out my hand to introduce myself and you looked at me like I was stupid or something. I never knew you were that rude. I’ve always thought we were friends, and then once we get to meet you weren’t as polite as I thought. In fact you were straight-out almost offensive if you ask me.

Anyway, we can carry on sharing our blogs I suppose, but it was a good lesson for me not to take everyone at face value.

1115. Every dog has its day

God decided to call a meeting in Heaven for a semi-important announcement. God wanted to look averagely authoritative, so suggested having a pair of dogs to guard the steps on either side leading up to the throne. It would be like the stone Babylonian lions guarding the temple gates, although not so frightfully imposing.

St Michael the Archangel suggested using Afghan Hounds. They’re so majestic, what with their fine features and long hair.

Archangel Raphael suggested Bernese Mountain Dogs. They’re so big and imposing. They would lend authority and friendliness.

Archangel Gabriel had another idea. Why not a couple of Airedale Terriers? They have a wonderful playful streak that would delight everyone.

But God had other plans. The meeting was held. It turned out to be not that important. The assembly dispersed. But everyone was over the moon with excitement. Each one said the same thing: Did you notice that God chose MY dog to guard the steps to the throne?

1071. An important meeting

Malcolm was very capable but must have been the most tedious bore in the factory. He was in charge of the knitting and weaving. If you asked Malcolm a question he would drone on and on. And on.

Claus, the boss, asked Emile if he would discuss with Malcolm the timing of some knitting procedure.

“And get a three hour lecture on how to make a clock?” said Emile.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Claus, “we’ll both go together and tell him we have an important meeting to attend in quarter of an hour.”

So they did that, and they were only one hour twenty minutes late for their fictional meeting. However, they both now know how to make a clock.

657. Stolen car

© Bruce Goodman 29 July 2015


Brendan had to attend an important meeting. It was to be held in a rural area. The venue was an old stately homestead in the heart of large gardens and sprawling lawns. It had been converted into a “retreat” for business conferences. Brendan had to attend a meeting there every week. This time, however, Brendan’s friend from work, Peter, was also going.

The meeting was all day. Lunch was provided, as was morning and afternoon tea. The meeting finished around four o’clock. Brendan was in a hurry. He hated meetings. He wanted to get home.

He came outside. His car had gone. It had been stolen. He phoned the police. The police came. He gave them particulars.

Brendan asked Peter if he could hitch a ride. Peter obliged. It wasn’t as if there had been wine with the lunch, but Peter giggled all the way home. Brendan was furious. Having your car pinched was no giggling matter. Peter laughed even harder.

Anyway, Peter dropped Brendan off. No thanks, he wouldn’t come in; he wanted to get home himself.

And there, in the garage, was Brendan’s car! He’d forgotten. He’d gone to the meeting with Peter.