Retirement writing therapy. It’s been a long time since I wrote one of these ‘writing as therapy’ blogs and you may feel, having read this blog, that my need for therapy is fairly insignificant given all that’s going on in the world but, trust me, I need the support that writing out my troubles has typically brought in my retirement. After all it’s one of the key reasons I started this retirement blog all those years ago.
So what’s the trouble you ask? Well it’s our planning application on the barn that stands on our vineyard. You may remember that we applied for a change of use from an office (as designated by the Harrogate planners) to a residential property. This under changes in permitted development regulations. We have no intention of developing / expanding / changing the barn we just wanted to put our short stays to work on the vines, on to a legitimate footing.
Anyway, given our experience of the Harrogate planners, we weren’t surprised when they turned down our application which is why it has now gone to an ‘independent’ appeal. And here he was, seemed like a nice enough guy (well the dogs liked him) but the problems started when I asked him who he was and what his job was here today.
He forced himself to make a response. Every word torn from the innermost depths of his soul. Basically he said I’m here to collect evidence to make a judgement on the appeal. OK, so what kind of evidence are you looking for? And this is where the trouble really started. To say he obfuscated would be an understatement. To collect evidence for the appeal. I’ll try again, pleasantly I ask again what kind of evidence?
Same response – to judge the appeal. OK, I give in, you get on then. He disappears into the barn to do who knows what. He emerges after about 10 minutes and then spends a lot of time looking at the view and writing in his notebook. What’s he writing, nice view, you can see the pub from here? (which you can, whether this would be a point in favour or against I will never know.)
I’m pruning the vines and he asks, are these vines. Well it’s not much, but it’s a start communication-wise. Yes, I reply and start to tell him a bit about the vineyard. Then it’s like he realises he’s committed a cardinal sin of a planning inspector having shown a human face to the appellant (that’s us) and he clams up.
Out of sheer politeness I ask him has he far to go to get home. He tells me he’s come from Hartlepool I think it was. I hadn’t asked this but perhaps he misunderstood the question. I try again. So where’s your base? I’ve come from Hartlepool. Right, OK, it’s like he doesn’t want me to know where he lives / works whatever. Does he think I’m going to trace him to his home and kill him in front of his family if the judgement goes against us? Hmm, not a bad idea, although forget the family angle and it wouldn’t be because of the judgement per se, but rather because he wouldn’t tell me what the bloody criteria was for his ‘judgement’. That is all I was trying to understand. Is that unreasonable, please tell me if you think it is.
After about half an hour it’s time for him to leave. I expect you think I’ve avoided answering your questions, he says. Mrs Summerhouse, less circumspect than me, replies, yes. And then he says words that will live with me forever. Well, I’ve done a good job then, he says clearly pleased with himself.
No you f—ing haven’t you’ve done a shit job, you little prick. Unfortunately I feel unable to share this view with him just in case he was going to approve the appeal and now changes his mind because we’ve called him a little prick. And here’s the real frustration, it’s not being able to tell him what you think of him and his secretive and special judgement process.
How a publicly-funded governmental body can be allowed to operate in this way is beyond me. He’s not from MI5 or Johnson’s government is he. Whatever happened to the concept of transparency in the operations of public bodies? Ha, I scoff at your notion of transparency, they say.
I find no sympathy from my planning consultant (whom I share my frustrations with next day) other than, that’s what I have to put up with and have done for 30 years. Never have those words, if you’re not part of the solution then you’re part of the problem, seemed so apposite.
Retirement writing therapy summary
So it must be me, I clearly have unrealistic expectations of our government bodies or a complete misunderstanding of the subtleties of the judgement process when it comes to applying our planning laws. I spit on your notion of transparency and raise you another £500 (on top of the £900 I’ve already paid out). There I feel better for having got that out there. Don’t I? Watch this space for result.