CRUMBRIA: 25/04/2025: EXCLUSIVE
Today the Chronic introduces “Our Secret Councillor column”. Cllr Neville Waffle (not his real name!) has been a Councillor for at least 10 years. He tells us that he is: “Thinking of standing down at the next election to spend more time with his sanity.”
Any Other Business: The Secret Councillor
By Cllr Neville Waffle
Ah yes, being a Councillor — the glamorous life of power, prestige, and public adoration. Who wouldn’t want to spend their nights in cold village halls being shouted at about potholes, dog muck, and missed bins?
I used to have hobbies. Friends. A vague sense of self-worth. But now? Now I’m a complaint sponge. I have an inbox full of passive-aggressive emails about wheelie bins being too big, too small, too heavy and too light.
I get phone calls at 11pm because someone’s neighbour looked at their hedge in a threatening manner. There’s a woman who regularly tells me that her daughter has got roof tiles missing but won’t get them fixed. Why aren’t the Council doing anything??? she shouts. I often get stopped in the street and people will shout: “When are you getting rid of that hole?”
We tried to put in a Zebra crossing and the local shop next door became completely convinced that it was a Council conspiracy to drive them bankrupt by preventing customers from parking.
The allowances? Don’t even get me started. For the price of a half-decent pub meal (without drinks), I get to wallow in Town Hall bureaucracy for 12 months which takes hours and hours of my time to read. Time that I could be spending with my grandkids.
Fancy getting anything done? Silly old me.
First, fill out Form 27b/6, submit it to the Department of Procrastination & Obstruction, wait two weeks, only to get an out-of-office reply that the Officer concerned has now left the Council, is on leave, on the sick, working from home, or out of the office.
And recognition? Yes, occasionally someone says: “Aren’t you that Councillor!” usually right before blaming me for things like Israel or Ukraine, or accusing me of secretly owning all the car parks, or being a member of the WEF.
I gave up evenings, weekends, and my will to live, all for the joy of mediating disputes about who owns that patch of grass behind the Co-op. I once helped repaint a bench. A bench. It was vandalised within the week!
At least I get a laugh from The Cumbria Chronic which skewers us with terrifying accuracy. Yes, it’s brutal. Sometimes very unforgiving. Occasionally I wince when they hit a bit too close to home. But let’s be honest. They’re better informed than the local paper who we rarely hear from anymore. They called me by the wrong name for six months until I had a quiet word.
Why did I stand for election? I vaguely remember something about civic duty! A desire to make a difference. Hilarious, in hindsight.
But I carry on. Because deep down, buried beneath the sarcasm and despair, I know someone has to do it. Just…next time you see your local Councillor, maybe say thanks for once?
Or at least don’t throw a recycling calendar at us!
After all, we’re only human too.
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thecumbriachronic.co.uk 
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