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We met under a hundred pinpricks of light, and two snarling lions rampant. It seemed to me that we were going to need the shield against which they were leaning. The beasts looked angry, angry at the nervous jollity, the back-slapping, the power dresses and forced open-neck shirt paired with mohair suit. When one Councillor cracked a joke the lions retained their severity. And so they should, because this committee is a money factory. Fortunes are made and lost here. Dreams come true, dreams are shattered right here in this room. So many tight jaws, so much emotion, so much riding on what was to be decided. Tap-dancing on the head of a pin ‘What does Sustainability mean?’ Well, it used to be this and now it’s that, and that’s not fair, that’s not relevant, yes it is, no it isn’t. School playground experience is vital here. Only difference? Money. The squabbling’s serious stuff now, salaries, livelihoods, dreams, effort, emotional attachment, sales, income. And the playground is where those wheedling skills are first learned, and then honed. ‘….Aware of the problem, but not aware of the depth of feeling in the community…’ says the applicant. Titters. Another tap on the head of the pin. And the weasel agent, playground ex-offender, seen it all before, watching, sniffing, weighing it all up. The reactions, votes, smiles of the Councillors noted, saved, filed away for the next time the money factory is in session. Embarrassingly inarticulate Councillors, silent Councillors, somnolent Councillors, chirpy, pushy Councillors all clear that a Planning Premium is in the wind. More money, more emotion, more tap dancing on a pin head. (image used with the permission of the artist: you can find more of his work here)