The Sunday Times Magazine • 37ILLUSTRATION BY BEN CHALLENOR. GETTY, ALAMY
fury, saying that the café would
cause “great harm” to the area.
As that tidal wave of misguided
moral righteousness swamped the
room, he called for a vote, won it
easily and just — but only just —
stopped himself punching the air
with delight.
Of course I get where he’s
coming from. Nobody has ever
left university saying, “I want to
run a subcommittee at my local
council.” So I understand that
he’s constantly disappointed with
how life has turned out for him. As
a result he will see this vote as a
tremendous victory for the
downtrodden little man who took
on, and beat, the man off the telly.
I don’t doubt the rich angry
couple from the village are happy
too. Doubtless they’re in their
onyx pool now, celebrating thewin with some prosecco and a few
cheesy Wotsits.
But what this unholy alliance
actually did was say to the
thousands of struggling people
who farm in a national park, or an
area of outstanding natural beauty,
or the Norfolk Broads, that they
may not turn unused buildings
into cafés or gyms or office space.
It’s nearly impossible to make
money from farming these days
and in recent years farmers have
relied on government grants to
keep going. But those grants are
being phased out and we have
been told by the government that
to survive we must diversify. And
now local government is saying we
can’t. That has to be addressed,
and soon, so that councils are
encouraged or even ordered to cut
farmers some slack.
What’s more, everyone has
spent the last six months moaning
about how I must build a car park
to stop visitors to the farm shop
from parking on the road. And
now the council has said I can’t.
The day after the meeting
I was swamped with offers of help
from other councillors on other
planning authorities who say the
council’s report was full of holes
and that the decision was absurd.
Lawyers have been in touch, out
of the blue, to say I have a strong
legal case. I also received kind
emails from Roger Daltrey and
the chair of the health, wellbeing
and social inclusion working
group of the Cotswolds National
Landscape, who says she’s “deeply
discomfited” by the decision.
Naturally the local farmers,
hoteliers and publicans are
devastated, because the people
the café would have attracted
won’t now be coming.
Of course, eventually, this
unholy mess will all be untangled
and the decision will be
overturned, but in the meantime
I’m going to have to keep
everything going by living in the
murky, grey area of legal loopholes
and cunning wheezes. I’m good at
this, though. It’s all I learnt at
school, really, getting round the
rules rather than abiding by them.
More immediately, though,
I have a cow in the barn that is
due to give birth to her first calf.
A calf that, thanks to Phil’s
planning subcommittee, will now
be sold at a loss to a supermarket,
where it will sit on a shelf until it’s
an hour out of date. And then it’ll
be thrown away nBrize Norton does, I thought, but
I wasn’t allowed to speak.
At one point a sensible younger
woman said that people in the area
cared more about how many jobs
would be created than how many
stars they could see, but she was
immediately shut down by the
chap to her right who said tetchily
he liked to watch The Sky at
Night. Right. I see. Because you
like watching a TV show about
galaxies I shouldn’t have
permission for a café.
As the time wore on people
made important-sounding noises
until eventually the planning
officer said she wouldn’t
recommend permission be
granted. And then a man called
Phil, who was obviously some kind
of local government boss, made a
speech that built to a crescendo ofPhil will see
this vote
as a victory
for the little
man who
took on,
and beat,
the man off
the telly