Here’s my call-centre worker union mate again…phew what a week:
“It’s Saturday night, too tired to dance and its not alright for fighting.
No wonder with the week I have had…
Monday 19th April
Informed that a fellow rep and union member has been suspended. Word gets round. Emergency meeting organised for Wednesday night. Wheels set in motion for another defence campaign – we’ve been here before. Meanwhile, volcanic ash has caused havoc with the Love Music Hate Racism gig, the jazz band’s sax player is stuck God know where, I do know where the Irish indie group’s bassist is, but it doesn’t help that he’s in Moscow. My young and beardy co-organiser is on the case though…
Tuesday 20 April
Brother’s birthday. Seems to be well pleased with the BBC’s 1980s political thriller “Edge of Darkness” starring the late Bob Peck and Joanne Whalley. I’m suffering, my cough has got worse. And the more I cough, the more I work away on the case, the more stressed I get, the more I smoke, the more I cough and so on. He keeps interrupting me – “God, whassisname?” as another semi-well known British actor flashes on the screen, inviting me to look them up on IMDB
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0090424/
Decide that I can manage one shift. Manage it, just. Tough campaign, tougher when you have to say to a supporter, “Excuse me” and then hit the mute button, whilst I hack the call-centre down. “Sorry about that”, I say again and again, continue before I can feel another spluttering fit emerging…
Walk to Elephant with a colleague, who takes me to task for my confrontational manner, and how I dominate the union. I give as good as I get, but some of her remarks leave wounds. Particularly as I know she has a point. We’ve been better in involving more people, but more needs to be done to take more of the limelight (and work!) away from me. And she is a really good potential new activist.
Wednesday 21 April
Its no good. The coughing is worse. Last night, brother makes up a bowl of boiling water, sprinkles some bloody potion in it and my towelled head is stuck a few inches away. My head was truly boiled. Face like a lobster’s, a good night’s sleep, but throat is sore from constant hacking and my voice barely registers as I cancel some more shifts.
Just when I think things can’t get any worse, the drip seems to turn into a flood. An email from the new branch treasurer and youth officer of a number of years asks:
“What is the date for the gig?”
My voice is wobbling like Jimmy Saviles as profanity crashes through the air.
We told this guy months ago about the gig, I had sent him a budget and told him how much we needed. He was at the meeting the previous week, when we had our motion on UAF and LMHR amended by the branch. The amendment was to absolve the branch (that had just earlier taken a few minutes to hand hundreds of pounds to Labour candidates for their General Election campaign) from paying for Love Music Hate Racism gigs (including Friday’s) and transport to demos against the Nazis and instead pass the buck to the London Region. We opposed the amendment but it went through 14-8 anyway.
I am getting sicker, but I have committed to two meetings and I am working on the defence case.
I make it to Brixton and I am about to do 20 minutes on “Fighting Immigration Controls”. I am sure that ten of them are spent emitting germs from my mouth in the loudest possible fashion. I enjoy the discussion, fantastic level of politics from comrades younger and supposedly greener than myself. In fact, the first contribution would have been fine as the meeting itself and the highlight was a great contribution from a young Colombian guy, not just about his experiences as a migrant worker, but some very salient political points.
8.30pm and I’ve summed up and I’m coughing and running. Emergency meeting in 45 minutes.Tube from Brixton. Stops at Stockwell. Can get on Northern Line from ther. Fuck it – take it to Kings Cross. A couple of stops later, in between stations, the train halts. And its waiting…and waiting…and waiting. Passengers look at each other in the vain hope that someone may have a clue why this might be. I take my earphones phones out.The Good, The Bad and The Queen’s “Kingdom of Doom” is distant now. The message over the tannoy tells us about signal problems in the Victoria area.
“All in now
There’s a noise in the sky
Following all the rules
And not asking why”
As the train negotiates its way through the problems, I look at the time on my mobile. 9pm and I’m at the doors waiting for the train to pull into Kings Cross.
I sprint, Christ knows how many metres, to the Northern Line. I’m no Usain Bolt, and my chest is telling me that this is no good. “I’m ready to explode”, it cries. I reduce to a saunter as I jump on a train to Old St.
At Old St, the escalators need to be conquered at some pace, the walkway gets the same treatment, ignoring the shouts of the poor and no-so-old beggar. 9.15, the meeting due to start, I’m on City Road and the pub seems further away from the tube than it normally does.
There seems to be more people in my way as I try to sprint.
I’m Richard Ashcroft of the Verve, arrogantly pushing pedestrians to the floor, nothing will stop me reaching my goal:
“I’ll take you down the only road I’ve ever been down
You know the one that takes you to the places
where all the veins meet yeah”
And I’m there.
And there’ll all there and the meeting was fine. And I hang around for a frame of pool and a chat and then off home to collapse.
Thursday 22 April
Meeting with the most Senior Manager. Again no pay rise. All very good reasons supposedly. There’s a recession on don’t you know? Only this company is doing okay despite the recession. And in this particular part of the call-centre industry, they still have the lions’ share of the market and are expanding globally.
Another meeting in the evening. Still coughing and spluttering. Seminar on ant-union laws. John Hendy QC is obviously annoyed at the lack of action taken by the trade union movement to challenge these disgraceful limits on our right to wirhdraw our labour. The BA dispute was halted over Christmas
by a number of ballot papers that went out to redundant workers that would have changed the result from a 92% strike vote to 91%.
Bit of a chat, a quick beer and a quick game of pool with these lovely lads with learning difficulties. Bags more charm than your average Senior Manager.
Friday 23rd April
The day of the gig. Still working on “The Case” as shall be known from now.
Get to a picket of UBS for a few minutes, help a comrade put up a banner.
Down to Shoreditch, the Old Blue Last. Posters to be stuck up, calls being made. My Scottish friend has done the necessary, we have bands, we have equipment, we have a sound engineer, but do we have punters.
Before it starts filling up, a group of not so-likely lads with short hair, short attention spans, short on sobriety and short on decent politics and wearing England t-shirts, make a half-hearted attempt to enter. A young cockney red with sharp patter sends them packing. She’s my hero.
The place is filling up.
The talented host of ceremonies for the evening, is as always, fashionably late. Not as late as the first acoustic act. The Aussie soundman and provider of equipment mutters to me:
“If only he’s take his fucking guitar out of his case”
He eventually does and he plays well, but the voice that accompanies his chords, a young black woman, is sublime
Was busy rushing around, so didn’t hear much of the next acoustic act, just remember him prancing around so much that the soundman had to run after him to plug his guitar back in.
Upstairs is kicked off by Because We Can sporting St George’s neckchiefs, again busy organising collections, helping to bring people from downstairs.
By the time They’re All Projects came on, the place was heaving, I was relaxed and very merry.
They made me feel better, not only do I like the melodies and their way with words, they’re a lovely bunch.
The real star of the evening is fellow union activist and beatboxer extraordinaire, the one and only mUnique! Crowds both upstairs and down have been lapping up her wit and her delivery.
Political speeches made, crowd rocking to Castle Radio
Castle Radio - Rocking Against The Nazis
and the harsh sound of Three Colours, I really wanted to stay, but sense told me to drag my pal and run for the 11.59 to Lower Sydenham.
Saturday 24th April
Due to be in work for the afternoon, cough a little less, throat still sore and croaky. Another cancelled shift, more rest in preparation for tonight’s committee meeting. One dampener on evening, another co-organiser had been attacked on her way home. That’s what the evening and our activity is all about – ensuring that such Nazi scumbags are no longer confident to confront black, Asian, gays, socialists and trade unionists in the way they have been increasingly doing as the BNP vote rises.
The meeting only has 3 committee members, but is extended to include 5 others. I’m pleased as a lot is planned. Hang around to have the crack. Thankfully only on blackcurrant and soda and leave as the tequila slammers start to be slammed down and talk turns to cosmetic surgery and sexual fetishes.
Too tired, I walk to London Bridge and home to fall asleep in front of Match of the Day.”
By the way, allow me to let you into a secret. “Call-Centre Worker Guy” is my current squeeze. He’s started to get on my nerves, though. He can’t write for toffee (I have to rewrite everything!) he’s always skint ( I am sick of hearing the words “I can’t recriprocate tonight, babe, but I’ll make it up to you”), never takes me anywhere nice, he’s always either on facebook or playing championship manager and he’s crap in bed. Oh, and he snores. All night. Every night.
But he’ll do for now.
Trouble At T' Satanic Mill 
0 Responses to “A Week In The Life Of…”