Our weekly round-up of interesting and outlandish information, collected from the corners of the charity sector.
Here it is, the final Society Diary of the year. Oh, we’ve had some laughs, haven’t we, in this, the brutal year of our Lord 2k and 16. Maybe it’s the acute vitamin-D deficiency speaking, or the lack of circulation to this column’s brain from the hastily purchased and overly tight Christmas jumper, but despite all the travails of the year, the charity sector has, for the most part, kept its sense of humour.
Who could forget John Lewis’ Boxer the Dog advert; Brian Blessed voicing a Glastonbury outhouse, or the woman who shacked up with well-renowned deceased philanthropist Joseph Rowntree? At the risk of blowing its own trumpet, Diary must say it’s all good stuff, and that’s only going back as far as the summer.
The weather outside might not be particularly frightful, but please join Society Diary for one last trip down the charity sector satirical slipway for this year. Thanks for reading!
Where better to start than this:
You're now entering 'The Bone Zone'
Yes, we need to talk about Peter Bone MP. The bespectacled Brexiteer and arch-conservative chrome dome with a penchant for privatising the NHS and condemning gay marriage. Why, you may ask? No, it’s not because in some pictures on Google he looks remarkably like a furless version of Dr Suess’ Grinch. It’s because he wore a hat in parliament yesterday and, because the United Kingdom continues to be - in terms of political traditions at least – stuck somewhere between the Norman Conquests and the Reformation, he got in trouble for it.
See the picture attached to this article. The hat plopped onto the crown of his head like a sad, multi-coloured soufflé taken out of the oven too soon. Peter Bone looks, in this photo at least, for all the world like a befuddled old man who somehow found himself on a Marbella party-cruise. That, or the least popular of all the Sherpas.
Yet Diary can forgive Peter Bone for this crime against headgear because, at the end of the day, it shows that even soulless Tories have a heart. Yes, in honour of Local Charities Day (which is today, by the by, in case you somehow missed the fact that it exists at all) Peter Bone wore this hat in the Houses of Parliament to highlight one of the local charities in his constituency – Crazy Hats, a breast cancer charity. And, as such, found himself on the highway to the dangerbone.
Go on. Sing it. You know you want to.
Hiiiiigh-way. To. The. Dangerbone!
Anyway, dear reader, you can probably find the video of this interaction somewhere, but here's the BBC report on it, play-by-play:
“Standing up in the Commons, Mr Bone, said: "Tomorrow is local charities day and we also have very good local charities in our constituencies and one of mine is Crazy Hats. It's run by Glennis Hooper and a group of dedicated volunteers. They've raised over £2m...
"He then paused as he bent over.
"Placing the hat - perhaps intended as a South American-themed take on Santa's - on his head, be continued: "....by people wearing crazy hats and they've spent that money on breast cancer in Northamptonshire."
Speaker of the House, John Bercow was, surprisingly, not exactly thrilled by Bone’s choice of scalp covering.
Bercow responded: “I've indulged the honourable gentleman for the duration of his question, but I'm glad that he's now taken that hat off.
"And I sincerely hope that he won't put it on again, preferably at any time, but certainly not in the chamber."
And yeah, that was about it. This story (generously so called) has been covered by just about every major media organisation in the land. Quite what that will mean for the coffers of Crazy Hats remains, for the moment at least, unknown.
Hats off to you though, Peter Bone. No, seriously, take that hat off.
Playing Buckfast and loose
Buckfast Tonic Wine raked in a record £8.8m this year for the Buckfast Abbey Trust.
Yes, the drink which needs to carry a disclaimer on every bottle - “The name ‘Tonic Wine’ does not imply health giving or medicinal properties” - has had a bumper sales year, which is good news for the Benedictine monks who make it.
Yep, riding high on the crest of this wave of cash, the Benedictines are moving into the black.
Well, okay, technically, they were already in black. Since that's the only thing they're allowed to wear. But anyway, you know what Diary means.
Good news, right? Well, that depends on which side of the River Tweed you find yourself.
A sheriff in Scotland – where the drink is most enjoyed – claims the good men in habits are breeding bad habits. He claims the Benedictine brew “breeds violence” in those who drink it, and strongly linked its consumption to “violent crime”.
Well, that’s not very Godly, is it?
In response, the abbey’s spokesperson said it was “saddened by the judge’s opinion” that a fraction of satisfied Bucky swillers (or as the monks have called them: “people in Scotland”) aren’t “enjoying Buckfast in a responsible way”.
As it transpires, one of Diary's Christmas elves spent many years in Glasgow, and speaks hazily of the substance's alcoholic properties. It is, effectively, a very cheap bottle of very strong red wine laced with more caffeine than five cans of Redbull and a Starbucks venti-latte, as well as a hell of a lot of sugar and several chemicals that are banned in most industrialised countries. It's no wonder it does funny things to the addled brains of those who consume it.
A spokesperson for Alcohol Focus Scotland said that, while the Devon monks shouldn’t get all of the blame, the charity “knows from police figures that Buckfast is mentioned in thousands of anti-social behaviour and crime reports in certain parts of the country”.
Still, the monks are building a 33-bed hotel on the site of the abbey with the money so, silver linings and all that. Blessed are the meek and, apparently, the inebriated.
Also, let's just say that correlation isn't causation. Diary's native Weegie wonders whether it is just possible that Buckfast doesn't so much drive the population of south Glasgow into a state of incoherence, inebriation and fury, as, well, find them that way?
Bill at the BBC?
Finally, Society Diary has heard rumours that William Shawcross, the sector’s favourite (only) chair of the Charity Commission, may be leaving us soon.
Yes, it would appear that Shawcross has tossed his hat (deerstalker, size seven and three quarters) into the ring to become the next chairman of the BBC Trust.
Shawcross isn’t the only dog in this fight however, and finds himself in a race with a bunch of seriously racially and gender diverse candidates.
Who is Diary kidding? They’re pretty much all old white men.
Anyway, good luck, Big Bill and, if you get it, farewell.
You were a long time coming, and you'll be a long time gone.
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