WHEN I look back over the decades, I realise that when confronted with decisions — and such are the punctuation marks of life — I have made vastly more bad, sometimes calamitous, than good. In the area of employment — especially in my earlier years — I changed jobs with such regularity that often on a Monday morning I’d not be certain where I was heading.

Two vital matters, though, I did get right — one a very long time ago — the other recently. That of the past took place in the early 1970s when I asked Ann to marry me, and she agreed; whether or not she feels it was one of her better decisions is another matter; a lady of loyalty and tolerance, she has never said. The second was enacted just a few months back when I retired from public life, choosing not to seek re-election to either the Tavistock Town or West Devon Borough Councils after many years on both. My reasons were manifold, but to the fore was the desire ‘to jump before being pushed’ — and seeing some of the shocks regarding borough elections, I am glad I did.

Recently, though, a story on the front page of the Times convinced me my stepping down was, on my part, an exceedingly rare act of wisdom and, in truth, good fortune. The headline appeared positive — ‘Leading the Way’; admirable, as long as the path leads in the right direction, and others are doing the navigating (I would not like to pursue any trail where I took the lead). However, after reading just a few sentences, a chill of Arctic proportions afflicted my spine. The story concerned the laudable efforts of the town council to enhance its accountability; in the third paragraph it stated that £10,000 was to be invested in a brand new broadcasting system for the chamber which (terrifying words, these) ‘will enable people to watch and listen to the debates and decisions made.’

Thus, the arcane practises of local democracy on view to all following a mere flick of a switch; folk will be able to sit by their firesides of an evening and witness the efforts of their local representatives. In principle there is clearly nothing wrong with this; everyone has the right to see how council tax is spent, and the performance of those they have elected.

Up until now, though, people would have to take themselves off to the council chamber, sit on hard chairs - often in the cold — in order to absorb proceedings which often have the pulsating vibrancy of watching grass grow. Thus attendance has generally been sparse, folk only turning up in numbers when the council has done something to invoke their wrath (a major hike in the ‘rates’ can usually accomplish this); and those who do come along rarely stay long, the relative discomfort of their surroundings overcoming their zeal to witness living democracy. Usually only our excellent journalists remain to relate in the local press that which is decided by committees - an invaluable service to councillors as well as electors, there being times when I would study the report to find out what decision, after convoluted, obscure debate, we had arrived at. What would not be relevant to the report, thus not stated, would be the gamut of outlooks and eccentricities possessed by councillors (as is the way with all groups of human beings); their foibles, biases, intolerances, faux pas, would be witnessed only by a few.

Those halcyon days for the town council would appear to be gone; one fears that this honourable, honest, hard working body, in splendid pursuit of the spirit of transparency, have possibly opened themselves up to negative, cynical scrutiny, the kind which entices folk, at leisure, to watch such as Big Brother, staggeringly boring though that would appear to be. For there is a strong possibility that those watching will do just that — watch, rather than listen. Yes, they will note when a councillor says something daft — and most of us have done that (I achieved it with regularity) — but relevantly, and infinitely more likely, observers will note the habits and character traits plus moments of weakness of members. The sloping off early to catch Midsomer Murders; the suffering of ‘lapses of concentration’, accompanied by closed eyes; during debate, facial expressions registering frustration, incredulity, boredom, annoyance, intolerance, impatience — this will be there for all to see, note, and probably disapprove of. To all these failings, and more, I was guilty but shielded by anonymity. With this move into the cyber age, though, that is no longer the case.

Whilst I wish good fortune to those who took this valiant decision, I am relieved not to be involved.