A conversation in a subbing class today got me thinking about my time working at Lords over summer today.
The conversation in question revolved around the deliberate use of the word 'coloured' to described a black guy in the Wisden Cricketer Magazine which was spotted by one of my eagle-eyed colleagues. I haven't got the mag to hand so I can't quote it verbatim but essentially the writer was clearly under the impression that 'coloured' is still in use. What's worse is he was trying to be understanding.
Anyways, the talk of that stuck-in-the-dying-days-of-the-empire attitude got me thinking about when I was working in the famous Long Room Bar at Lords between June and September, where every day I could eavesdrop of conversations which I have a feeling in any other situation could make things a little uncomfortable.
I'm not going to go in to it to far but let’s just say whilst I was there I was told "a disgrace who must have been found hanging around outside St Johns Wood tube station", and often had to ask few old plodders not to use the N-bomb, to scoffs of liberal-hating derision.
That's not to say they were all awful - far from it. Loads of them were absolutely lovely and would often stop for a chat about an obscure cricketer or England's latest failure. However, as the only permanent male on a team of about seven girls, I was rarely got cash reward to my services unless I pulled the sob story about being paid £5.95 an hour by the management (true statistic).
To continue this mini-expose, and in the interests of fairness, I can reveal the England squad were a great bunch of people...mostly. Alastair Cook, Ian Bell, Monty and most of the rest were charming, and it turns out the seemingly hot-headed Jimmy Anderson is one of the shyest people I've ever met. However, it is also true that senior members of that team (revealing no names) could not have treated the MCC staff with more contempt if they'd just been on an See You Next Time day course.
I could go on, and I probably will, bit by bit, but in true MCC Member style I'll leave you this with an anecdote: On 5 May 2008, the day after Boris Johnson unseated Ken Livingstone to become Mayor of London I was doing a day-shift which would end up as about a 15-hour slog-a-thon. At 11am every day the bar would start serving alcohol and normally you'd have a few early-birds grabbing a quick ale but no real drinking would take place until at least lunch. However, being a pretty conservative sort of place, the Long Room was pretty much dripping in aging, white-haired excitement at the mayoral result.
The conversation in question revolved around the deliberate use of the word 'coloured' to described a black guy in the Wisden Cricketer Magazine which was spotted by one of my eagle-eyed colleagues. I haven't got the mag to hand so I can't quote it verbatim but essentially the writer was clearly under the impression that 'coloured' is still in use. What's worse is he was trying to be understanding.
Anyways, the talk of that stuck-in-the-dying-days-of-the-empire attitude got me thinking about when I was working in the famous Long Room Bar at Lords between June and September, where every day I could eavesdrop of conversations which I have a feeling in any other situation could make things a little uncomfortable.
I'm not going to go in to it to far but let’s just say whilst I was there I was told "a disgrace who must have been found hanging around outside St Johns Wood tube station", and often had to ask few old plodders not to use the N-bomb, to scoffs of liberal-hating derision.
That's not to say they were all awful - far from it. Loads of them were absolutely lovely and would often stop for a chat about an obscure cricketer or England's latest failure. However, as the only permanent male on a team of about seven girls, I was rarely got cash reward to my services unless I pulled the sob story about being paid £5.95 an hour by the management (true statistic).
To continue this mini-expose, and in the interests of fairness, I can reveal the England squad were a great bunch of people...mostly. Alastair Cook, Ian Bell, Monty and most of the rest were charming, and it turns out the seemingly hot-headed Jimmy Anderson is one of the shyest people I've ever met. However, it is also true that senior members of that team (revealing no names) could not have treated the MCC staff with more contempt if they'd just been on an See You Next Time day course.
I could go on, and I probably will, bit by bit, but in true MCC Member style I'll leave you this with an anecdote: On 5 May 2008, the day after Boris Johnson unseated Ken Livingstone to become Mayor of London I was doing a day-shift which would end up as about a 15-hour slog-a-thon. At 11am every day the bar would start serving alcohol and normally you'd have a few early-birds grabbing a quick ale but no real drinking would take place until at least lunch. However, being a pretty conservative sort of place, the Long Room was pretty much dripping in aging, white-haired excitement at the mayoral result.
Mike, a member who called himself "an entrepreneur from the Wirral" and had been working on Johnson's campaign, had brought all of his friends to celebrate. To cut a lot of drinking and belly-laughing short, the end of the game (I think it was a Middlesex County game) came and this group hadn't watched a second of it. As the players walked back through the Long Room, Mike and his friends went mad and started jumping around in a weird collective heap singing "Ho Ho Ho, here comes Bo-Jo! Out with Ken! Bo-Jo! Bo-Jo Bo-Jo!" over and over. As they fell over and one began vomiting I've never felt so weirdly out of place.
Apparently all you need to turn the MCC in to a Wetherspoons Friday night is conservative election win. If Cameron wins next year’s election, the Long Room had better stock up on WKD.
Apparently all you need to turn the MCC in to a Wetherspoons Friday night is conservative election win. If Cameron wins next year’s election, the Long Room had better stock up on WKD.
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