So cheesed off am I that I'm tempted to suggest a referendum on every decision our well-paid elected representatives are called upon to make

If there are easier ways of getting more than eight hundred notes in a brown envelope every Friday lunchtime, I’d love to hear about them.

The only qualification for the job seems to me to be an ability to talk about oneself and one’s job (and associated matters) at regular intervals, to ignore public opinion in much the same way as the problems facing the Island are ignored, and, of course, to spend days, weeks and months doing little more demanding than contemplating one’s navel.

Before they all start jumping up and down calling for my head on a plate (although a bit of activity would do some of them no harm), I know they are not all like that, but for heaven’s sake far too many of them seem to fit the description.

Having already spent time deciding to kick out four of their number over the next three or four years by shedding a couple of Senators at each of the next two elections, that lot are now being asked to rearrange the seating plan for Deputies, dispensing with the ‘each parish must have at least one’ philosophy and creating five so-called superconstituencies covering the whole Island.

This is being brought to the table by one Eddie Noel – another, I’m afraid, who I wouldn’t know if I tripped over him in the Cosy Corner, or whatever the Big House’s local is called these days. He seems to have forgotten that a similar proposition was resoundingly defeated in September 2009 or, put in a way many of them will understand, all of 70 or so weekly pay packets ago.

Ever since the majority of the present crew got their feet under the table in those few square yards surrounded by reality – the Big House – all they seem to have done is spend day after day after day debating matters associated with them – where they can stand, what office they can stand for, when they can stand and who they can represent.

It’s a situation, given the serious issues facing this place and its long-suffering inhabitants, not dissimilar to the legend (for he was miles away at the time someone put a match to the place) of Nero fiddling while Rome burned.

Still, Freddie from Planning has now stuck his oar in and suggested that we have a referendum to decide whether we should bin a third of those with Islandwide mandates over the next two elections.

So cheesed off am I and many others with their antics that I’m tempted to suggest a referendum on every decision our well-paid elected representatives are called upon to make. This, on the basis that those of us who care and would vote couldn’t make a bigger pig’s ear of the job if we tried our damnedest.

It’s getting pretty near the point where if one of them proposed a States made up of just 24 people – one per parish (and the Constables can stand for that if they want to) and a dozen Senators elected, just as now, by the whole Island. Then they might well get overwhelming public support, but only on condition that the system wasn’t tampered with for at least ten years. At least it would halve the wage bill, which would be no bad thing at all.

ON a much lighter note altogether, I was watching the idiot box the other afternoon and spent a satisfying couple of hours looking at the highlights of the Ashes fifth Test which was played last week in Sydney.

I know I could have watched it live – Herself managed to point this out several times during the day, interspersed with helpful comments along the lines of ‘How many goals have England got?’ – but the days of me staying up late to watch anything on the box are long gone.

Besides, as I recall, I had a couple or three large calvadae the previous evening and managed to fall asleep in the chair, so I doubt I’d have seen much anyway.

Anyhow, the point of this particular tale is not to talk about the cricket, but to recall the pleasure I got from seeing a Jersey flag being waved with gusto at the Sydney Cricket Ground whenever England did anything worth cheering about, which was pretty much for five full days, judging by what I saw of the match.

It’s just a pity that the flag isn’t more instantly recognisable, although I have to say that an increasing number of properties are flying the flag from many more flagpoles than existed not that many years ago.

Heaven only knows where they’ll put the poles when Simon Crowcroft et al move everyone into town and the only outdoor space most people will be allocated is a dedicated seat on a bench in a courtyard on a timeshare basis on Wednesday mornings when there’s an R in the month, or something similar, I shouldn’t wonder.

But back to the flags. I suppose it’s worth mentioning that the last time I saw something similar was when I was watching the Last Night of the Proms and one was hanging from the rail of one of the boxes at the Royal Albert Hall.

It would be interesting to know who did the flying on each of these occasions.

AND finally … my fellow columnist Ben Quérée managed to upset both Terry Le Main and Ted Vibert in one fell swoop recently, which demonstrates that he possibly got it just about right.

Both Messrs Le Main and Vibert were among Hautlieu’s first intake in 1952 and should know better than to suggest that others ‘get their facts right’.

By definition, facts are always right, as both were no doubt taught but have since forgotten.