ThursdayEach year we hold a talent show where the little mites at the village school can do a turn, and each year the Reverend Hughes volunteers to act as Chairman of the judging panel. I have to say that I have some doubts as to his impartiality.
As the children variously sing, tap-dance or recite from the works of T. H. Green, he boos them, attempts to start a slow handclap or throws bottles. One poor girl is led away in tears before she is two verses into “The Ballad of Geraint Howells”.
Only when the Revd Hughes’s favoured candidate mounts the stage does his manner change. “This is the one!” he cries, and “Vote for this boy. Do we have to hear all those others?”
I fear I shall be obliged to take the Chair myself next year to ensure fair dealing as Hughes is almost as bad as the present Commons Speaker
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