Stand on a chair and shout if you have to.

It is a lovely evening, perhaps the last of the southern hemisphere’s summer. The crowd have gathered on the top floor of the museum for the opening of an exhibtion. There is wine, canapes, a little background traffic noise. There is a great sense of expectation. There will be speeches. Being late, I’m at the back grabbing a glass of wine and accepting a canape. Someone of the far side of the room is talking. I think, because I can’t see and to be honest I can’t hear. Neither can anybody not in the front row of the circle that has gathered around the vertically challenged, mumbling speaker. I don’t know how long the poor chap worked on the speech. I don’t even know what it’s about. I’m too busy accepting more canapes and looking around for something that will signal the end and a need to applaud. I wonder how many basic simple things might have been changed to make this a speech to remember?

I wonder again, what a waste of a speech opportunity this is.

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