There was a time when I was regular attender at Meat Retailers Federation conferences. These were held annually in various parts of the country; usually wherever the local association was motivated enough to do the organising. Wairarapa was always well represented and we didn’t attend under duress. In fact they were great fun. Starting on a Saturday night, they usually finished on Wednesday so we could all get back to our shops and prepare for the busy Friday trade. The Wairarapa contingent were always prominent participators. I recall Max Stevenson, who owned a rival butcher down the road from us, and I getting a standing ovation as “extras” in a variety show staged for a conference at New Plymouth with our rendition of “Mull of Kintyre.” Max played the bagpipes and yours truly played guitar and did the vocal. Paul McCartney would have turned over in his grave; and he’s not even dead!
The concert was attended by New Plymouth locals as well as conference delegates and at a cocktail hour before leaving for the theatre I had chastised some of my fellow butchers for not wearing ties. Instead, as was the fashion at the time, most had open shirts, with their necks adorned with gold chains. Napier butcher Dave Nilsson’s wife, a tall attractive blonde hairdresser named Rhonda, suggested the reason I wore a tie was because I had no hair on my chest. This was a hurtful remark, made without intimate knowledge, but in fact she was quite right. I have about as many hairs on my chest as David Shearer has appointments in his current diary, but she added insult to injury by suggesting that she would have more hair on her chest, than I had on mine. Stung by this callous claim I immediately bet her ten dollars that she didn’t.
There was method in madness of course, and you can see it straight away. Comparing our chests was going to be more fun for me than it would be for her.
No time was set aside for the judgment day, but unbeknown to me, before we all went to the concert, she clipped some hair from the back of Max Stevenson’s head - she would have had to get from the back; there was little on top - and then glued it to her chest; I suspect with nail varnish.
At half time Max mounted the stage and told the assembled crowd about the wager. The meat retailing fraternity, knowing our curious senses of humour, would have taken this in their stride, but the local section of the audience must have wondered what they’d stumbled into.
Anyway, Max invited Rhonda and me on to the stage, and Rhonda, with her back to the audience, but facing me, tantalisingly undid her blouse to reveal a cleavage covered in hair. It was grotesque.
I must hastily add here that her undergarments were firmly in place and only the cleavage was exposed. I feigned shock to an audience wondering what an earth I was experiencing pulled my wallet out of my back pocket and with an exaggerated flourish, thrust a ten dollar note into her hand, declaring her to be the undisputed winner. I then fled the stage, gratified that my own lack of hirsuteness remained undisclosed.
There were serious times at our conferences of course. We did have a thoughtful agenda and we discussed mutual items that affected our trade. But the main attraction was the social programme which included entertaining trips for the spouses while we conferred. I don’t want to downplay these events; you did glean worthwhile information from fellow traders during informal talks, usually in a bar setting. But what we did learn, and all knew from the outset, was that the greatest advantages of conferences were that they allowed us to have a tax free holiday, legitimately charging all costs to our businesses.
Few will want to admit this, but conferences tend to be junkets. I have no problem with this when it involves the private sector. What privately owned business’s do with their profits is their concern, but soon the public sector, envious at what fun their private sector counterparts were having, decided to join the gravy train. Conferences have now become big business and I would need a lot more evidence to convince me that taxpayers and ratepayers are getting value for money.
In July 500 people attended the local government conference in Hamilton. It would be uncharitable to infer that this was a waste of time for those attending. Most councillor’s are sincere about what they do, but in today’s high tech climate it would not be unreasonable to suggest that much of what was imparted could have been dispersed electronically. The costs of the conference, spread over all the ratepayers in the country may not have been that great either, but I have this nagging feeling that these get-togethers have more to do with enjoying a perquisite, than providing real value to the general populace.
The best place to learn your craft is at the coalface. We all know this, but it is tempting to accept luxury hotel accommodation at someone else’s expense. Modern communication systems, like video conferencing, should have meant a lessening of the need to physically bond. Knowledge available on the internet is boundless and mostly free. Indications are that the private sector have recognised this, and have cut back on the size and frequency of their conferences. The slack however it seems has been taken up by the free spending public service.
Meanwhile the virtual disappearance of butcher’s shops has meant that meat retailer’s conventions are a thing of the past.
Pity, I bet we had more fun than those public servants; and I do miss my bosom friends.
(First published 18th August 1999)
(First published 18th August 1999)
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