Cherries Trust AGM 2019

That's a great pity Tony - I think the last thing we need is a 'mothballed' Trust at this time - especially as we are looking for progress with the New Stadium and seeking for the input of fans re design, facilities etc. Looking from afar it seems there is poor dialogue with the Club and highlighted by the time it took to agree the minutes of the last meeting (March was it) ? I'm not expecting you to express views on this on the open Forum as it might prejudice even further the limited access we already have to the Club - but that is my perception and it ties in with the views of others I speak with. I wonder if this is an underlying problem that has seen enthusiasm wane? I've welcomed the opportunity to step back from fans affairs these past few years and am not keen to get involved on a regular basis again but I will happily come along and put in my ten penneth at the AGM and see if I can do anything going forward. Thanks for all you have done to date.
 
BFC1 said:
Sadly - over 200 views and no other posts. That - as they say - is telling.
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Sign of the good times we are having, just hope that if it does go all tits up in the future some of the new generation will take up the fight. I suspect many of us oldies have had a gutfull of volunteering & fund raising.
It is a shame there is no meaningful regular dialogue between the club and the trust , the lack of such is another reason that must put people off getting involved.
 
The efforts of many supporters in previous years helped to ensure that we have a club today. We can all feel proud that we are now in the Premier League partially thanks to those efforts. Whilst the club does not need a supporters trust at present, meetings at quarterly intervals would help to unite all supporters
 
For me, organisations like BISA and now the CT have always thrived when there are pressing issues that need to be tackled. There will always be an element of downtime when there are a lack of immediate issues. Indeed these days, the club *seem* to respond very well these days to a number of issues that have been put to them, and whilst they're not perfect, I would like to think this represents some kind of progression.

There are sometimes isolated issues I learn of every so often where the club gets it in the neck, but whether it's the kind of issue whereby the CT feels they need to mediate - I don't know...

For example, on several occasions in the last few years, the club have point blank turned down any fundraising requests from individuals who have come along and asked to shake a bucket for their given charity. They've been around the country raising money, visiting football grounds, doing marathons or sponsored walks - often with many clubs being accommodating to aid their efforts - however AFCB always point blank refuse.

I gather this is down to the fact that they have their handful of chosen charities for the season, and they don't have the time to verify the legitimacy of a given charity, and they don't want to dilute the fundraising for the organisations they are supporting for the year - but it gives the club a bad name. To that extent, maybe they need to make their policy more clear - but there's never seemingly any clear dialogue, which is one of the "them and us" divides that naturally occurs when you become a busy top flight football club, snowed under in admin.

The working group idea sounds interesting, and as someone who tends to absorb a lot of fan opinion through the pod and/or Youtube, I'd be happy to contribute in that way (and I'll make sure Tony knows!), but I think for me the idea of being on a Board of some kind is simply not for me, as, put simply - work and home life have to come first.
 
SamDavis said:
To that extent, maybe they need to make their policy more clear - but there's never seemingly any clear dialogue, which is one of the "them and us" divides that naturally occurs when you become a busy top flight football club, snowed under in admin.
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That them and us divide will melt away once we go back to being a "bust football club, going under in admin."

They may not need or even want us cluttering the place up right now, but one day......................................
 
Ken Baileys Ghost said:
That them and us divide will melt away once we go back to being a "bust football club, going under in admin."

They may not need or even want us cluttering the place up right now, but one day......................................
Click to expand...
Unfortunately I think this is probably the reality. While the notion of a Trust is laudable I think it was always going to be a challenge to achieve anything meaningful. The club is not as it was in so many respects and while Eddie and Jason are undoubtedly appreciative of the fans, I don't get the sense that the sentiment is shared more broadly when it comes to supporter engagement.
 
Important to keep some supporter body in place even if in dormant state. I think I’m right in thinking they have some legal rights if things went tits up in the future?

I wonder whether more the direction of a social club for fans might be an avenue for exploration. Takes care of itself a bit then, slightly more separate from the club but as said I’m not too convinced they really want input from a supporters trust.
 
redskins said:
I wonder whether more the direction of a social club for fans might be an avenue for exploration. Takes care of itself a bit then, slightly more separate from the club but as said I’m not too convinced they really want input from a supporters trust.
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Supporters social club?

We'd be better off starting an old person's drop in centre.



In an ideal world the club should forget about building a new stadium and open a dedicated AFC Bournemouth old people's home.

The bickering over evening cocoa would be legendary.
 
It is September 2039 and the residents’ lounge of the AFCB Sunset Retirement Home is nearly full as tea time approaches.

Most of the residents are dressed in beige cardigans, save for Table in his customary Hawaiian shirt and Al Gard who is sat in the corner in his seafarer’s duffle coat. The lounge itself is bright and sunny although there are some red stains on many of the chairs and there is a faint smell of urine.

The garden too presents a mixed picture: the lawn is pristine but at the far end there is only a tatty garden shed with empty borders on either side. Redhouse and Derek are standing by the window.

“Do you ever think they will knock down that old shed, fill in the corners and build a summerhouse?” Redhouse asks.

Derek sighs deeply and says “The only way to build a summerhouse is if it is economically viable. The commercial reality is that you need multiple student units to pay for it and they don’t want to be living next to an old people’s home”. At which several residents pitch in to say that they’d love a new summerhouse prompting to Derek to repeat his point over and over again.

Rob Trent diplomatically tries to change the subject: “The tea trolley is late. I wonder what the problem is?”

“Hrmm” says Neil Dawson “I’ll tell you what the trouble is. Training, that’s what the trouble is. They may have built that new Catering College out at Canford but while you’ve still got people’s mates working there you’ll never achieve anything.”

“… return on capital …” says Derek “…new ideas…” says Neil “… multi-occupancy 365 day use..” says Derek “…emotional intelligence…” says Neil. Ken Bailey’s Ghost held his head in his hands, it was going to be a long afternoon.

At that point the sound of the tea trolley came from the corridor. The minority who were still able to hear it held their breaths. For, truth to tell, the afternoon tea trolley had been a constant problem since that nice boy Marc left. How he had made them smile going round and round in circles with the trolley! After him came Junior, also nice, but always going off sick. Then there was that nice little boy Ryan who had been so good until he started going for job interviews at other homes and seemed to lose interest. Last week came the final straw when Jordon crashed the tea trolley into a door.

Fortunately the trolley arrived without incident and after the normal scrummage they all settled down quietly to drink their tea and eat their cake. All except Al Gard that is, who had pulled a bottle of red wine out of his duffle coat and was rather noisily slurping it out of his saucer, spilling some on his chair all the while.

After the tea and cake the residents settled back in their chairs. With alarm, Wallmouth noticed that David Whitehead had a dreamy expression on his face and his right arm was twitching. Wallmouth knew the signs. David was about to play air guitar then launch into his anecdote about how he met David Bowie. After that they would all be at it, talking about sharing taxis with Debbie Harry or helping Madness find their way across the Glen Fern Road car park. It would never end.

Desperate to change the topic, Wallmouth cleared his voice and said: “you know, sometimes I think was better here when the home belonged to Mr Mitchell”. At first this drew an angry response from Al Gard but after a while the red wine took over and he fell asleep. Others were more measured.

“He had a terrible temper on him” said Corfe Red. Remember the time when Fritter said he thought the scones were undercooked? “Undercooked?” Mr Mitchell screamed “Well if you don’t like them you can feck off up the road to the Shangri La retirement home and cook them yourself”.

“Well we did have some nice trips with him” someone else said “remember the time he took us to that place in Southampton by the river with the statue of that old gentleman with the short legs?”

“Well I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life” someone replied “the way that Mr Mitchell took us out the back door and bundled us onto the coach before driving away quickly. It was as if we hadn’t paid for our cream teas”.

The room fell silent again. Billy the Kid, who hated silence more than anything except liver, chipped in:

“So do you think the government will have sorted Brexit out by Christmas?”
 
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Sorry Roger said:
It is September 2039 and the residents’ lounge of the AFCB Sunset Retirement Home is nearly full as tea time approaches.

Most of the residents are dressed in beige cardigans, save for Table in his customary Hawaiian shirt and Al Gard who is sat in the corner in his seafarer’s duffle coat. The lounge itself is bright and sunny although there are some red stains on many of the chairs and there is a faint smell of urine.

The garden too presents a mixed picture: the lawn is pristine but at the far end there is only a tatty garden shed with empty borders on either side. Redhouse and Derek are standing by the window.

“Do you ever think they will knock down that old shed, fill in the corners and build a summerhouse?” Redhouse asks.

Derek sighs deeply and says “The only way to build a summerhouse is if it is economically viable. The commercial reality is that you need multiple student units to pay for it and they don’t want to be living next to an old people’s home”. At which several residents pitch in to say that they’d love a new summerhouse prompting to Derek to repeat his point over and over again.

Rob Trent diplomatically tries to change the subject: “The tea trolley is late. I wonder what the problem is?”

“Hrmm” says Neil Dawson “I’ll tell you what the trouble is. Training, that’s what the trouble is. They may have built that new Catering College out at Canford but while you’ve still got people’s mates working there you’ll never achieve anything.”

“… return on capital …” says Derek “…new ideas…” says Neil “… multi-occupancy 365 day use..” says Derek “…emotional intelligence…” says Neil. Ken Bailey’s Ghost held his head in his hands, it was going to be a long afternoon.

At that point the sound of the tea trolley came from the corridor. The minority who were still able to hear it held their breaths. For, truth to tell, the afternoon tea trolley had been a constant problem since that nice boy Marc left. How he had made them smile going round and round in circles with the trolley! After him came Junior, also nice, but always going off sick. Then there was that nice little boy Ryan who had been so good until he started going for job interviews at other homes and seemed to lose interest. Last week came the final straw when Jordon crashed the tea trolley into a door.

Fortunately the trolley arrived without incident and after the normal scrummage they all settled down quietly to drink their tea and eat their cake. All except Al Gard that is, who had pulled a bottle of red wine out of his duffle coat and was rather noisily slurping it out of his saucer, spilling some on his chair all the while.

After the tea and cake the residents settled back in their chairs. With alarm, Wallmouth noticed that David Whitehead had a dreamy expression on his face and his right arm was twitching. Wallmouth knew the signs. David was about to play air guitar then launch into his anecdote about how he met David Bowie. After that they would all be at it, talking about sharing taxis with Debbie Harry or helping Madness find their way across the Glen Fern Road car park. It would never end.

Desperate to change the topic, Wallmouth cleared his voice and said: “you know, sometimes I think was better here when the home belonged to Mr Mitchell”. At first this drew an angry response from Al Gard but after a while the red wine took over and he fell asleep. Others were more measured.

“He had a terrible temper on him” said Corfe Red. Remember the time when Fritter said he thought the scones were undercooked? “Undercooked?” Mr Mitchell screamed “Well if you don’t like them you can feck off up the road to the Shangri La retirement home and cook them yourself”.

“Well we did have some nice trips with him” someone else said “remember the time he took us to that place in Southampton by the river with the statue of that old gentleman with the short legs?”

“Well I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life” someone replied “the way that Mr Mitchell took us out the back door and bundled us onto the coach before driving away quickly. It was as if we hadn’t paid for our cream teas”.

The room fell silent again. Billy the Kid, who hated silence more than anything except liver, chipped in:

“So do you think the government will have sorted Brexit out by Christmas?”
Click to expand...
Brilliant, thank you!
 
Sorry Roger said:
It is September 2039 and the residents’ lounge of the AFCB Sunset Retirement Home is nearly full as tea time approaches.

Most of the residents are dressed in beige cardigans, save for Table in his customary Hawaiian shirt and Al Gard who is sat in the corner in his seafarer’s duffle coat. The lounge itself is bright and sunny although there are some red stains on many of the chairs and there is a faint smell of urine.

The garden too presents a mixed picture: the lawn is pristine but at the far end there is only a tatty garden shed with empty borders on either side. Redhouse and Derek are standing by the window.

“Do you ever think they will knock down that old shed, fill in the corners and build a summerhouse?” Redhouse asks.

Derek sighs deeply and says “The only way to build a summerhouse is if it is economically viable. The commercial reality is that you need multiple student units to pay for it and they don’t want to be living next to an old people’s home”. At which several residents pitch in to say that they’d love a new summerhouse prompting to Derek to repeat his point over and over again.

Rob Trent diplomatically tries to change the subject: “The tea trolley is late. I wonder what the problem is?”

“Hrmm” says Neil Dawson “I’ll tell you what the trouble is. Training, that’s what the trouble is. They may have built that new Catering College out at Canford but while you’ve still got people’s mates working there you’ll never achieve anything.”

“… return on capital …” says Derek “…new ideas…” says Neil “… multi-occupancy 365 day use..” says Derek “…emotional intelligence…” says Neil. Ken Bailey’s Ghost held his head in his hands, it was going to be a long afternoon.

At that point the sound of the tea trolley came from the corridor. The minority who were still able to hear it held their breaths. For, truth to tell, the afternoon tea trolley had been a constant problem since that nice boy Marc left. How he had made them smile going round and round in circles with the trolley! After him came Junior, also nice, but always going off sick. Then there was that nice little boy Ryan who had been so good until he started going for job interviews at other homes and seemed to lose interest. Last week came the final straw when Jordon crashed the tea trolley into a door.

Fortunately the trolley arrived without incident and after the normal scrummage they all settled down quietly to drink their tea and eat their cake. All except Al Gard that is, who had pulled a bottle of red wine out of his duffle coat and was rather noisily slurping it out of his saucer, spilling some on his chair all the while.

After the tea and cake the residents settled back in their chairs. With alarm, Wallmouth noticed that David Whitehead had a dreamy expression on his face and his right arm was twitching. Wallmouth knew the signs. David was about to play air guitar then launch into his anecdote about how he met David Bowie. After that they would all be at it, talking about sharing taxis with Debbie Harry or helping Madness find their way across the Glen Fern Road car park. It would never end.

Desperate to change the topic, Wallmouth cleared his voice and said: “you know, sometimes I think was better here when the home belonged to Mr Mitchell”. At first this drew an angry response from Al Gard but after a while the red wine took over and he fell asleep. Others were more measured.

“He had a terrible temper on him” said Corfe Red. Remember the time when Fritter said he thought the scones were undercooked? “Undercooked?” Mr Mitchell screamed “Well if you don’t like them you can feck off up the road to the Shangri La retirement home and cook them yourself”.

“Well we did have some nice trips with him” someone else said “remember the time he took us to that place in Southampton by the river with the statue of that old gentleman with the short legs?”

“Well I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life” someone replied “the way that Mr Mitchell took us out the back door and bundled us onto the coach before driving away quickly. It was as if we hadn’t paid for our cream teas”.

The room fell silent again. Billy the Kid, who hated silence more than anything except liver, chipped in:

“So do you think the government will have sorted Brexit out by Christmas?”
Click to expand...
Excellent ! Jordan crashing the tea trolley is genius.
 
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