The Best Month of the Year

arrogance, but because we had worked together for so long that we felt we could best present it in our own way, which was the avowed purpose of "Open Door". So at about midnight, when the camera was on someone else, I found the producer beside me saying, "If you feel you are going well you can go on till 12-20". In fact it had become a race against time to say all we wanted, and it became necessary to cut down hastily the "part" of one of our members in order to give time to two visitors we had invited on to the programme from other towns, a Q.C. and a Transport Consultant.

At 12.20 it was over. Back in the Hospitality Room, where before the programme wine or beer had been offered, the range was now much wider. After a few minutes we were guided through the great sinister building to waiting taxis for King's Cross and the sleeper to York. We had had our own say in our own way. D.G.C.

The film of the above programme subsequently became part of the Open University's Summer School course on systems analysis.

To Slim McNickle there was no doubt at all about which month he considered best in the year. " 'Tis July an' no mucking" He would say when asked.

But why? "Well once 'a break up from skouil on't 1 1 th, a'm free."

This statement expresses all his feelings and actions for the rest of the month.

First there was the test-match at Headingley to go and see his heroes in their white, clean flannels upholding the honour of England out on the green, lush cricket pitch. The thrill of the 6 which curves gracefully in the air like a red space-ship and then comes whistling down into the ground. The electric tension as the opening batsman faces the first ball and the groans or cheers when he is out. The wondrous fragrance of beer and sausage-rolls wafting slowly over the ground. Ah, this was the way to spend your days, lying in the rich green grass watching cricket. But this only went on for 5 days at the most. What else?

Fishing was another favourite pastime. Lying drowsily amidst the long grass and bushes of the sandy river-bank for many hours, disturbed only by the buzz of flies and the distant splashes of cows drinking, until suddenly the little red float in the water would begin to bob up and down as if mad. Then was the time to strike, and for a few minutes the stillness would be disturbed as Slim fought to bring in the fish. And once it lay gleaming, quicksilver in his landing net the joy of returning to his thoughts and feelings on the hot, dozy river-bank.

And he could get out his old, rusty bike and pedal for miles through the small country lanes. Stopping wherever he chose, to admire some work of nature's. Be it butterfly or flower he never ceased to marvel at the colour of things. And also the amazing fragrance of the flowers, the sun-soaked hedgerows and the fields of ripening corn. All were there to be admired.