TOMMY TAYLOR was one of 13 former councillors, with 275 years’ service between them, made honorary Durham County aldermen at a County Hall ceremony on Wednesday.

Tom’s a Shildon lad, former boxing champion, world’s luckiest dominoes player and long-time friend.

The column was invited to be his guest.

The title’s ancient, perhaps self-evidently meaning older man though “wise man” is also offered. The lady of this house thought that Alderman Taylor sounded like something out of Dick Whittington, but that was Alderman Fitzwarren, was it not?

Tom’s been a councillor almost continuously since 1976, Lib Dem by whatever name, latterly for the Coundon area near Bishop Auckland.

For me, it was a first council meeting for 25 years.

Instead of a show of hands, these days they have voting machines (which must not be confused with the electorate.) Otherwise, nothing much has changed at all.

Inexplicably, County Hall also displayed posters for Robin Hood, who robbed the rich to pay the poor. Allegorical?

Who knows?

THE ceremony went fine, though five of the 13 were unable to attend. Anne Wright was the only female, though they don’t have alderwomen any more than Pauline Charlton is referred to as council chairwoman.

Usually she’s addressed as chairman, sometimes as madam chairman and by the absurdly PC as chair. Nice lady, she spoke of the alder statesmen’s “commitment, drive, enthusiasm and dedication”. The framed certificates acknowledged “eminent service”.

Thereafter there was a little speech from council leader Simon Henig – “the most difficult period ever faced by local government in this country” – followed by a couple of questions from members of the public.

Most of the time it was impossible to understand the question, much less the blessed answer.

Then there were three vacancies to fill on some housing association or other – a shadow executive parent board, apparently – at which point politics reared a familiarly feckless head.

Broadly, the Labour Party wanted all three seats and the others sought a political balance, two-to-one. Political balance is a phrase meaning “democracy”.

None could agree on how to proceed. Advisor advised advisors.

“Some sort of bear pit scrap,”

observed Richard Bell, a Teesdale Conservative.

“We might as well continue this pantomime,” said the chairbod, candidly.

The description was apposite: as in Cinderella, say, everyone knew who’d end up going to the ball and who left to poke at the embers.

Labour won, though getting their houses in order took 45 minutes.

“If they don’t hurry up me dinner will be getting card,”

whispered Alderman Taylor.

“If they don’t hurry up I’ll be getting worried about me tea,”

muttered a new Labour alderman in a rare show of political unity.

Coun Charlton also had to rebuke members for the persistent, sometimes almost cacophonous, ringing of mobile phones. She should know that anyone whose phone rings at a Northern League meeting is fined a round of drinks.

That would shut them up.

It proved a most unsatisfactory and an unflattering business, the thought occurring long before the end that if they’d stood it for 275 years, these guys didn’t just deserve an aldermancy, they deserved a damn great medal.