Unbearable Quorum: Benny Badger Filibusters the Woodland Council by Reading Aloud His 37-Volume Memoirs on Digging
Let’s make one thing abundantly clear: badgers are not, as a species, widely celebrated for oratory. But last night, in the low-beamed, slightly musty assembly room of Hazelbeck Village Hall, Benny Badger set new records—for both verbosity and endurance—which will echo in our twitching ears for weeks to come. At approximately 7:10pm, Benny seized the floor of the Woodland Council armed with nothing but his battered reading spectacles and the confidence that only comes from a life spent underground. His stated intention: to read aloud his magisterial (self-published, limited edition, and absolutely unabridged) 37-volume autobiography, 'Digging Deeper: My Life Beneath the Surface.'
Let’s not understate it. There had been rumblings—literally, from Benny himself—after the Squire’s administration floated plans (via Henrietta Hen’s latest 'strategic integration' press release) to regulate deep burrowing near the village green, citing 'Subsoil Stabilisation for Communal Harmony.' Precisely the sort of phrase that gets Domino Badger twitching with anticipation and the rest of us bracing for the headline: "Hall Collapses—Turnip Harvest Imperilled."
But Benny, no relation to Domino (though both are famous for inflating holes and familial anecdotes), had different plans. Employing what local legal minds (viz., Cyril the Vole) dubbed a 'classic filibuster,' Benny cracked open Volume I: "Dawn Under the Hedge: Womb, Worms, and Wonder," and began. The council’s fate was sealed.
I witnessed it all, burrowed low in the press gallery, notebook bristling. Volume I moved briskly through Benny’s formative years: his first taste of loam, a surprisingly graphic account of his inaugural tunnel collapse, and—my personal favourite—a 23-page tangent on earthworms as both colleagues and dietary supplement. By Volume IV, he’d reached adolescence ('My Grandfather’s Claws: Inheritance and the Allure of Slate'), with only 33 volumes to go.
The Squire himself had reportedly planned a dramatic walk-on to champion his own, entirely unrelated proposal: a 'Pondless Future Initiative' (essentially draining the duck pond so ‘the ducks can finally walk like real citizens’). Alas, he instead spent the evening in the corridor, audibly bellowing for biscuits and brandy (witnesses heard: "Sad situation! Even more sadder when there's no jam!"). Henrietta Hen attempted a contingency spin—"We are embracing a period of enhanced narrative inclusivity and horizontal consultation"—but by hour four her feathers were noticeably ruffled.
Attempts to call the Question were repeatedly undermined. Every time Cyril the Vole squeaked a procedural motion, Benny would look up, smile benignly, and promise, "Just another little chapter—this one’s about root beetles." He meant it. Domino Badger, meanwhile, tried to contribute but only managed to dig a small (unauthorised) test tunnel out of the council chamber, directly into the custard pie cooling room. A minor distraction, swiftly exploited (and eaten).
The council finally adjourned—unofficially—when Penelope Pheasant fainted during a particularly detailed reading of 'The Fungus Years' and was revived only by Henrietta’s emergency dandelion cordial spray. No vote was taken. No regulation passed. Benny, still on Volume XIX ('The Sediment Beneath Our Paws'), declared he'd be back after a nap.
On one paw: the council chambers are safe from overzealous burrowing—for now. On the other: Benny’s memoirs remain only partially aired, a threat and a promise in equal measure. Either way, it’s business as unusual at Bluster Hall and environs.
And, for the record, there isn’t a quorum on earth—or below it—that can withstand a badger with a library and a captive audience.