Why no one’s responsible for anything

I used to work in a bunker. At least, that’s how it felt.

The place was a large, windowless, cavernous room, through which dark figures moved back and forth. The job was grim; endless hours bent over a table, in constant motion, recording what was unfolding, not unlike a miner who has to keep up with a seam coughing out coal.

Then, at the end of the day, wondering what it had all been about. That’s how I remember covering the Planning (aka Mahon) Tribunal.