Dear Diary,
Have you seen the film Brazil? Can’t say I’m loving it, but we’ve been watching it over two days. Anyway, in between showings, I phoned Company House with some questions about setting myself up as a company, and suddenly I found myself in a scene from the film. It was bureacratic madness! Sheer madness! Sorry, I’ve never heard of a Social Enterprise. It’s forms 10 and 12. Oh no, those forms do not exist. But I have them here. Sorry, they do not exist. Please try and calm down, madam, I am trying to get to the bottom of this. There’s an SE form. Well, surely that’s it? Oh no, that’s a Societo Europea. I’ll pass you on to my colleague, Mark. He may know something about them. What are they you say? Social Enterprise! Mark knows. He tells me the forms I have been dropping marmalade on for the past two months are redundant, having been replaced (European Directive 0.6 subsection A, 2006) as from 1 October 2009, with the new EN01 (18 pages long), along with Articles of Association and Memorandum. What are they, I cry? They don’t seem to be on your website. Oh no! says he. You will need to get them from a solicitor. But don’t send them in. Just keep them for your records. That sounds expensive and unnecessary, say I. What are they? A Memorandum is a nice short reminder on a post-it, isn’t it? Oh no, says he. It is a very expensive legal document. Oh, says I. Am I still setting up a Social Enterprise? i don’t know, says he, is it a company with limited guarantee. How the hell should I know, I say with my hand over the mouthpiece, I’M AN ARTIST AND I’M REALLY TRYING TO BE BUSINESS-LIKE. I was recommended to set up a Social Enterprise, says I. Oh, he says, company with limited guarantee you want, then. And I want to cry.
I’m meeting the potential subscribers (yes, dear Diary, I need two of them and I love you for not asking me what they have to do) in the pub tonight. I know they will ask me probing questions. Can’t they just sign the box? I’ve just read something about filing returns. And quorums. And underwriting debt. Will that worry them?
Why am I doing this? I forget. It’s like writing a blog. Someone recommends it is good for establishing a network, for increasing visibility, viability, all those great dynamic, visionary words. So you forge ahead with enthusiasm and a vision of the future. Then the solitary nature of the activity, the monotony, the futility, the words without pictures – they hit you like a sledgehammer, and you write all about it, and that is your last blog entry. Ever. And with your dynamic, thrusting arts business, you file the reams of paper you’ve printed off in an efficient-looking folder headed ‘SETTING UP MY COMPANY’. And off you go to drink a cuppa, eat a cream cake, and watch an episode of Neighbours. Ah yes!
