Hark! The people have mumbled

US President Bill Clinton once said: "The people have spoken, but it will take a while to determine exactly what they said."

He was either referring to the disputed 2000 election that appointed his successor or to the strategic development committee of Tower Hamlets Borough Council.

No hefty political point here. There are plenty of commentators ready to cast the council as the place where democracy goes to die. They overstate the case but there is a sense of disenfranchisement in a more immediate and practical sense.

In the public gallery, no-one can hear a thing.

In fact, can it be said that the council chamber the worst ever?

Let's examine two facets of the structure that perhaps cannot be changed before we look at two that can.

A broad column sits in the middle of the floor as if the technology of distributing weight had never occurred and we're back to tent poles beneath saggy ceilings. The column sits like a white line of dead pixels on a faulty TV. Worse still, witnesses give evidence from behind the column as though they're sharing playground secrets.

Then there's the the ramp walkway between the members' section and the public gallery which is lined by two waist high partitions of glass. Two layers of glass acting in concert is often known as, er, double glazing and particularly noted for its sound-proofing properties.

Here are a couple of tips to re-enfranchise the tax-payer.

Officers and members should sit up straight, enunciate their words and speak as if explaining Sky Plus to a deaf aunt and not as if confessing a shameful incident to their tie clips.

Microphones should be turned up. Officers and members should then address themselves to the microphone as opposed to working on the assumption that the presence of a microphone within the confines of the M25 coupled with the magnificence of their oratory is sufficient to reach the yearning masses.

On Tuesday, those in the public gallery whose lifestyles and property prices were being determined by a white noise over yonder leaned forward, straining to pick up clues to their fate.

In doing so, their chairs squeaked and the squeak of a chair was like the symphonic crescendo of the Onedin Line against the mumbling mouse squeak of far-off officialdom. From such farces, frustrations grow and disillusionment and paranoia take root.

If you hear them talk of the democratic deficit in Tower Hamlets, they're referring to a shortage of WD40.