"Can you spare a minute, please?" - The 'chugging' phenomena

Chuggers are charity muggers, smiling young people who stake out our towns and cities for direct debit authorisations. Their bright anoraks and clipboards are increasingly regarded with dread at busy intersections. Their keen positional sense makes it impossible to pass without refusing at least several pleas for charity. Never have the words, "Can you spare a minute…?" been the occasion of so much anguish to shoppers and commuters.

What are you saying when you say ‘no’ or refuse to answer? "Can you spare a minute for Concern?" "Unfortunately not; I’m a very evil man. The idea of people starving in Third World countries fills me with glee. If you’ll excuse me, I must go and stuff my face." "Can you spare a minute for Focus Ireland?" "Hardly – I dislike poor people in general and the homeless in particular. In fact, knowing that people sleep rough makes my own bed even cosier!"

Chugging began successfully with one particular charity several years ago and soon proliferated. The more common the phenomenon, the less amenable the public has become. While this has led some charities in Britain to abandon the practice, certain voluntary organisations in Ireland appear even more frenzied in their efforts to recruit support.

From the safety of a bus a few weeks ago, I observed an active service unit conducting an operation outside the Bank of Ireland at College Green, Dublin. From a military point of view, it was a superb ambush, cutting off all escape routes and flooding the zone with trained operatives. I thought it was a bit aggressive for a charity fundraising drive, though.

The popularity of chuggers with the public currently lies somewhere between traffic clampers and chronic haemorrhoids. Pedestrians zigzag across busy thoroughfares, dicing with couriers and juggernauts as they attempt to avoid getting snared by the likes of the Red Cross. I wonder sometimes if the Parades Commission in the North is awake to the power of chugging. Even Portadown Orange Lodge would think twice about processing the Queen’s highway if they thought Oxfam or Amnesty was lurking in wait.

Is it wrong to want to force-feed chuggers their own clipboards? It is, after all, a thankless task which no sane person would undertake, and of course, it’s all in a good cause. And yet, the more unpopular they have become, the greater their numbers, leading me to suspect that chuggers are being shipped here illegally from abroad, in the hope of a better life. Maybe if they look unhappy, it’s not the suffering of others that pains them, but their own ruined existences.

Last week, I encountered a chugger on Baggot Street in Dublin, who was so frustrated that he had resorted to asking people their favourite dessert. It was a valid ploy, trying to assure people that they would be none the poorer for talking to him, but it didn’t work. The coloured anoraks are visible at long range, even on a busy street; they may as well ring hand bells and shout, "Unclean! Unclean!" In a do-or-die moment, I hurled myself through the air to the chugger’s left, landing in the sanctuary of the fishmonger’s. He was shouting something to me in a mournful voice about apple crumble.

Of course, chuggers aren’t the only claimants on others’ money. There is a man who sits against a lamppost around the corner from my office, wishing a particularly loud "God bless you" to those who refuse him spare change. (How sincere is his blessing?) There is the urchin from Oliver Twist on Grafton Street, warbling rebel songs for American tourists. Then there are the ‘performers’ who think that standing still for long periods on wooden boxes is some sort of achievement. Between these and many others, walking from one side of Dublin city centre to the other has become so costly, even taxis seem good value.

On a visit home to Dungarvan, I discovered that small-town Ireland is no longer a safe haven. Confronted by the anoraks on either side of Main Street, my brother and I thought we could escape by walking in the middle of the road, looking up at the amazing phenomenon of the afternoon sky. Even at that, we had to run for it as the inevitable ‘Have you got a spare minute…’ mantra began.

Dungarvan turned out to be a source of inspiration, however. Each summer, there is an annual festival, Féile na Déise, which, among other achievements, has revived the ancient art of bucket singing (the act of singing a song with a steel bucket over your head). When I looked at the photos of past champions in a pub window, another idea came to me.

And so, I have resolved never to walk through Dublin again without a bucket over my head, thus guarding against a number of threats. As with all dangerous creatures, it pays to avoid eye contact with chuggers; a good bucket prevents that hazard. Moreover, outside the context of Féile na Déise, most people are wary of anyone daring enough to sport a bucket in this fashion. I don’t think anybody would have the nerve to ask me the time of day, never mind the number of my current account. And with charity fundraising becoming so aggressive and competitive, it’s only a matter of time till pedestrians are coshed over the head with cudgels all in a good cause. No one will scoff at my bucket when that day comes.

I’m off to the hardware store now. Does anyone else want a bucket?