Mayor rages against the dying of the light

Some background: this city is called Limerick, and Limerick city has a Mayor. Not a Lord Mayor, now. That kind of genuine attainment never sat well here. Just a Mayor.

At the moment, the Mayor is a man named Kevin Kiely. Next week, it will be someone else. Perhaps.

The elected members of Limerick City Council, in the dark corners that they call home, decided way back when to carve up the mayoralty according to party, hair colour and opinions on What is The Most Appropriate Biscuit to Dunk in Tea.

There's a pre-designated queue to get into that shiny riverfront office, but Cllr Kiely, having had his taste of golden chain gravy, doesn't want to move out.

The Mayor is confident that he can rally enough support next week against the voting pact formed by his own party, Fine Gael, to make sure he breaks precedent and remains Citizen One for another year.

However incase his move fails, which it absolutely will, he is cutting through his last week in office like a stoned infant through crepe paper.

Like an outgoing Bill Clinton scattering presidential pardons to convicted felons, Mayor Kiely is awarding mayoral receptions to all and sundry: community workers; comedians; doctors; model agents; bespectacled tourists who strayed too far from Arthur's Quay and found themselves wrapped in civic dignity and confusion.

It's gotten to the stage now where if you're in this town and you haven't had a mayoral reception, you clearly need to raise your game.

P. S. The Board wishes to temper this argument by confessing that he received a reception from Mayor Kiely back in the day, before they became as common as green fly, and is clearly unhappy that the value of that warm, drunken day in July has been cheapened. Yes, I'm selfish that way.

Revelation of the day

The Board is going to Jerusalem in September, and may accidentally bring peace in the Middle East and his awesome recipe for home-made Sangria with him.

No, you can't have it.

Local Fine Gael TDs avoid phones; each other

FINE GAEL MUTINY WATCH DAY TWO - In which our local heroes battle for relevance in the front bench fracas

You can speak to a lot of people on the phone today, if you try hard enough.

Buster Hannan, perhaps, as he bemoans the narcoleptic letterbox men of Garryowen.

Or perhaps even Gary Brooks Faulkner, who was foiled while seeking to personally BRING THE PAIN to Osama Bin Laden.

But three people you'll struggle to get hold of are Kieran O'Donnell, Michael Noonan and Dan Neville.

As Richard Napoleon and Enda Clogsworth carve up their party seeking artillery for the coming firefight, the three Limerick Fine Gael TDs are keeping their powder dry. 

The Board finds this befuddling. His basic remit, you see, is to add sarcasm and toilet humour to the local affairs of the day.

Like any creative infant, The Board has stretched this to include such theses as the Middle East, Tiger Woods' mating habits and the violent subtleties of Jamaican rum.

The local angle is, you see, more of a guideline than a rule.

But when there should, in theory, be three potent Limerick routes to the story of the day, there has as yet been very little joy.

Fortunately it is the Agitator and Leader of Men, he who almost brought down the Government, who has been tasked with cooking the blue stew here.

Because The Board is a delicious sort, he has decided to share this exclusive nugget with you all: They're not saying anything.

As far as we know Kieran O'Donnell is wading through the Nile, Michael Noonan is stress testing the Mars pod and Dan Neville, who we can confirm IS IN THE COUNTY, may be locked in a panic room of some sort.

Stay tuned for more critical updates as the occur.

Revelation of the day

The Board wants one.

Sh*t just got real

If Napoleon had a website, it would probably contain a tag line as forthright as richardbruton.net.

Richard Bruton KNOWS WHAT MUST BE DONE, you see. He's obviously been planning this for a while.

Fine Gael have never done the whole putsch thing with as much saucy endeavour as the soldiers of destiny. Back when Haughey and Reynolds were carving at each other with limp handshakes and character buzzsaws, politics seemed so much more simple.

This recent era of gravy trains and communal glee and a power teet big enough for everyone to have a nibble dulled the appetite for revolution.

Where's the fun in that?

We vote you into this life of power and privilege at our expense. The least you can do is entertain us with blood sport.

The Board, for one, welcomes Napoleon's decision to have a shot at the title, as Enda Kenny was fashioned from Dutch clogs but without the rhythm and animation.

Hopefully there'll be explosions and death and a realisation that the public do not like Enda and the cinematic input of Michael Bay and possibly a cameo by Martin Lawrence.

Well, maybe we can do without Michael Bay.

Revelation of the bank holi-Day

After a weekend of getting changed in car parks, doing naked press ups in the street, being burned at every junction by Mr Pink's one-liners and drinking more rum than a pirate, The Board has found his new favourite place. Kilkenny.

The Board has also discovered that he does a savage impression of Andy Parsons.

The revolution will be televised

Thanks to new media, death now only counts if it is caught on video.

Israel cannot and will not find any tolerance for the murderous actions it inflicted upon a civilian vessel in international waters early on Monday morning.

But what many are finding hard to stomach is the blatant hypocrisy of the international community's response.

A tragedy? Yes. The provocative act of a pariah state with nuclear capability? Yes. A surprise? No.

Embassies are rattling and marchers are marching in the wake of Israel's latest crimes. But the raid on the Mavi Marmara should not shock anyone familiar with how the Israeli government goes about its work.

But simply because Sky News and Reuters and France 24 were broadcasting shaky deck footage of soldiers attacking and being attacked within an hour of Monday's dawn raid, it becomes an international incident.

Because Twitter was alight with frantic updates all yesterday morning about reported death tolls, it becomes an international incident.

The ancient ignorance of diplomatic rules and a modern obsession with the latest footage came together in a shameful marriage yesterday morning.

Where were the citizen journalists when Palestinian children were being killed in hospitals struck by IDF bombs in December 2008?

Where were the UN Security Council when Israel used white phosphorous bombs on the innocent people of Gaza City?

Where is the rage of the online masses every single day that Israel breaks international law by starving the Gaza Strip and building new settlements in the West Bank?

New media has brought the information era into the minds and pockets of a new generation. Say whatever you want about the cheapening effect this has had on professional reporting.

The Board, for one, supports the editor of The Guardian Alan Rusbridger when he speaks of a future of 'mutualisation' between the creators and consumers of media. But New Media needs to sharpen its moral compass.

A two-year-old child crushed to death in its mother's arms cannot record footage on an iPhone. Until it can, its death will never mean as much to us as that of the 26-year-old Turk who does.

That truth - one we hold in our own minds - is as appalling as anything in Israel's murderous arsenal.