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.
1 comment:
I'm just wondering where you came across a 'stoned infant' so I can advise against using that particular creche.
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