AS THE LEAVES of our calendars turn remorselessly onwards, the evenings lengthen, and the sound of Cliff Richard singing some nausea-inducing seasonal ditty drives us all out of shops around Bridport, the excitement that the prospect of a new Mayor offers is gripping us all.
No less so in the fashionable wine bars, exotic eateries and working men’s cafes of Islington, Kensington and Chelsea. The talk is of little else. “Who will wear the proud and much-venerated chain of office next year?,” they all wonder aloud, scarcely able to keep their anticipation and enthusiasm within their trousers.
That must be the case.
After all, the London-based national press and broadcasters assume that the selection of one or the other of a pair of self-opinionated, publicity-mad, cringingly embarrassing oafs, whose only hope of gaining paid employment, outside of Bertram Mills Circus, is elective office as Mayor of London, is of interest to the rest of the nation.
So London must be just as interested in our affairs.
The thing is though, we have got a Mayor at the minute. Yes, I promise you we have. Obviously, though, he is a man who wouldn’t want to court the unwanted attention of keeping a low profile.
Invisible and unreported completely are the words that spring to mind.
I suppose he’s been busy all year finding his way around town, give him his due and always remember he has been here for a shorter period of time than Peacocks’ shop.
So who will replace him? That is the question that keeps most of us awake at nights. Old wasisname, the present incumbent of the exalted office, is of the Conservative 2nd XI party, and the big boys in the first team were pretty miffed when one of their number didn’t get the job last time around.
“It’s our turn and that’s so not fair” they screamed with all the maturity that we have come to expect of politicians when they don’t get their own way.
This time they might get a crack of the whip. Should word of the Tory plight reach Lib Dem HQ they might well order the lads to be nice to each other and take turns fairly.
Failing that, perhaps bashing a couple of heads together might prove hugely satisfying and fairly effective.
That’s a job I would take on.
Can you imagine the satisfaction to be gained from hearing the clunk of two empty heads colliding with force?
As time goes on we shall see. For just a few more weeks I shall have to contain my excitement and pretend that life is carrying on as normal.
Difficult, I know, when so much is at stake, but I shall try.
Editor’s Note: The Red Bladder has just been awarded a One Lovely Blog Award by Maddie Grigg for his blog at http://theredbladder.blogspot.com/ As Maddie Says, the award will look “particularly fetching” hanging on the wall of his online lair.
But he will have no problem in supplying the five random facts now expected of him, as readers of his singularly entertaining Twitter feed will know. Follow at http://www.twitter.com/theredbladder