The Mayor, adults and children, the new rules, and the Mayor

by Mik Bulk – happy to sign any charter you put in front of him

journalistThough Harold’s constitutional carapace has been ribbed by some (see the Daily Mail, 14 September, 1962, page 74, bottom left corner, ‘Silly Town’s Daft Rules’) all agree by 27% that its yearly rule change update manifesto is second to none, and is the only such thing in the country.

But what of it? In my reporter’s cap and pen, I got to the Mayor’s chamber at 11, just as he was sipping on a coffee.

I wanted to know the answers to my questions but he ushered me with his friendly nodding towards his chair that he got out of so I could sit down and enjoy the fine air of this most nice of offices.

When we had finished talking for a while I felt myself relax and so told him, it was then that I felt I could begin speaking.

Harold’s youngest ever mayor, Daren Truxton [check this] comes from a long family; his father was the town’s village castor-setter; his mother the city district’s calf lawyer. He then said: “My power is not absolute,” he laughed and me.

But as I was there too, I asked: “What rules will yourself, the Mayor, will you make up yourself this year I asked laughing.”

He laughed, the Mayor, saying: “New rules don’t replace old rules, they add to them he added laughingly.”

This year’s are secret, as they are every year, and no one will know what changes have been made until they happen to someone.

Though the Hamlet’s bloody “heart” ‘liberals’ bark and sniffle in their “blogs” what is good for the “goose” is often doubly good ‘for’ the cat.

Mayor Philton takes another truffle from his packet and we enjoy my questions.

I: “Do you think Harold is a true democracy, I mean in the political sense not another sense,” but I thought maybe I shouldn’t ask him.

Him: “He ignored the question and moved on.”

And all the old nonsense about the 10 journalists who got mysteriously dead in the 29/9 attrocities last year, I think about asking, but when I do it turns out the interview is over and I am half way home.

I pride myself on the trot with a good smile. And I think: In places like Syria none of this could happen. And that’s ‘what’ counts.

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