Mayoral Madness


The Olympic torch has not yet been lit, and already the mayoral elections are high on the news agenda : which one, we are asked, do we want?  Do we want the sexually incontinent, rapacious classicist who reintroduced the Routemaster, or do we want the milk-supping, newt-catcher, who introduced La Bus de Bendy, which looked like one of those plastic snakes that children get in sticky party bags, and which move and jolt around corners of their own accord?  And is this our only choice?   The idea of either makes me want to throw up but there you go.

Even more depressing than the London Mayoral elections is this:  if you start Googling “Who are the London Mayoral election candidates?”  you can get only as far as “Who are the….” and Google Instant pops up with “Kardashians”.  This means that despite millions of stupid money being wasted flooding our media channels with the Kardashians for reasons that are not apparent, most people on Google don’t know who they actually are.  Even worse, most of them want to find out who they are, because they feel their store of knowledge will be enriched in the process. 

I am not at all sure whether Kim Kardashian, or the other Kardashians, would make a better mayoral candidate than Johnson or Livingstone but she can’t do that much worse.  The Liberals have got Brian Paddick who has a friendly face and a winning smile but basically he looks like a chartered surveyor whose wife has just left him.  Meanwhile, over on the extreme right wing fringe, the two brain cells that exist in the entire British National Party have selected a Uruguayian who sounds like a brand of travel agent : Carlos Cortiglia, and whose national origins appear to be in some conflict with one of his party’s policies.  Oh, no hang on, all of his party’s policies.   The opinion polls suggest Johnson will walk it.  But that’s after he has had considerable opportunities for dropping the Olympic torch, slapping the Italian Ambassador on the back and saying “What ho” and accidentally sleeping with half of the Argentinian Ladies Aerobics team.  Twice.

Personally, I’m routing for Dick Whittington, but since 1419 he only appears in the panto season, whereupon he is played by a lady.  I’ve always liked a man who likes cats:

I think as Mayor he should basically rock on up in a pair of his fruitiest medieval tights and – once he has sorted out the tomfoolery that is being carried out in the hospital of his own name – sort out shit.  Check out the cosmopolitan beret.  Look at those sexy ears.  Note how the cat on his lap has the face of a piglet on its way to the slaughterhouse.  Look at that distant, concerned glare in those 15th century eyes, staring off into the distance, as if he is looking at one of those electronic update boards on a Northern Line platform, hoping that the next train will be for Barnet.  Look at this fabulous mink stole (clearly been shopping at Libertys).  I trust this man.

Of course, modern politics is all about being media savvy and I understand perception is all.  We need to track Whitters down and give him a mayoral makeover.  We could put him in stilettos, like this one:

That should sort him out ready for the voting populace.  And the cat’s upgrade:

Put them both on the top of the Routemaster bus and wait for the votes to flood in.  What we don’t want is this sort of Mayor:

Where do we begin with THIS Dick Whittington?  With the fact that the lady in the middle has garroted herself and swapped heads with the lady / chap on the right?  Or that Johnny Depp’s understudy / body double from Pirates of the Caribbean  has crashed the shoot and appeared on the left?  How can the Mayor sign state papers if he doesn’t have any hands?  Why is the gentleman on the right wearing a Debenhams shower cap?  The cat, on the other hand, is downright creepy. 

We need a strong Mayor – like Dick “Call me Richard, peasant” Whittington, who can sort out London’s medieval drains as he did, who kindly organized a hospital ward for the use of unmarried mothers, who opened a library and a public loo and who loved London so much he left his money to the City.  Now.  How about having a mayor these days ethical enough to do that?  We have two dramatic possible Mayors in the principal Conservative and Labour offerings with brush-brandishing Boris and Kinky “I’m a cat” Ken but I wonder, frankly, whether they are both mired in the depths of moral bankruptcy.  When did either of them actually open a public toilet?   Newts may be Ken’s thing, but I am not sure I’d trust Boris to post a letter let alone remember to look after a cat.   What do we then, want our London Mayor to do?:

1.  Cap annual public transport cost increases at 4%

2. Invert the charge rising system on black cabs, to reflect the New York cab system : i.e. fares rise between 10am and 2pm to accommodate business fares and drop to standard rate between 10pm and 2am to accommodate revellers, not the current system, which has a detrimental impact upon entertainment revenues.  This leads me to my third point which is…

3.Take that odious simpleton who’s some kind of parking meter kinky perv at Westminster and who has a parking meter installed in his living room, and who has been spearheading the proposal to abolish free parking in the West End on weekends and evenings and feed him to the gorillas at London Zoo.

4.  Install clocks in tube carriages.  It seems peculiar this has never been done, when we have constant, digital screens reminding us what to change for and where and yet no one knows what the bloody time is.

5.  Make it legal for every Barclays Cycle Hire rider to wear a safety helmet.

6.  Make Johnny Depp Mayor.  Let us kiss his garments and rejoice in his Johnny-ness. 

Simples, eh?

Please return to the London Bluebird if you enjoyed this.  This blog is updated every Thursday.

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