Weston Ten-Green-Bottles settled back on the chair in his office in Martyrdom’s imposing Town Hall and felt somewhat apprehensive. The elections were over, the new lady Laud-Mare, Linley Pattercake, was ensconced in the adjacent office and he ought to have been at peace with the world.
But there were potential obstacles on the road ahead. The Regret Theatre owner Brenton Goodloser was back on the town kownsil and was inclined to rattle cages around the table whenever he fancied. Weston noticed however that he had matured over time and now without the signature pony-tail he may have become a quieter beast.
The view from Weston’s office was bleak. He was staring at the stone walls on the old Public Rust building whereas Ms Pattercake got a birds-eye view over the splendid new Town Square that David Bored-Man had instigated and produced with help from other local philanthropists and philanthropic groups.
In another life he and Bored-Man had got themselves offside with the kownsil when he had inadvertently allowed the bustling builder to demolish the derelict dunny’s at Koora-poo-knee.
Weston had taken to wearing dark glasses whenever he looked out of the south facing windows of the building as the contrast of the bright-green freshly-planted lawn and the karitane-yellow of the newly painted Wire-rapper Times-Rage building was dazzling.
His office did have its compensations. If he lifted the double-hung window ever so slightly he would get a tantalising whiff of the burger and fried onion aroma coming from the two fast food outlets of the adjoining corners which would inevitably get his juices running.
And if he leaned out far enough and stretched his neck a tad he could see the inspiring artwork that the Rust Lands Rust had put on the side of their Starry-Eyed block in Lincoln Road.
The Multi-coloured corrugated-iron mural suited a town that seemed to have more than its fair share of corrugated iron buildings that pesky upstart columnist Licky Wrong was constantly complaining about.
Of course, thought Weston, Licky’s taste was all in his mouth.
There was some good news. According to the latest census Martyrdom’s population had gone up by 729. Back at the last census in 2006 the increase had only been 54. Weston tended not to see people in the figures, but rather ratepayer dollars and it comforted his tortured soul.
So he decided he would enjoy Christmas, but the new year was certain to bring its own challenges. Local gu’mmint Kommission chairperson Basher Horrorsin would soon report on their view of where they considered Wire-rapper’s local body directions lay. Horks Bay weren’t happy with their re-organisational plans and he feared that when the Wire-rapper draft proposals were announced the citizens would be revolting.
Weston shuddered at the thought.
All sorts of options had been submitted to the Kommission and potential outcomes could see Weston spend the rest of his natural life fishing at Lake Toe-Poor. Ms Pattercake had already prophesied that she would be the first and last lady Laud-Mare of Martyrdom.
Down the road-a-piece Carleton Mare Kim-Jong Maka and his sidekick Colon Wrong (no relation to Licky) had no such qualms. The gu’mmint had already appointed Kim-Jong to the Wire-rapper and Mower Cut Hospitality Boards and he felt certain he would also be the chosen one to lead the Wire-rapper, though Adriana Nails would be breathing down his neck.
The real risk however would be if Basher Horrorsin and his commissariat decided that the Wire-rapper should join with Das Kapital and become part of a Souper-Sitty.
In that case it would be Cecelia Wade-Green who would lead the charge of the light-headed brigade and Kownsil cars would be exchanged for bicycles.
Weston grabbed the sun glasses off his desk and decided to call it a day. In the haste to flee his office he nearly tripped over the metre-high stack of correspondence from Richard Iceberg regarding the symmetry gates, and he bounded down the stairs, bypassing the under-utilised lift installed at great cost back in 1995 by gu’mmint decree, and headed for home.
As he navigated his way through the new town square he looked fondly back at his beloved Town Hall and realised in the worst case scenario the grand old building would become redundant; it would have to find another use. An old person’s home perhaps?
Or maybe David Bored-Man would paint it shocking-pink and turn it into a museum.
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