After a stiff egg nog or two and a back-to-back Home Alone marathon in the favourite chair, a delightful Christmas fever dream washed over me, starring our favourite Panto cast from Merchant’s Quay. I now share with you, dear reader.
There they were. All the gang in Merchant’s Quay were up and out the door at the crack of dawn on Christmas Eve, busy sipping their first sweet sherries of the day in departures in Shannon, by the time his lordship, Mayor John Moran, was just waking from his two-hour nightly slumber.
City Hall was oh so quiet, not even the Active Travel team stirred on their tricycles, as his reverence put on his new Penney’s slippers — a gift from his two besties Cllrs Stephen Keary and Adam Teskey.
Licking his lips in anticipation at the delights Pat Daly would be cooking up in the Council canteen, he was ready to take on another day making Limerick great again.
Alas, King John’s day was about to take a turn for the worst. There would be no poached eggs with smoked salmon and bubble and squeak this morn.
While the lads and lassies in Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael were belting out rousing and rather tuneless renditions of Living Next Door to Alice and Sweet Caroline in the departures lounge, the larder was all but empty back in Council HQ.
The Mayor didn’t know it yet, but as the rowdies in the chamber were about to board a flight to Savannah, Georgia — a work trip to get some tips off the yanks on that auld internet yokey — Mayor John Moran was Home Alone.
Hands on face in shock, he made his way to the Merchant’s Quay drawing room for his brekkie with the Limerick Post under his arm (quite right too), as passengers in Shannon boarded and took their seats.
“Slattery, go easy on the Fanta,” Cllr Michael Collins cautioned in a rather fetching International Rugby Experience Christmas jumper.
Mad for craic they were as Cllrs Daniel Butler and Olivia O’Sullivan had them all crooning again.
It would be a long flight, Cllr Seán Hartigan cried, as he pedalled like mad to keep the propellers propelling.
Back in City Hall, the Mayor made do with a highly nutritious microwavable macaroni and cheese platter, and the cold hard truth started to sink in.
“Three more years,” he told his plate.
As Hartigan pedalled furiously below, Pat Daly got a shiver down his spine as the most awful thought occurred to him.
” I think I left the cooker on in Merchant’s Quay? No that’s not it. Holy ballot box, we’ve forgotten the Mayor!”
“Pat, I’m reading through all your private stuff, you better come back and put the breakfast on,” Moran said moments later when he took a call from the Director General.
Slipping into a cosy chair, it was looking like being the perfect Christmas for Mayor Moran, after all.
“I made my Council disappear,” he cheered gleefully.
Up in the clouds, poor Pat was distraught.
“I don’t care if I have to get out on the runway and hitchhike! If I have to sell my soul to Michael O’Leary, I am going to get home to my Mayor,” he told an irate air hostess.
Eating junk and watching rubbish back in City Hall, the Mayor was having a rare old time, scheming schemes of a Christmas, Easter, and Riverfest beach in Georgian Limerick. Maybe even a Full Moon Party, sure why not?
“With any luck, they’ll be snowed in Stateside, and won’t be home until February”, he giggled, as he tucked into his snack box and super gravy.
Merry Christmas one and all – I hope you get your jollies too!
– Local Democracy Reporting Scheme