There are certain jobs that tend to attract the more rakish and maverick of potential employees. Postmen, for instance, all have an air of matey, brigand-like insouciance. Likewise, I’ve never yet met a photographer who wasn’t almost wholly mad. Blacksmiths — “one of a kind”. Reflexologists — like talking to a bag of panicking budgies. Plumbers — little more than lunatics with a plunger. And clearly, within this canon of jobs for the more “uniquely minded”, comes mayoring.
It’s not hard to see why those with fractionally more “independent perception” would be drawn to the role. For starters, “mayor” is one of those jobs — like “Remembrancer”, or “Black Rod” — that sounds more fairybook than Financial Times. It sounds as if the rule book might consist of: “1) Wear golden tea tray on chain around neck; 2) Have splendid feasts that last weeks, consisting of buns made to look like your own face; 3) Ride a white swan.”
Really, one might just as well apply for the role of Sheriff of Nottingham, Evil Grand Vizier or Princess Jasmine for all the engaging with the hurly-burly of the day-to-day mayoring seems to entail.
No little surprise, then, that my diverting part-time job as “mayor-watcher” alerted me, last week, to some more hot Mayor news. The Mayor of Buenos Aires — previously in the headlines for providing internet access to streetkids; presumably to make their Christmas shopping that little bit easier with Amazon.com — has come up with a new idea. He’s fitted a MayorCam in his office, which broadcasts hot mayoral action for four hours a day. If the idea is a hit, he plans to extend the coverage to 24 hours a day, which means that, at certain points of the day, it will not be MayorCam, but LadyWithFloorWaxerCam, and FaxManCam. It’s very possible that the ratings for the latter may be higher.
You know, though — you’ve got to admire the Mayor’s chops. Clearly disappointed when he couldn’t get the time off work to audition for Argentinian Big Brother, the Mayor has simply gone about making his own Big Brother, all about himself. Obviously, as the only contestant, the Diary Room interludes will be technically difficult (“I really annoyed me today. I am bitching about me behind my own back, and I drank all the Pepsi, even though I know it is my favourite drink. I am not going to talk to myself any more.”) but the nomination process should be dynamite.
Of course, the wider implications of MayorCam are obvious: this is the future. Clearly. In ten years’ time, every government department, FTSE-indexed company and civic amenity will have webcam coverage. The idea of voting for anyone when we don’t have the faintest clue what they do will seem absurd — as absurd as voting for someone who won’t tell you their name, “because I want it to be a surprise, when I win”. Likewise, shareholders will consider it foolhardy to invest in companies where one cannot keep tabs on the length of executive lunches or whether or not the CEO plays pitch and putt in their offices, in their pants.
But I think, with his MayorCam, that the Mayor has hit on a much deeper human desire. Because, let’s face it — wouldn’t we all like people to know just how hard we work every day? Each of us feels harassed and harried by our workloads — but, as we are all too keenly aware, no one else could care less. As soon as you start moaning about how hard you work, someone else chips in with a bullish “Yeah — my week’s been horrific,” and then lists some pantywaist walk-in-the-park compared to your onerous burden.
If everyone had a WorkCam, however, you could finally prove how truly unfortunate you are, compared to slaves — who, by and large, operate in more clement climates than N8. Imagine! Your mother rings and wants you to talk to your uncle Roy, who’s “just popped by,” and “wants to chat to his little Wolverhampton butterball”. In the world before WorkCam, you’d be sent into a blustering tailspin, shouting “reports!” and “deadlines!” and “balls on the line!” With WorkCam, however, you could simply shout “www.caitlin’soffice.co.uk, Uncle Roy!” slam the phone down, and rest easy in the knowledge that Uncle Roy can now see you typing away ten-to-the-dozen, answering phonecalls with your feet, and holding for Rugby head office on three, while drinking busybusybusy coffee.
And it’s not just the outside world that would find viewing your working day instructive. Consider your own hours of employ. How often have you spent up to an hour searching for your glasses, the stapler, or your “motivating” photograph of Han Solo, which appear to have been mislaid somewhere on your desk?
With WorkCam, however, you could just rewind to the last time you had the item, and then observe yourself, absently and bafflingly, putting it behind a cup on the bookcase. Thousands of man-hours a year could be saved with this device. We could all probably retire three years early with WorkCam. And, of course, finally answer one of the oldest questions mankind has ever asked itself: what have I done all day?
New titles for Sir Paul and Lady M
It is upsetting news from the McCartney/Mills camp, of course. Lady McCartney has accused Sir Paul of having allegedly: FORCED her to crawl on her hands and knees up the steps of a private jet. STRUCK her while on tour abroad. Made her cook TWO meals a night, even though she was on crutches. Was JEALOUS of their baby, and TOLD her not to breastfeed, as: “These are my breasts.” BANNED her from keeping a bed-pan under the bed as: “It would feel like an old woman’s home.”
All very distressing. Our thoughts go out to them at this difficult time. But, on the other hand, look at all the new songtitles you can get out of it! Wee Can (Work It Out), Whack in the USSR, You Never Give Me Your Mummy, You’re Going To Bruise That Girl, I Want To Flee Your Pan. Let’s look on the bright side.
Oh, dear God
A new Catholic prayer book has been issued in Poland and caused the usual controversy (ie, three priests have had a gigantic hissy fit while the country continues, by and large, exactly as it did before). The new prayer book contains prayers it considers pertinent to the changing age. This includes one to “forgive stupid things said while drunk”, and one in which the petitioner prays: “Let me not be guided by idiotic notions of loyalty, if they might lead to evil.”
Of course, while the latter — if put into practice — could easily lead to the dissolution of all religions within a matter of weeks, the former is certainly handy, what with all the Christ-inspired drinking on the horizon.
