The cruelest cut of all: even though this is a bank holiday, four days of frolics and fun, Felix, my seven-year old son, had class today.
The day after he cheered his future monarch up the aisle and munched a buffet fit for kings, his church summoned him in for a little tutoring. In about a month, he gets to wear a seven-year-old snappy suit and tie, and make his holy communion for real: meanwhile, he must attend class for one and a half hours every third Saturday.
I broke the news this morning and not before, and then settled the damages with cinema and MacDonald’s. Mollified, Felix seemed quite cheerful in the car.
“If they want to take your workbook”, I schooled him, “tell them they can’t have it yet. Negotiate. We need more time to complete it.”
“Mum, he replied, with all the confident wisdom of a high court judge, “I’m Ernie’s lawyer.”
Pardon?
Apparently, every time the most popular boy in the class needs reasoned, airtight argument in his defence, whether it be with a teacher, a dinner lady or a class colleague, he summons Felix. Felix constructs a case, he frames it as only Felix can, Ernie wins hands down.
I have noticed my son’s propensity to over-negotiate recently. Every time I tell the cat off for jumping on the table; each occasion I label the dog ‘smelly’, or ‘fat’; in comes the seven-year old attorney with a detailed piece of rhetoric, outlining precisely where I have slipped up.
Who are you, I rejoin, the Cat Police? and he grins and says gruffly, No, but you did raise your voice to her, Mum, and you should always keep a calm tone of voice.
Give me strength.
I am the thin line between you and a world of mayhem, I argue. You want the truth? The cat treads in poo in the garden and walks on the table, and you eat off the very same surface. The dog smells because he has communed with some of the most anti-fragrant substances known to come out of the back end of a fox. You are about to cuddle him. Put two and two together, son.
You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth.
Somehow, though, I always seem to end up like Jack Nicholson in A Few Good Men: a self-appointed bastion of right-doing on the wrong side of the law.
As if his father’s energetic law-abiding isn’t enough.
My husband, Phil, has very strong views about certain areas of municipal husbandry.
Litter, for example. Rides down the leafy road outside our house are often accompanied by a philibustering diatribe on The Kind Of People That Drop Litter, alongside The Low Quality of Council Roadside Maintenance.
He backs the talk up with hard graft, doing mini litter collections of his own on any amble down the road to visit relatives. At such times one could cut the censure with a knife. If I were the Borough Council I would not come within thirty yards of my husband. I think I would rather get the litter pickers and the grass mowers out with all speed.
Which is unfortunate for the Borough, because Phil has decided to run for Council.
He has just one policy. But I have a feeling, if enough people know about it, he could poll enough votes to swing it.
When I was a girl, my town was young and vibrant, well planned and fruitful. Even today its facilities are breathtaking: we have incredible playgrounds peppering the borough, parks and flowers which regularly win national awards, a forest and an iron age fort at our beck and call, a broadly law abiding population and a great deal more.
But our town centre has lost all the shops anyone wants to go to, and we are losing cash and kudos hand over fist. A redevelopment plan was on the cards 20 years ago when Phil and I were working the patch as journalists and it is still not even begun.
Phil has identified that very few of the strong arms of our local councillors live here. They are hiding out in plush satellite-villages. He lives in the heart of the town. So, he has decided, he will fight for it.
And so will his family. The man has three-year olds campaigning for him.
Our family, my sister and her husband, Maddie and Felix, my nieces the Princesses and my small nephew, Big Al: all have been leafletting houses in preparation for the polling day, which is just five days hence.
Who knows. With the wind in a lucky direction, I could be playing Scrabble in bed and watching Sherlock Holmes with a bona fide councillor by the end of the week.
And we will find out if our local politicians can handle the truth.
Erk.
Kate Shrewsday 
Three cheers for Phil and good luck.
Having run (and won) three municipal elections in my time and served close to 12 years in local service, I am a strong proponent of local control and public service. A thankless role a good part of the time (I was on a local school board) I still strongly believe that it is local government where the important changes can be made and meted out. I wish I could help your small band of campaigners hand out leaflets and remember, “it ain’t over ’til it is over”. Do let us know how how it all turns out.
(I love your use of erk)
Thanks Penny, it’s good to have a voice of experience during a very home-made campaign.
They used to use Erk in the Beano, I think. Such an expressive syllable 😀
So you son is an elementary school lawyer? Fine boy to show this proclivity so early in life. I had excellent drawing skills and my classmates used to have me sign the progress reports on blank forms they had stolen where they had written false passing grades. These we taken home ,signed by parent and returned. I was an excellent forger of teacher signatures on the report form. I never got caught. No one ratted. My skill was too valuable. Made a fair bit of pocket money for a 12 year old as I recall.
Every class need an expert counterfeiter, and a good lawyer. Carl 😀
Sounds like Phil has some good ideas . . . starting with representation by someone who actually lives in the town proper.
Good luck to him.
Time will tell, Nancy 🙂 It would bring an extra strand of activity for a family which always functions at the edge of chaos. Enthusiastic campaign team, though…
AHA! One of THOSE lessons bay be about to be learnt. Journos think they can do better than politicians, and become dispirited over the need for political negotiatuons as there is never enouth time and money to do all that is needed.
Good luck, may he win and be the Journo-politician who disproves all I just wrote.
We’ve had a few who crossed over successfully, Sidey; the BBC’s Martin Bell particularly.
I will venture that this family needs a local politician like the dog needs a perm.
That’s exciting. Best of luck to Phil. If local politicians can’t handle the truth, perhaps Felix could go along to mediate. I remember something about his negotiating a truce at a football game? A good fellow to have around. It’s a shame Big Al is limited to handing out leaflets. His name is reminiscent of “Boss Tweed,” et al.; if Big Al were older and taller, he might be quite influential at bringing in the vote.
(You’re so right about the cat.)
Indeed, Kathy…he would make a fabulous heavy, but the scale’s all wrong right now. What a campaign team…
Sounds to me as though the town will be in good hands with your Hubs. hope he is elected in a lanslide. Take if from an unbiased spectator (me) – anyone who is for community revitalization and against litter scoff-laws is a winner in my book! “Up the Shrewsday clan!!” (or fill in the proper name. . .:-D )
Thank you 🙂 I have a feeling election would be the beginning of a rather long and arduous story, Paula. Not being elected is my preference. Campaigns are exciting and all, but the time and energy involved would be considerable. I like a quiet-ish life.
Phil the future Prime Minister? Gosh, I’ll be able to say ‘I knew you when … ‘
The country would be scrupulously clean, Cindy 😀
Good luck to Phil! He sounds born for the job 😀 In fact, we could really use someone of his calibre here – following a recent two-week strike by our garbage collectors. It wasn’t pretty!
Oh. Naomi, bet it wasn’t great on the nose either! Hope your municipal wrangles get sorted out during the next fortnight…I suspect ours have only just begun 😀
I’d rather that you slept with the councillor rather than the counsellor which is how I first read this 🙂
Yes. Sleeping with counsellors isn’t quite cricket, is it?
You and I have spiritual dopplegangers for husbands 🙂
Well done to Phil for putting himself out there.
It is good to compare notes, TIlly…. 😀
The dog would peobably be much improved with a perm, and how many coucillors have live-in lawyers? Good for Phil!
Of course, it is a pity he isn’r running here. Then you could start living in the lap of luxury from the proceeds of tenders granted, rules waived, planning contrary to all sense and public interest rushed through, and things like that.
It sounds attractive, Col…the ever present spectre of UK defamation law forbids me from commenting in kind….
Wow, I can’t wait to know if Phil gets the big ticket! All the best :).
Thanks Kemi 🙂 thanks for stopping by!
Deadline out the way, I did sit down with a cup of tea to catch up on your blog this morning, Kate, and what an entertaining start to the day – – with a family like yours, Phil can only succeed. No doubt, Felix will go on to great things, too
Thanks BB 🙂 They make quite a pair.
I’ve been informed I must stand outside the polling station with a rosette on my lapel on Thursday. NOT looking forward to it.