The Dame has been receiving a quantity of mail from readers reminding her of her finest hour — the ruthless and ultimately successful decapitation of Sir Merrick Cockell, or Pooter as he was more affectionately known to those who had to endure him.
The Dame drove him from the leadership of the Royal Borough and, for good measure, persuaded the national press to examine his remarkable expenses and his enthusiasm for international travel at the poor bloody taxpayer’s expense. Those close to this pompous little man — and there were fewer of them by the end — maintain that the resulting publicity scuppered his ambition to plant his considerable bottom on the red benches of the Upper House. He had to make do with a miserable K instead. Why even that was warranted remains something of a mystery.
At certain points, he was pocketing upwards of £120,000 a year….not too bad for what is supposed to be public service. The Dame was desperate for her feckless nephew, Ludo, to aspire to ‘public service’.
Which brings the Dame to a recurring theme: why do leaders of this Council so consistently refuse to be put out to grass? Is it the money? The conceited conviction that no one could possibly do it better? Or simply that outstaying one’s welcome has become a local tradition?
The Dame will acknowledge, for once, that the current leadership team contains some genuinely capable people. Thalassites, Kemahli, Wills and Rendall are encouraging signs. The Dame misses Sof McVeigh and trusts her return will be swift.
And then there is Elizabeth Campbell……
After Grenfell, no sensible person wanted the poisoned chalice. Cllr Campbell was prepared to take it on — and credit, of a sort, is due for that. In less catastrophic circumstances, it is doubtful she would have been considered at all.
The Dame has never had time for Cllr Campbell. She is, to put it plainly, limited. The Council needs fresh leadership, not a caretaker who has forgotten she was ever temporary. Companies with bed-blocking CEOs tend to flounder. Councils are no different.
One detects, perhaps uncharitably, that Cllr Campbell is enjoying herself rather too much — or that she harbours hopes of one day becoming Baroness Campbell. The Dame has been informed, with some emphasis, that this prospect is remote. It would be a grotesque insult to every family that lost someone in Grenfell Tower.
Cllr Campbell, the Dame addresses you directly: your time is up. Sail away gracefully while the option remains. The young team is ready. Step aside and let them get on with it.
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