It’s ‘phoney time’ again – local elections!

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SOME of the more polished are booted, suited and poised just outside the supermarkets on the weekends pressing flesh and back slapping the hurried shoppers. Others of their same ilk are handing out baskets full of flyers written in hyperbolic prose that tugs at the imagination, reverie or daydreams; penned promises in large letters of gilded preposterous claims for the glorious future that will arrive just tomorrow when their elected party has contrived nothing less than the heliocentric dominant of our galaxy, (our sun) to come forth yet once again thanks to their celestial connections, timely intervention and admonishment.

Well, we’ll be saved! Oh the rapture.

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Pull on your highest wellies and step tall when walking through the minefield of frivolous fantasy and frenzied promise.

The general public should view the circumstances in pure AWE for what is stated in the obvious as a dead certainty to occur following “their election – ain’t gonna happen.

Spring beams forever eternal.


And, yes, I’ve always been a sucker for snake oil salesman, young girls in short frilly skirts and someone who’s got a contrived plan to better mankind’s current state of affairs.

You don’t have to listen too carefully to pick up the sound of the beating drums marching somewhere and surrounded by colourful banners waving those indispensable shields of truth concerning the human condition: freedom, democracy and human dignity.

Man’s human condition—greedy to the core, languishes in this atmosphere of sugar coated promises and pledges. His soul cries out during the phoney time; “what ya gonna do for me? What are you going to give me to better my personal and family struggle?” Hence the popular refrain, “modern day democracy—is the best government money can buy or that can be bought”. No principals involved here.


Get ready for some fiery speeches that will verge on the evangelical. The parties are still forming, weighing up each candidate’s power to pull in votes either from his extended family, club or work connections.

For those that complained in the past that Mojacar has voted strictly along tribal (family) lines and hence little change has transpired over the intervening years—here is a chance to presume a change.

OK, call me cynical, but remember two things. One, that Seneca was a Spaniard and knew well the hearts and minds of his countrymen.

Secondly, allusion toward doing something doesn’t necessarily mean that it will be done.

My house is getting bombarded by phone calls with sultry pledges and promises. My wife belongs to a large-membered  organization with possibly many votes called PAWS/PATAS. Once again she is being promised the usual financial ‘treats’ to keep the dogs from starving.

But, it is a fact of law that each Ayuntimiento IS REQUIRED to have provisions as such constitutionally which guarantees the dispersion of those funds.

Unfortunately, that has never happened in all their 24 years of PAWS/PATAS existence. Not from any town halls in Spain. Not a Peseta nor Euro has been “gifted” to that group of sturdy volunteers of what should be theirs by right of law.

Yet, the calls and promises keep flooding in—testing who is the fool.

 

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