Local elections are often considered the unsexy cousin of general elections, referendums and even the European Parliament elections. There are no flashy graphics and no attack ads with ominous music. CNN doesn’t break out the Magic Wall for the Cahir local electorate vote, which is missing a trick really.
Local elections are the perpetual bachelor on Tinder, holding a fish in their unflattering profile picture. They’re the democratic version of a middle child. They’re the safety demonstration on an airliner we don’t bother with, sliding off only one headphone to perform “paying attention”. Even though it’s important information, the kind of stuff that our future health and safety rests on – we’re not into it.
It’s only when things go wrong and the oxygen masks pop down that we realise we should have concentrated on what was happening in front of us instead of listening to a podcast about a chief executive’s morning routine.
Local councils and bodies dealing with municipal issues are a bit like that. They’re filed under “too boring” for most of us to make mental room for. Even the odd junior journalist groans at being sent to council meetings with talk of plenaries, committees, movements and which bylaw dealt with what.
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I feel like I’ve hit the lottery with my partner: I make the money, he makes me lunches
But then one day we realise there are vacant buildings going derelict on a busy street when our children have to move away because of a housing shortage; there are potholes in the roads doing damage to our new car; our pram wheels are constantly covered in dog poo, the “community garden” the developers promised when building a huge block of build-to-rents never materialised; and the local kids suddenly have a renewed interest in putting fireworks in letterboxes since they took away the only playing field in a 10sq km radius.
Who could forget the romantic pandemic in Dublin – aka “the summer we all weed in the streets” because the open and available public toilets had quietly dwindled to a pathetically low number, but we hadn’t noticed until the pubs closed.
As the memories of the smell of urine on concrete fade, the lasting lesson remains. Local issues are important. Where you live and how it’s looked after affects your quality of life. So grab a brochure, ask a candidate a question, read up, and vote accordingly.
The alternative is just letting me have a go at running things because these are the things I would do that would improve life in Ireland immediately.
Footpath licences
You should have to pass both a theory test and a practical examination to use a footpath. Drivers who are capable of manoeuvring murderous hunks of metal at 120km/h down motorways suddenly forget the rules of the road when they’re using their two feet to stroll down a busy street. They stop in the middle suddenly, causing a pile up behind them, so they can dig through a bag, they spread out in groups so no one can overtake, they don’t stay to the left, they veer into oncoming traffic and cause crashes by refusing to look up from their phones. Footpaths are highways – they are transport arteries for people looking to move around the cities and should be treated accordingly. If I catch you clogging up the path outside Bambino, causing others to step on to a busy road just so you can Instagram a slice of pizza, I’m giving you a three-month suspension. You’ll have to get rickshaws everywhere instead.
Turn coworking spaces into libraries
Libraries were the original co-working spaces and they were free. Recently I paid €25 to rent a desk for a day in a place that promised to foster connections in an aesthetically pleasing environment for peak productivity. All it did was foster a sore bum because despite the price I wasn’t even given a proper office chair, just an attractive wooden Scandi-chic chair without a suggestion of a cushion. The desks were near a ping-pong table, which, despite what tech companies used to tell us, doesn’t really help with staff happiness and productivity. Especially when composing a delicate email while a little white ball keeps getting thwacked about in your eye line. Plus the place had crap biscuits.
I retreated to the padded chairs and aggressive “shushes” of the local library – a haven for students, writers, people trying to get back on their feet or keep warm or entertain children for an hour or two. I’d rather pay them a subscription for a desk in a quiet place that smells of books, which would keep the space funded for those who can’t pay but need it as much as I do.
Dog poo
Lastly, the cornerstone of my policy platform is that people who pick up dog poo, bag it but leave that bag on the ground shall have it returned to them. On fire. On their doorstep.