A Little Discussion With The Mayor

I can let you know that I've settled in nicely, having purchased a small holding in the north central area of town. Well, not that small -- one must have adequate,if austere, rooms for the servants -- but all in the household seem content. The grounds are not what I recall from my English ancestral home, but to find several acres of land in the middle of a city is not possible. Unless one purchases a park. I flirted with this idea for a time (there is a neat one in the West End) but decided I would put my financial resources to better purpose.

I have also taken time to review the governance of the city, and was appalled. Nothing would do but to have a discussion with the Mayor. This was easily arranged by one of my colleagues. All she did was to put into His Honour's tinted ear that a sizable campaign offering could be on the table if he could free himself from bicycle paths for a moment and enjoy lunch with the erstwhile contributor. That is, me.

His Honour accepted immediately.

Now the Greeks, having given up on mathematics and entered the restaurant business, run some superb places, and it was at just such a place that I met the Mayor, and over some fine moussaka and feta drizzled salad, aided by a vintage Retsina, we got along famously, even to the point that he allowed that I was one of the most attractive women he had encountered. Compliments are always welcome, and I was going to return the favour, but thought I would first raise some questions that needed some clarification.

"Would you agree, sir," I asked forthrightly, "that socialism is what makes capitalism bearable?"

"Absolutely," he replied. "If only some of my fellow councillors --"

"And would you further agree," I interrupted, " in the reverse of the medal?"

"What?"

A blank look. Oh, oh. This is going to be a bit more difficult that I thought. But I persevered.

"Just flip the phrase. That is, if socialism makes capitalism bearable, then would not capitalism make socialism bearable?"

"Not really," he said. "The poor need our help. Capitalists don't."

Which was not an answer to the question, but now he was warming to his topic.

"You see, the city never has enough money. We have to obtain it through other levels of government, and our own revenue enhancers."

"Revenue enhancers?" I queried. "You mean taxes. But where on earth does the money come from that is to be taxed?"

"The term 'taxes' is misleading," he replied, a note of superiority in his voice, and again ignoring my question. "We at the Executive Council prefer the tern 'revenue enhancers.'"

"The Executive Council. What's that?" I said, fixing him with my eyes.

"Well, it's sort of a Cabinet. To work out, er, final details."

"The deliberations of this Executive thingy. Are they open to the public?"

"In a sense. When the policy is presented to the full Council."

"So it's a kind of Star Chamber."

His Honour looked at me, confusion in his eyes. "I don't know what you mean. Do you mean that we have our meetings in the offices of the newspaper, The Toronto Star?"

"No, my dear Mayor, I mean the Chamber dating back to Henry VII of England, a judicial body separate from the Privy Council, and later became more powerful than the Council under Charles I. There was a star painted on the ceiling in the palace at Westminster where the meetings were held. All was done in secrecy, and the illegality of the Chamber proved one of the reasons Charles lost his head. I think, Your Honour, with your Executive Council, you are treading on dangerous ground."

"I really must go," he said, "I'm already late for a meeting on traffic calming."

He rose, and hurriedly left the restaurant.

Oh, dear, I thought. Poor Toronto.