In regal traditions we trust, and a mayoress we must have

IN my retirement I do things to kill time, things which are rarely worth the effort.
But what have I to lose?
This week, I thought I’d watch the Logan City Council meeting to see our newly-elected, or non-elected incumbents as the case might be, thrash out important issues for our great city in the lead up to a budget that will this week exceed $1 billion.
It’s a lot of money, and a lot of responsibility.
As Wags curled up on my lap, we strapped ourselves to the wonders of modern technology to see how our chosen 12 would tackle the big issues of rates, roads and rubbish.
I did however, become distracted by a brief discussion which questioned whether our city should have a “lady mayoress”.
Well, maybe they didn’t use the word “lady”.
But just in case they did, it’s important to get one thing straight before we discuss the potential benefits of a mayor’s partner taking a role as a community advocate for charity and other issues close to their heart.
By pure definition, our city does not have a Lord Mayor. Our mayor is but a humble mayor ill-distinguished enough to be bestowed the royal “lord” title that comes only with being the leader of a capital city of the Commonwealth.
We cannot therefore have a lady mayoress because the adjectival “lady” accompanies that of the “lord”.
Don’t panic, all is not lost. We can by decree have a mayoress who would traditionally be a person chosen by the mayor as their representative in public, and likely someone who would become patron of various charitable organisations.
In the United Kingdom, mayors have appointed daughters, mothers and others as their mayoress.
Ah, but what if the mayor is a woman, I hear you ask? In our case, it’s not. But if it was, she could appoint her husband, partner, son or other as the mayor’s consort.
It would seem there are few rules. But there can be only one.
Sallyanne Atkinson’s mother was famously lady mayoress in Brisbane in the 80s while her husband Leigh worked with charities in other ways.
It raises pictures in my head of tea parties; people sitting around tables sipping on small cups with their pinky pointing towards the nearest window as they tip back warm chamomile and discuss the shortage of volunteers.
I see a person who buys way too many hats and shoes and dresses while trying to keep up with the Joneses as they dodge paparazzi on their way to the bar to find another glass of Moet.
That’s where they’ll find the wont and the energy to encourage wealthy businessfolk to dig deep into their pockets for the next auction item.
There is no harm done by this regal activity. It’s not for everybody. In fact, it’s for very few.
Often, it provides community organisations an ear they won’t often receive from real politicians. And let’s face it, that’s often all some of our community’s hardest workers are after. An ear, compassion, and a positive word that lifts them from their chair to tackle the next challenge in their way.
It’s someone who’ll listen without prejudice in a mission no more complicated than giving a damn.
The mayoress then goes home and commands the ear of the mayor who is pressured … er, persuaded, to explore ways council can put their weight behind the causes who’ve earned the heart of our consort.
The royal family are experts at this, putting hard-working charities in the public eye. Lady Diana the most quintessential of all.
So if our mayor’s partner Alison Liddell wants to be mayoress, let her be her, and let her use the influence that potentially comes with her position to do good.
If she messes it up, there’s nothing lost. If she excels, then bravo.
Hey Wanda, would you like to know how I killed two hours on Youtube today watching a council meeting? No?
If you need me, I’ll be dusting off my royal coin collection in the back room.