… And then a great cold befell the land. It came in from the Deep South (no, not Wasbank probably closer to Ladysmith) and it blew over Indumeni mountain (as opposed to Endumeni – that’s the municipal thingy) and it brought with it great tidings of joy.
And it was while Councillors were deciding what to take to the SALGA games when a messenger came down from Mpati mountain in a blaze of glory – he was grasping an invoice from the ratepayers – a large one at that.
And then this became a not so Silent Night as the messenger growled ‘Away with Mangy service delivery’.
Wiping his brow, one Councillor turned to the other and said, “Hark! Is that FC Bester and his far from merry men – but I thought they were supposed to come with Joy to this World – not fear and loathing?”
“Oh, Little town of Endumeni – there are so many demands from the angels… we want jobs a plenty, roads black and tarred, water in Glencoe, coal-laden trucks to be given an alternate route to Willson and Victoria Streets, roses planted in front of the Civic Centre, fresh meat not to be sold on the corner of Willson and Victoria Streets, a mall in Wasbank, a soapbox upon which we can vent our considerable frustration over the theft of the lovely new steel waste bins”, and on and on the messenger rambled, until the Councillors became numb and their I-Pods became more attractive.

And some ratepayers called for the cow to stand up for them in Council.

And then from over Talana Hill came a Little Drummer Boy: wearing a tartan kilt and waving a South African flag – which was rather strange considering 2010 is now just a flicker in Danny Jordaan’s bonus account.
But the Drummer Boy hastened towards the Civic Centre and into the Fountain of Life he jumped. And the goats and cows (you know the ones that eat Desi’s roses during wedding photograph ceremonies every Saturday afternoon?) moo-ed (what do goats do? Kid around?)
And some ratepayers called for the cow to stand up for them in Council.
“Go for LED post or perhaps MM but ASAP because if you for EG forget there could be a problem with the ANC, DA, IFP, NFP and AAAG,” demanded the messenger.
This appeared to confuse the cow. “What the hell is the AAAG?” it asked.
“Ag, just that new model Merc we have an eye on – you know with the roads we have around here we need a decent car to swerve the potholes while driving to Bloed Rivier when we meet the BBR.”
By now the Councillors were irritated by these First Know-it Alls and immediately moved all future Council meetings to Vulintaba, outside Newcastle, as Coronation Park was hosting a party to end all parties.
It was proposed that the entire Committee accompany the Umzinyathi Council to attend a golf-scoring summit at St Andrews, Scotland.
At a cost of just about R1-million this was a bargain considering each delegate also receives an already sharpened pencil.
But FC and his merry men thwarted their trip to Vulintaba and they were forced to check into a marquee at the Oval as there was no room at the Royal.
The marquee was hired at considerable cost to beef up local economic development as no one knows, not even Maxwell, what happened to the pecan nut trees on Mpati.
And as music filled the air (thumping music enough to get Facebookers hammering on their keyboards to rant but being careful not to do a Penny Sparrow), the Councillors received counsel from their Six Wisemen (one was Hlaudi as he does not go to his office anymore in Auckland Park) who came in from the East (Greytown) and it was recommended that, seeing there was no room at the Inn, the Councillors and the ratepayers would have to return to the Royal City of Dawie and go back to the drawing board and continue to follow that Star.