Where Everybody Knows Your Name

My father showed me the brochure when I got home for the weekend.

It looked well, very professionally produced, four A4 pages with full colour on glossy paper, good photographs, well lit, clearly taken by someone who knew their craft.

The accompanying copy was well designed, not too wordy, but hit all the important bullet points.

On the back page, after the list of achievements to date, promises to do more in the next five years, and a contact email and phone number in case anyone needed to get in touch.

I read it, not paying too much attention, then I read it again, the second time with much more care.

Something was missing.

Either there’s been a design snafu, or a political rift that I hadn’t heard about, or it was a deliberate decision.

The words ‘Fianna Fáil’ were nowhere to be found in the glossy advertisements from our local councillor.

Now, I’ve heard of this kind of thing before. But that’s the sort of thing that happens in cities, where no one knows anyone anyway. Not in rural communities where everyone knows everyone and their kith.

How bad is it when the councillors are hiding open secrets?

By Gerard Cunningham

Gerard Cunningham occupies his time working as a journalist, writer, sub-editor, blogger and podcaster, yet still finds himself underemployed.