Let’s not beat about the bush; Fife Council is dreadful. It’s a shocking revelation, I know. Who could ever have predicted that local councillors, the elected cream of the population of our Kingdom may not be able to solve our problems? Of course, only the best, most knowledgeable and astute among us could ever hope to become a local councillor, so there’s zero chance that their ability could be the cause of any of our lives shortcomings.
Therefore, there must be an explanation for the sub-par service which is imparted unto us from hallowed Glenrothes. Being regrettably political myself, I have had the pleasure of gazing upon the faces of some our local councillors; I’ve even managed to chat with a couple of them. From their wisdom, I think I may have an answer to this conundrum.
Whenever you question our councillors about the unanswered, definitive questions of our day, whether it be the vile HMO ban or the villainous presence of advertising boards on Market Street, the same refrain comes to mind: ‘Students don’t vote, so the locals take priority’. This is a completely understandable position from the perspective of elected representatives who want to keep their seats. I have utter sympathy with this concern: one day, you’re getting the bus to Glenrothes to vote in the most important elected chamber in the nearest thirty miles, and the next you’re out, destitute, worthless, your blue suit and brown shoes resigned to the wardrobe of history. To touch the face of God, and then crash back down to earth so fast must be a harsh fate indeed.
Therefore, it is completely unsurprising that Fife Council makes the decisions that it does. The purpose of most of their actions, as I see it, in St Andrews is not to serve us or make life easier, but it is to poke and probe at our morale. Take for example HMO regulations. While yes, this does push up the prices of accommodation in the centre of town, money alone will never put off the Claudias and Sebastiens of St Andrews. Our crafty councillors know this, and so to add insult to injury the HMO rules are made so Byzantinely complex as to ensure that no house could ever properly adhere to them.
Just the other day, I had a burly Scottish man banging on my door at 9am wanting to check if my hot water was working. Instead of sleeping soundly in my bed until my healthy 3pm breakfast, I was instead forced to re-enact the opening from a 70s porno for half an hour due to HMO regulations. This state of affairs has been the standard for every property in which I have lived in St Andrews. In second year, my landlord was over at the flat fixing or altering things so often that I know him better than most of my closest friends. In third year, my landlord was Scottish so unfortunately, I couldn’t understand a word he said, but that did not prevent us from forming a permanent bond. Due to Alistair’s ownership of a master key, and his seeming refusal to ever knock on a bedroom door, he knows every curve of my naked body as well as the lines on his hands.
Many locals in North East Fife have given up on our town entirely, retreating to their dark, cold caves in Cupar to prepare for the last stand against the privileged youth of St Andrews. Last year, in what can only be described as a display of scorched-earth tactics, the council office for St Andrews was closed, with all its services moved to Cupar. Now any student or indeed local must get on a bus to the godforsaken wastes of inner Fife should they wish to access any services, a situation which shows the real priorities of the council.
Rather than the open, internationalist stance that the SNP-Labour coalition would suggest, our overlords in Glenrothes are tantamount to modern ethno-nationalists, keeping local towns for local people.
Knowing the skill and dedication with which Fife Council wishes to intrude into our lives, it is obvious that mere protest is not enough to make our voices heard. If students are going to be listened to, we have no choice but to start going out and voting. At the last Fife Council elections, only around five-thousand people bothered to show up to their polling stations. With the population of our university dwarfing this number, we hold the keys to the four St Andrews council seats. Rather than sending crafty, mischievous local residents to Glenrothes, why don’t we choose a random student as a tribute, bound to vote down each and every piece of vexatious legislation?
But we mustn’t stop there. I have learned that some local councillors, the same councillors who skilfully oppress us at every turn sometimes evolve into Members of Parliament. Therefore it is not enough to take the council, but we must take North East Fife as well.
I can imagine the glorious spectacle as Jamie Rodney, honourable member for North East Fife rises to his feet. Boris Johnson, quaking in his boots is left speechless and literally shaking as our hero Rodney destroys him with harsh polemic. ‘Why’, our God-King interrogates, ‘haven’t you ended the HMO ban?’. With this, the seven seals of Fife Council could finally be broken, and our birth right of sleeping until noon may be returned unto us. I beseech you, friends: go and vote