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The amazing (fully clothed) Nipper Kettle and a well-fed Premier

In the end, the guy in the chicken suit at the NPA's wind-up rally just didn't get it done. Vision Vancouver and Mayor Gregor Robertson ran roughshod over the often-amateurish campaign of their rivals in the ultra-partisan Non-Partisan Association, who seemed more interested in tossing political spitballs than in substantive issues.

But they weren't the only losers on election night. Dubgee, Darrell (Saxmaniac) Zimmerman, Amy (Evil Genius) Fox, Cord (Ted) Copeland and Wendythirteen also tasted defeat in the big city.

In Gibsons, Hammy McClymont, running on the slogan: "If you're tired of baloney, vote for Ham!," came close but just missed securing a seat on council.

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Hammy, however, fared better than Arthur Shaw, who ran for mayor. Of the 1,915 votes cast in Gibsons on election night, Mr. Shaw received a mere 23.

Still, that was 23 times better than the one lone vote secured by Deb McBride in her bid for a regional district seat in Squamish.

No one ever said it was easy.


On a cheerier note, how about the amazing Nipper Kettle? After years of being boiling mad about many things up north in Houston, site of the world's largest fly rod (no relation), Mr. Kettle abandoned his hot-and-cold political career there and moved south last year to Greenwood, self-styled smallest city in Canada.

And what do you know? On Saturday, Nipper Kettle, name and all, was elected mayor of his new steaming grounds. After knocking on every door in Greenwood, Mr. Kettle nipped his opponent by four votes, the closest civic race in the province.

Mr. Kettle, however, is unlikely to follow the tradition of former Houston mayor and political rival, Sharon Smith, who posed in the mayor's chair wearing nothing but her chain of office for an after-hours photo that became public.

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"I didn't agree with that," Mr. Kettle told me this week.


Maybe Christy Clark got too much to eat on her recent swing through the gastronomical palaces of China and India, because she was sure "fed up" by Monday.

The presence of 28 Occupy tents outside provincial court facilities at Robson Square produced a beaut of a burp from the Premier.

To wit: "I think people are fed up with all this nonsense. … I'm fed up with it. … We're going to send a message that we're fed up… " Now, that's what I call someone who's fed up.

It's been a bad month for the Premier's consumption of comestibles. Just a few weeks ago, the lack of progress in treaty talks also had her "fed up."

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With the approach of Christmas and those dangerous mince pies, I'm starting to worry about a new challenge to Ms. Clark's increasingly fragile digestive system. She might even become "fed up" at B.C.'s continuing high rate of child poverty.


We take you now to the mean streets of Creston, where police struggle to maintain order, without the benefit – yet – of the Tories' tough-on-crime bill.

Courtesy of the Creston Valley Advance, herewith a few recent examples of RCMP attempts to stem the local crime wave.

Nov. 8: When police checked on an abandoned 911 call, they found the cellphone's owner asleep, unaware of how the number could have been dialled.

Nov. 10: When police checked a report about a female hauling rocks from beside the Goat River, they learned she mistakenly thought they were from her own property.

Nov. 11: A Beam Road resident called 911 to report a Microsoft phone scam call. Police reminded the public that such calls are not emergencies and 911 should not be used in similar cases.

And my personal favourite. Nov. 12: When police arrived to investigate a complaint that a female was refusing to leave a residence, she had fallen asleep, as the complainant had said she no longer had to leave.


A moment to note the passing of broadcast legend Andy Stephen, who liked to say he was more well-known in the province than the premier during his years as the first full-time TV correspondent at the legislature.

His large frame and foghorn voice began their long stint at "the leg" in the daze of Wacky Bennett, when reporters routinely accepted "freelance" gigs from the government to pad their meagre paycheques.

Fondly remembered is Mr. Stephen's barebones, weekly panel show, Capital Comment, aka Capital Coma, taped Friday mornings, and often featuring groggy reporters barely able to keep their eyes open from heavy partying the night before. But each appearance brought $50, more than enough for a couple of rounds at The Beaver.

Mr. Stephen was 84.


Roar, you Lions, Roar. How can you lose with a quarterback who grew up in a town called Sublimity?

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