FORMER Thai president Thaksin Shinawatra said, following his deposition in 2006 while on a visit to the UK, that "I'm very disappointed by the mature-democracy countries. I was ousted by a coup d'etat."

In recent weeks, one of Merseyside's longest-serving political leaders, whom mature democracy placed at the helm of one of our councils several times over the course of four decades, was ousted, that being Cllr Marie Rimmer in St Helens.

However, without being too pedantic, Mr Brocklebank should point out that there were some subtle differences between how events unfolded in the Far East and how they unfolded just down the M62: for one, Mr Shinawatra left many thinking that perhaps he knew the coup was coming, given that he decided to take his family and most of his possessions with him on his trip to Britain (and his chequebook, too, for he went on to buy Manchester City while stuck for something to do).

MANY a Merseyside eyebrow was raised earlier this week by the revelation that the region's, ahem, sperm banks are running so low on resources that they've had to resort to drafting it in from... of all places, Manchester!

But the smirks that may be across the faces of many a Mancunian this week (and Mr Brocklebank can only imagine the chants of Manchester United fans from the Anfield terraces on their next visit) will not be limited to this particular story.

UNLESS the dear reader has been in an induced coma or hiding in a nuclear bunker deep under ground over the last few days, he has probably heard of the death of former Prime Minister, and scourge of Merseyside, Margaret Thatcher.

Given how interminable the TV coverage was, with the same clips showing for the thousandth time, it was lucky for Mr Brocklebank that the television on which he was forced to endure the continuous coverage was in one of his regular taverns.

Her passing did of course mean a retinue of former Conservative colleagues being trotted out in front of the cameras to mourn the loss of the Iron Lady.

NO SECRET was ever made of the fact that, with Liverpool council having to cope with crippling cuts, there was a chance that the place could start looking a bit shabby.

After all, with almost every aspect of town hall services having to be cut back to accommodate government deficit reduction requirements, there just wouldn't be as much money available to keep the place looking spick and span.

But, while the avenues and alleyways of Liverpool centre have started to look a bit grotty in recent months, the businesses of the city have, Mr Brocklebank hears, decided to take matters into their own hands in a Big Society-esque move that would make old David Cameron proud.

WHILE Joe Anderson was (allegedly) invested with a range of new powers when the city adopted the Mayoral model, control over tax avoidance, the ability to jail bankers and to save the world from environmental ruin were not amongst them.

However, Mr Brocklebank fears that some within this borough are under a very different impression, or so it would seem at least from last week's cabinet meeting.

A number of protesters against plans to sell off a patch of land near Sefton Park braved the snow and sleet (more than some cabinet members were able to do, however) to attend the meeting and air their displeasure at the council's plans.

Mayor Joe duly allowed them to come in out of the cold, lay down their placards and make their case for the opposition.

IF THERE'S one man who gets up mayor of Liverpool Joe Anderson's nose more than local government secretary Eric Pickles (and Mr Brocklebank himself), it must surely be former Walton MP - and Labour colleague, no less - Peter Kilfoyle.

The spirit of fraternity between the two is long dead, and soured during the 2010 general election when Kilfoyle hit out at the nomination of "student politician" Luciana Berger for the Wavertree seat and Joe responded by saying some people (though not him of course) thought Peter was "past his sell by date".

But Kilfoyle's retort of "I'm glad Joe's defending me - just like I defend him against people who say he's incompetent" probably landed the "Killer" blow on their relationship, or what there was of it in the first place.

THERE are probably very few people in Liverpool who would say their local councillor is 'one in a million' - and they'd be wrong to if they did, because they're actually one in five thousand.

Currently, 90 of the city's great and good represent between them around 450,000 city residents.

But some in political circles have argued for some time that having close to 100 councillors is a luxury the people of Liverpool can ill afford, and given how few people turn out to vote in certain wards come election time, the public don't exactly give a ringing endorsement of the worthiness of their elected representatives.

IT'S an odd relationship between old Joe Anderson, mayor of Liverpool, and Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government Eric Pickles.

One minute, after some off hand remark or other about begging bowls from Big Eric, Mr Brocklebank imagines the pair of them as nemeses, like Holmes and Moriarty grappling at the top of the Reichenbach Falls.

The next, when the Yarkshurmun does Liverpool a good turn, Mr B imagines the pair of them sitting up in bed in their pyjamas like Morecambe and Wise.

"FREEDOM of speech" is something we often hear about, but so seldom hear.

Unlike our American cousins, we do not enjoy a legally constituted right to free expression.

However, in the UK (and at least within Mr Brocklebank's profession), there is such a thing as fair comment.

But even this, recent headlines would suggest, is a freedom that the good people of Knowsley are not afforded.

THERE are some things that are so obvious one can forget to say them.

One being that the Mathew Street Festival's days were numbered.

This week, the council finally gave up the ghost of Bank Holidays past and announced that life for the Festival as we know it was over.

For once, Mr Brocklebank is in full agreement with the council's decision, having had to take to his horse and gallop out of town for three days every August, lest he wanted to spend them wading through the rivers of vomit and who knows what else that floweth through the streets of this fair city.