Louis Lee Sing once told me that as a boy he sold eggs to help pay for his schooling.

Now that he has a Citadel reinforced by political support and buttressed by considerable personal financial resources, the egg days are over (if ever they existed). He is cock of the walk and, no doubt, like the rooster in the Trade Winds song, sixty thousand chickens might be chasing him until they finally come home to roost.

In that case he will end up a one-hit wonder like the rock and roll staple by the Plainsmen, "Louie, Louie".

Given where he started his journalism career, he might just Bomb out at the end of this term.

Louie seems to Mirror the pathway that so many have trod as they move from rags to riches, poverty to pride, sincere to supercilious. 

I remember a morning when Louis came to visit me at my home in Brechin Castle and woke me up with, "Deyal!  You still sleeping? Wake up man!"

We were regulars at "Cax's" restaurant in Orange Valley, enjoying the conch roti.

The next time I really got a chance to speak to him he was brusque and businesslike. 

After all, he was high on the PNM rooftop and crowed constantly about his National Lottery chairmanship and his closeness with the "Minister of Finance".  

I thought he was referring to Manning who was then PM and Minister of Finance. 

Louis claimed that he was talking about his former Credit Union buddy, Conrad Enill, and made a formal report to the CEO of the Express where I was an editorial consultant, accusing me of misquoting him.

After all he was rich and untouchable – a combination that I refer to as "sancti-money". 

I once warned another colleague whose distance from the people he knew increased in direct proportion to his wealth and power that on his way down he will meet the same people that he passed on the way up. It turned out to be prophetic and when he died from a fall from a high place I was full of remorse. I have never said that afterwards to anyone and if I see Louis on the roof of City Hall, I would shout out to him to get down. But otherwise I am appalled that he does not know that the term the "trappings" of power has a double meaning – on the one hand it refers to the "office" and the glam that goes with it as distinct from the functions, and on the other it acknowledges that power is a trap and a snare.

Louis seems to be snared as totally as he sneers at the vendors, the government and everyone else who is not lucky enough to be Louis.

He feels he knows more than the eminent lawyers about the law and wants to put a double fine on those people who "take a chance" and park in a city with too many cars and not enough parking. He forgot that he sold eggs and now takes on the vendors.

He wants to exile them because they do not conform to his version of aesthetic excellence.

There was a time he would have quoted Lloyd Best to me and remembered Rosie Douglas of Dominica and his common-sense, food-for-thought precept, "Everybody must eat."

Now Mr Mayor has jumped on Brian Lara and put his foot in his mouth at the same time. 

Claiming that Lara's home has a permanent "stage" Louis promptly tries to get to the centre of it hoping that by so doing he will replace Lara in the limelight.

Holding court at the monthly meeting of the City council over which he presides in all his presumption, Louis says that Brian's house on Chancellor Hill is an "entertainment centre". 

At the same time, Louis admits that Lara "may" be living outside the city limits "so we cannot do anything about it". Clearly, mayoring is not an egg-sact science.

I get the feeling it is a case of what psychiatrists call "penis envy".

Here is Louis, having erected his "Citadel" and then along comes Lara erecting a huge mansion and stage. 

So while it might not necessarily be a case of who has the bigger erection, it is certainly some kind of shootout.

Or it might just be that the Mayor wants Lara to invite him to the big exclusive Carnival fete on the hill and believes that as King Louis the First he should be at the head of the guest list.