There is always something to be said for the attack dog. I mean to say look at Merv the Perv for instance. Still out there and making waves.

But then, a good two bit dictator needs more than just his kennels, he needs Rotweiler diplomutts and an unscrupulous ass or two to scribble a bit of smut and smear in the name of nationalism.

But wait...that calls for a kennel too me thinks. Tch Tch be it attack dog or Rotweiler diplomutts, they seem to be bonded together by one single common thread. All of them devoid of bally principles if you ask me.

Anyway dearie talking of two bit dictators and what not, just today I heard that one of Zimbabwe's leaders was Banana. No not Banana as in three sandwiches short of a full picnic, but Banana as in his loving but misguided mater christening him Banana which only goes to show m'dear that a rose by any other name may smell decidedly foul.

And there I was sipping my Moet & Chandon into which I had recklessly added a trickle of grenadine and thinking all along that may be old Grandma Medamulane should have taken a cue from old mammy Banana of the grand old Mbongo Mlongo clan of Rodhesia and named her little papoose Banana as well.

How it would have suited you. How well you would have grown into your name and how well it would have sounded if perchance you were invited to a grand banquet at Sandringham Castle in Norfolk. No no darling Norfolk does not mean that you can eat with your hand, you still must use a bally fork and a knife too if you can manage it.

And as you walk through the fine 60 acre gardens into the principle hall the butler may announce you as Banana from the Banana Republic of Paradise, how droll dearie, really I mean to say how very merry that would be.

But talking of ole Blighty and naming names etcetera I only just this moment got a call from a screeching friend who told me Sattie has named her little grand thingamabob Ravi Michael Vijaya.

Now that's a grandmamma to remember eh? And would you know it, the young lad popped out very late too giving mummy and grandmummy a bit of bother. Obviously taking after the grandma already.

I knew she would want to name the little tyke after somebody green. Ichabod darling don't feel bad. After all it was unlikely the tottering old wench would have bestowed upon her grand son a moniker that went Medamulane Mihin Michael now would she? So the obvious choice? Ravi. And why not I say, why not!

And speaking of babies, what about the price of rice m'dear. I mean to say there that fellow is. I refer of course to that blot on the paddy fields of Paradise Bandula Goo who put the bally pee in rice. To whit one pee plus one rice equals price.

Odds bodikins sirra! Darling, as Lady Godiva told her disapproving husband with a dismissive flick of her head as she insisted on riding around town in her birthday suit side saddle. This Bandula Goo is getting his knickers in a twist about price controls but controlling the price is all very good if there is rice for him to control the price on.

Burma and Vietnam like any good Pettah trader will hide their rice to get better prices next time. And the up shot? No rice for the buth gullas of Paradise.

And one can't expect that fellow Bandula Goo a.k.a Bee Gee (not to be confused with the Gibb Brothers) to squeeze into a space suit and go hopping about in space to fetch rice from the moon now can you? He'll possibly be expelled from parliament for staying out too long.

Perhaps you should have put on a Chinese hat and trudged along to the rice fields of China dearie on your little trip there. But did you do that? No.

You hopped on a SriLankan Flight feeling right at home now that Jack and Jill and not to mention Peter have gone down the Hill and steered it here and there like it was a bally three wheeler on Duplication Road.

You do have a penchant for trying to take control of the national carrier. First you sulked like a petulant child when they refused to jostle off 35 bona fide commercial passengers to accommodate you from London to Colombo last year.

Like a woman scorned thrice in one day you cancelled visas and evicted Englishmen like some grumpy giant in the middle ages who somehow always had the habit of repeating the mantram 'fee fie fo fum I smell the blood of an Englishman' before getting his ravenous gigantic fingers around the throat of the hapless hero.

And now that the national monara is back in your greedy little hands you feel no doubt that like the loss making Mihin it is your personal taxi.

Then again darling who's to tell you not to scoot off in the planes like a naughty school boy if it takes your fancy. Aiyah who is in charge is spoiling you and even if Pee

Bee gets enough courage to refuse you your whims, goodness only knows what thing of his you will cancel.