Media World Cup without title holders

Darling Ma-hinder 

I don't know dearie if you've ever received an invitation depicting a number of multi coloured balloons and streamers on white conqueror cardboard which once opened and reading left to right bore the legend 'We take pleasure in inviting you to come to our party.' That may have been well and I even go so far as saying it may have been good but then, matters take a more unpleasant turn. Way down at the bottom of the card is scribbled, 'but don't under any circs partake of the food and drinks served.'

It is more likely, given our respective backgrounds, that you would be the one usually sending out such socially inept cardboard pieces darling, printed at the Beliatte Party Time Store at the price of Rs. 1.50 a card with discount. Anyhow much as I would like to linger on and talk more about the alley ways of Medamulane I digress and must move on to the subject at hand.

This is the sort of invite Thellie received last week darling to the media party of the year hosted by pressing institutes and guilded securities. 'Come please come,' the invite read but don't be a part of the festivities. This is the party dearie where this rag was deliberately kept out of the awards scheme by some schemers who couldn't bear the fact that this bally rag had won and won and won every award ever given many times over. The up shot darling is this. I may have said it once and I say it again. Holding these awards without this rag darling is like holding the bally Cricket World Cup without the Aussie blokes. It is to put in a nutshell dearie an A team championship.            

I'm rather impressed sweetheart with the way you seem to have twisted the arms of many of the media chaps in Paradise. Not that some haven't been lapping up the favours and licking up the crap with fervor I mean to say. It does take two hands to clap. A little detail I learnt early at my Sunday School band days at the local parish.

The shy curate who presided over as disciplinarian and orchestral director, would look at me as I clutched the wooden clapper in my tiny five year old hand, both the wooden pieces of the clapper held together only by a thin wire. He would gasp hysterically as one of the wooden hands invariably fell off as I shook them vigorously, trying hard to keep the beat to, 'there is oil in my lamp I pray.'  The shy curate whose name I cannot recall would say, 'How many TAAAMES have I TOHLD you it takes both wooden hands to clap Thelma. Fix them back at once and keep to the beat for God.oops..goodness sake.'  

I am unaware if Gota had something to do with it or whether your frontal lobe did all the bally thinking, but keeping this rag out of the awards party was a sweet way of muzzling without muzzling if you get my drift. Of course you get my drift darling you thought of it didn't you?

Throw mud as you will, and this is not a problem faced only by you dearie, ask your old pal Satellite she'll tell you how irritating it was..this bally rag kept winning all the prizes and awards. And mind you it didn't even have insiders in the panels or friendly worms crawling out of the woodwork.

Rather difficult to throw mud at and brand as traitors a rag that kept swiping the excellence awards year after year after bally year now isn't it? What to do? What to do? Your mind raced as you twiddled your finger tips together while walking up and down the corridors of the Araliya Abode. And then you had your Epiphanic moment as you clacked your middle finger and thumb tips together and slapped your forehead for good measure.

I'll work on the bally bearded cameraman and have him cook up a bit of a storm you might have said. But hey, what does Thellie know except being an expert on the best Australian wines. Perhaps you did nothing of the sort.  And what with the bearded cameraman pushing from one side and you pushing from the same side the Institutes of the Press were hard pressed to do everything to keep this rag out.

I can't help snicker a bit as you cock a snook at these media chaps darling for Thellie thinks you have won again. With much mediocrity and only a whiff of style on parade this Tuesday and having charmed your way into the hearts of many of the rags with monthly meetings replete with oil cakes and kiribath not to mention lunu miris, your strangle hold on the media gets stronger. 

Anyway dearie funny how these chaps in the pressing institute make a song and dance, or in your language ranga pama if you like about wanting the support of this rag when their master a.k.a you, uses a heavy and bruising hand on them prompting many to take up rooms at the nearest hospital. And as we laugh our way through the muck we cannot forget how funny it also is that these very chaps want support on the one hand in a time of crisis but will not bat an eye lid to shun this very rag in order to palaver the likes of you and that bearded bohunkus wa-roo-na.

Perhaps m'dear the bohunkus was miffed this rag had exposed his wheeler dealings in the Es El Pee I and this was his way of letting it all hang out.

Then again darling you know what I really think. Those chaps were running out of awards considering the number of bally pen shaped gold thingamajigs independent judges kept throwing at this rag. As for Thellie all I can say is that mounting Lavinia on a Tuesday despite the kind invite just puts my whole bally diary out of wack. I mean if it was a Thursday yes. A Friday may be and a Monday definitely but Tuesday is my day to relax in front of the idiot box with a flute of Moet & Chandon in one hand and a Cuban in the other. And darling may I tell you it won't be bally Lavinia that is mounted.

Ta Ra