Never mind that you will be in the iconic
Bird’s Nest National Stadium for the opening
ceremony of the Games dear, one only hopes
you have not been tempted to partake of any
bird’s nest soup in the process – I wonder
if dear ole Ranawaka has given you a few
extra tips on resisting and desisting bird’s
nest soup and shark fin what not at the
local diner down Ho Chi Ming Road when you
decide you want to mangle a bit of lunch
with the missus.
I don’t know why darling, but even as I
sit here in my rocking chair overlooking the
grassy plains below sucking on an ice cube
there is a hint of suspicion lurking about
my frontal lobe that you are up to no good.
I mean to say, one moment you are raking
in a million smackers from businessmen at
the cost of a biriyani packet and a
smidgen of cheap red wine. Before Thellie
could get outside her second glass of vodka
and lime twist, there you most certainly
are, nodding your head like a fading
Chrysanthemum to please the regional chaps,
by agreeing to diametrically opposed ideas.
And ere a generally miffed Narayanan and
a rather ruffled Manmohan hassled after
being forced to hail a common or garden taxi
due to a mix up in official vehicles have
barely left our shores, off you toddle to
smog filled Beijing to sit through thick
haze and rain at the games.
But games these days it would seem are
what people are playing.
And while I intellectually masticated
this profound thought that had made its way
into my gray cells I had the pleasure of
watching a grumpy Dilan and a sour faced
minister whose name I cannot recall take the
stairs at a recent hotel function.
I cannot tell a lie it pleased me no end
to see some of your cabinet ministers
unhappy. It is unchristian like and I may be
compelled to go to confessional on the
subject but my heart soars with an unholy
delight when a gloomy pall comes over the
face of one of your hundred odd ministering
I will tell you why. The bally chaps live
off the masses and more importantly live off
It is rather hard for Thellie to get
herself a decent coriander leaf these days
without counting the pennies; can you
imagine darling the counting that must ensue
before I think of my next glass of Wolf
Blass Chardonnay? It is irritating me no end
I can tell you. Ergo. A grumpy minister
equals a happy sort of Thellie.
Anyway as I watched the two move around
like pall bearers at Dracula’s funeral it
was in that astute way of mine that I began
to wonder a little at the object of their
discontent. What could be bothering the
bunch? It couldn’t be the cost of living as
they live off the masses. It couldn’t be a
lack of transport unlike for poor Narayanan
because they live off the masses. It
couldn’t be a shortage of fuel…yes you’ve
guessed it because they live off the masses.
And then it dawned. There you were as
usual putting on airs and graces telling
your ministers they couldn’t go to the
Olympic Games unless they were directly
involved in games /sports. The problem with
you darling is that having made such a
cryptic statement you declined to define
For instance a few swishes with a deli
pihiya could mean one is into blood
sports. A few risqué words over crackling
telephone wires to Lake House employees and
one could claim to be in another sport. It
is all a matter of perspective.
Me thinks dear given that all you cabinet
chaps are involved in all kinds of games at
different levels they should all have been
allowed to make the trip. Trust me they
won’t be missed or I’ll pour my Dom Perignon
down the kitchen sink.
But there you were prohibiting all except
the sports minister and other officials from
going anywhere near Beijing and sticking to
your plan like bally Araldite glue. It is
just like you darling to then rush off to
the Olympic village with a large contingent
of your own including the master of all
games, Punchi Banda Jay in tow.
It is just like you dear to identify the
biggest player of all time and take him with
you. Surely if there is one bloke who can
give the Paradisian athletes some timely
tips on how to clinch a win it would be he.
And of course it goes without saying that
Shiro would accompany you as well. A sporty
girl too I might add. Often of a morning
Thellie has come upon Shiro in baby pink
track pants and snug blue T shirt after a
goodish walk taking a little breather at the
local church down the street. In fact as
prayer time often requires a closing of the
eyes it is only the scent of eu de cologne
clinging to her temples that enables me to
And while you are watching the games in
Beijing darling we are watching a few games
in Paradise played by none other than
Rakneel from the green camp. If the fellow
isn’t hobbing with a bunch of editors one
day he is seen knobbing with a pack of
publishers the next.
In fact one might even say the milk of
human kindness sloshes about in his guts as
he listens to the tales of woe poured into
his ear by those chaps in the Press
Institute including Waroona, the camera guy.
Of course the Press Institute is hard
pressed for some hard cash is what they are
saying. The Swiss and the Danes they sob
into the shoulder of the green man is not
giving them enough.
And trust the green man to help get them
some green backs. Rakneel, the kindly soul
that he is, bent his good left ear to their
lament and was to immediately make plans to
help the needy. After all what use are
friends in the European Union if you can’t
ask them for a wad or two in the pressing
institute’s time of dire need?
And that darling is exactly what Rakneel
did. Rushed over to the EU chaps and asked
them to fund the Press Institute. Tch. Tch.
Hmm. Rather fishy what, what? I mean to
say, there the chaps were frolicking all
over Temple Trees one moment and now they
are fawning all over Cambridge Terrace the
next. And to think darling. After all you
have done for them. You even promised
Waroona a press club cum tavern at the
tourist ministry premises.
All I can do darling is echo Holmes as he
shook his friend from deep slumber, saying
come Watson come, the Game’s afoot.
And oh what a game it is!