I’ve been watching you over the rim of my Swarovski champagne glass darling and I can tell you I see a thing or two. Perhaps I’m seeing double, but that’s between me and my Moet & Chandon, thank you very much. Come to think of it dear, you are not what one might call a multi faceted person. Janus faced? Yes. Two timing? May be. Friendship breaker?  Perhaps. One could almost see you in your blue shorts and Bata tennis shoes lurking in the playground at which ever school playground you used to lurk in, clutching three lozenges in one hand and the report card of the prospective victim deviously nicked from the table of the head master in the other, awaiting to take care of some family business. ‘I’ll show this report to everybody unless you join my dodge ball team and I’ll throw these three lozenges I got somebody else to pay for into the deal if you cheat on my behalf,’ I can almost hear you say. Even though Thellie would not have been born dahling during the days of your youth. Forgive me old prune but you are practically a fossilised remain! Unlike moi. And look darling look. No botox.

Now where was I. Yes you being two faced but certainly not multi faceted. If you were a railway you’d be a mono rail. If you were a laser printer you would be a mono laser printer. And by begorra and begob if you were a viral infection you will be a Mononucleosis. I might add sweetie that if you happen to be a mistake it would be just like you to be a monumental mistake. Always trying to be the best you can be. In a word or two you’ve got what we accused the young bucks in the giggly days of our youth of possessing. A one track mind.        

A track, leading to all kinds of death, destruction, racism, inequality, economic ruin, and any number of calamities you can think of. In fact, I may even go so far as to say that if you were a girl, your dear mother may have been tempted of a morning to christen you calamity Jane.

And I had just witnessed the appalling ritual of my general factotum Rosalyn wiping her snout over the kitchen sink after a particularly large and aromatic breakfast of lunumiris, chicken curry and kiribath, when I happened to glance at an email which informed me that you had been suggested for the Nobel peace prize. Considering dear that I had been thinking deep thoughts about you just a moment before I shook like an Aspen in a light breeze and breathed a deep breath. It is always good at times like these to have the lungs brimming with plenty of oxygen and what not. 

Ichabod old sock, if someone hadn’t beaten me to it I’d have beaten someone to it instead…..if you get my drift. Never mind the critics dear. Never mind that the suggestion came from a common or garden propaganda website penned by some stooge and/or office peon.  After all everybody knows that if you want anything done all you need to do is tap the bally peon for a couple of hundred bucks. Or in this case Euros. Never mind the website is reeling under hundreds of lawsuits filed in various countries for hundreds of millions of Uncle Sam’s best and brightest, at least m’dear you are given an unfettered voice. And any man, blithering idiot though he deserves a voice. Thellie admits that many of the blithering idiotic statements made on that website in your honour may find resonance with other blithering idiots especially the pseudo patriots lurking among what we now term fondly as the Paradisian diaspora. 

You know the fellows dear, the village bumpkins who flittered off to work in gas stations. Some of them even come back to work in Defence stations.

And why not dear. Why not you for the next Nobel peace prize. I mean to say who else has a resume quite as explosive. Carpet bombed civilians? Check. Created a culture of impunity? Check. Twelve media persons killed in two years? Check. Check Check. No Constitutional Council appointed to ensure independence? Check. Abductions and killings daily? Check. A spirit of fear? Check. A War to annihilate? Check. Annihilation for peace? Check. Getting together with armed para military factions? Check. Rampant Corruption? Check. A usurper to the presidency due to election fraud? Check. Fraudulent elections in the east by bullet? Check. Malevolent Dictatorship? Check. Blatant Nepotism? Check.

Check, check, check. I feel like I’m a bally waiter at a busy restaurant in summertime.

Odds bodikins M’dear, I don’t think even Robert Mugabe has such a bubbling curriculum vitae. My only worry dear is that the Burmese Junta might sneak in an application before you. There you are tucking into your rice packet of an evening and the fellows rush over to the local TNT budget courier and dispatch a resume. Remember with the rice crisis in Irrawaddi it is unlikely they will be lolling about tucking into rice while they should be working at their application. Tell you vhaat darling, get that smutty mutt vaashing his hands in the toilet bowls of Sveden to pen your resume for you.

I mean to say darling, recall the time you became Sri Lankan of the year a la the Daily Noise when it was edited by that bottom licking dung beetle? I believe you sent him off to the land of the Maple leaf  to do what he does best. Never m’dear in my life as teetotaller have I ever seen a browner tongue on a darker man.

Ah well, it takes all kinds dear, it takes all kinds.

Here’s to your Nobel peace prize dear. Send me a bottle of Jamaican rum with the prize money will ya!