Thelma
The ties that bind
My Darling Ma-hinder
I knew your sibling Chum-al was a great many things dearie, but not even at your annual family dansala did you let slip that the chap was also a nifty sub editor of sorts.
If the local rags are to be believed – and you would know – there was your Chum-al come lately, looking like the before photograph in an advertisement for indigestion medicine, a powerful urge stirring deep within his belly to censor dear ole Ra-kneel from making a speech in the House.
The problem with you Medamulane chaps darling is you think that Ra-kneel’s vocab, like yours, is limited in space and time. But the dear ole Opposition L had only to scramble over to his library pull out the family thesaurus and find another word for bonnie fonnie, and there you have it.
In fact dearie I will bet my grannie’s gold tooth that if Chum-al and Ra-kneel were to sit down of a lazy afternoon in the open verandahs of the Temple Abode and challenge each other to a game of scrabble, the O Leader of Paradise would win by a mile –or at least seven letters.
I don’t know about standing orders darling but judging from the telling video footage during your budget speech everyone was standing and disorder was abroad.
Weeeell, it’s no good blaming the cistern…..I mean system is it?
Anyway all this was taking its toll on poor Thellie. There I was old thing staring out my 18th floor balcony like a well-preserved Juliet without a Romeo, thinking and thinking. The night before had been particularly frightful. I had just heard that you had been coaxing Ra-kneel to where multi-coloured suspenders and it pains me to tell you this dear but the fellow, who is not Larry King let’s face it, cannot pull it off. Ramani Fernando will not approve and neither will Ralph Lauren.
To top it all I had chipped a nail while opening a bottle of rather delightful Chablis and what with having to endure suspenders on Ra-kneel to boot I was at the end of my tether.
Ichabod I thought to myself, what is the world coming to if a perfectly respectable and toothsome filly cannot pour herself a glass of the finest without having a nail chipped in the backdrop of a suspendered Ra-kneel. So I got out of bed this morning and thought a gander in some quaint pastoral setting would calm the rattled nerves.
It was then that I realized you chaps had wanted to suspend him from the House by the Diyawanna instead.
I may as well tell you dearie that I had been hastily typing emails to my buds mytree and mal-lick entreating of them to confer with Ra-kneel to vehemently resist the urge to wear suspenders and to let saner counsel prevail. It was only then I realised I might be accused of rumour mongering.
And we all know what happens to rumour mongers in Paradise eh. Slammed into the cooler for three years like Fonnie. And sharing a cell with ole fonnie held no real charm for me at this stage.
Be that as it may I was sighing a sigh of relief, now that a fashion faux pas had been avoided, so judge of my surprise old prune to realize that the fellow was being suspended for removing his tie.
Rather droll and ironic I thought. There many of you were including your favourite attack dog Merv the perv chattering away inside the hallowed walls like a thousand jack sparrows – all without your clothes on – metaphorically speaking – and ra-kneel told he can’t take his tie off.
While discussing this at length with my dear pal Khemichchi yesterday and pointing out to her over crackling phone lines – these skype calls are never clear – that it was too much to condemn Ra-kneel on his tie when you and your medamulane lot are gadding about and bobbing up and down in your shawls – she reminded me that you hadn’t attempted to take it off.
And there I suppose lies the rub.
Perhaps Ra-kneel wanted to show solidarity with the masses darling. So often accused of being a western stooge, removing this obvious manifestation of western influence may have been his way of finally cutting off ties (pun intended) with the bally west.
Anyway dearie the fellow has a point when it comes to your Human Rights record. You cannot deny that Paradise is a party to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights as well as the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights and is obliged to uphold these agreements. You cannot deny that by bunging that chap Fonnie into the cooler under some madcap emergency regulation for spreading rumours to a rumour monger or some such thing you are not violating these international agreements.
The glitch my old former amateur dictator, is that you are burning the International candlestick at both ends. On the one hand you are calling upon the UN to protect you as a member state, you eat the cookies it provides and welcomes the aid it offers, on the other hand – and there is always another hand darn it, you will not recognize its reports and findings on war crimes and agreements and so forth.
I mean to say darling if on an occasion, your bitter half Shiranthi while puttering around in the jam cabinet of a Saturday morning were to find that her best mulberry jam had been reduced to a smear around the bottle top and consequently found the general factotum Sumana, sitting at the kitchen table holding a spoon full to the bally brim with the red stuff and wiping her snout with your damask table cloth, wouldn’t you come to a reasonable conclusion about who had been attacking the jam cabinet?
Now if ole Shiro were to confront said General F and say with a stern lilt to her otherwise musical voice, ‘GF did you or did you not attack the Jam cupboard last night’ and the GF totally denying this also refused to open her mouth for Shiro to take a decko, what would Shiro think? That’s all I ask. What could she think?
Anyway darling from all that is now going on in Paradise if someone were to come to me and ask if I’d be willing to join a society whose aim it would be the suppression of people in white sarongs with red shawls around their necks, who would be kept on a short leash, unable to roam around scattering desolation on all sides, I’d reply; Bartholamew Holdenbottle, if indeed his name were Bartholamew Holdenbottle; Bartholamew Holdenbottle I’d say, put me down as a foundation member.
Tinkety tonk for the nonce