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Hobnobbing in the Azores
Aaahh, this is the life. Soaking up the sun and atmosphere
of the beautiful Azores.
Fine wine, excellent food ... it would be almost perfect
apart from the fact that my old mates George Dubya and Tony
Blah have been talking my ears off about Iraq.
I wish these guys would get some good advisors and stop bothering
me over small world matters, but I guess you're in demand
when you are a geo-political guru.
We're sitting out on a rather lovely balcony surrounded by
exquisite Azulejo tiles and overlooking some damn fine beaches.
I've never met Spain's PM, Jose Maria Aznar, before but he
seems a nice bloke - although I do have to keep giving him
pointers on the finer aspects of fan waving.
He's on one side keeping me gently cooled, while Tony is
fixing me drinks. I'm not quite sure where Dubya has got to
but he did mutter something about Sesame St and Elmo and has
ducked off. Oh no, he's back again wearing his Elmo bathers
and a Sesame St hat.
The pressure has really got to poor old Tony. He's having
a vapour fit about the imminent war with Soddem Hussein. The
poor dear, you have to feel sorry for him. There are millions
of Brits out on the street telling him to rack off - and he
does so like being popular - but fortunately he left Cherie
behind so that eases his troubles quite a bit.
Dubya is as fiesty as ever and is jumpier than a frog on
a hotplate. He keeps rocking backwards and forwards muttering
"bomb, bomb, bomb" and "bloody French, bloody
Russkies, bloody Germans" and everytime the mobile goes
he leaps three metres into the air.
Now it could have been the gallon or two of rum floating
around in my veins but I had to do something - they were seriously
giving me the poops.
"Buck up, you wimps," I said in my nicest tone.
"Stop playing sooky-wusses and make the hard choices.
Do you want to blow Soddem to the moon?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Si."
"Okay, do you really give a rat's what the damn Froggies,
Germans or Russkies think?"
"No."
"No."
"No."
"Well then, give old Soddy 24 hours to hand over all
his chemical weapons, nukes, scud missiles and cutest camels
otherwise start dropping the bombs."
"But what if the UN doesn't back us?"
"Stuff that mob, they love gass-bagging and having long
lunches. All they want is for you guys to keep your armies
on Iraq's border to maintain pressure on Soddy, but not do
anything worthwhile. Tell 'em it's bomb time or you'll pull
out and leave the Middle East open for Soddem to ease his
way through."
And, wouldn't you know it, at this crucial moment in world
history - my bloody mobile goes. "Yup, what do you want?"
"Er, Salaam, Grumpy Old Coot. May the delights of 1000
houris be visited upon you."
"Ah, speak of the Devil, how are you Soddy, old fruit?"
"Not bad, although my palacial bunker is getting a bit
crowded. It seems I have more friends than I thought."
"What can I do for you Soddy?"
"Tell me, Grumpy the magnificent, can you stop George
Dubya blowing the crap out of me?"
"Not much chance of that ..."
"Oh please ... rude and well-read one ... without me
who will you poke fun at?"
"Hmmmm, good point. Hey Dubya do you want to cut Soddy
a bit of slack. He'll say sorry for being mean to your dad.
(muffled voice) Uh-huh, (muffled voice), uh-huh, (muffled
voice) uh-huh. Well, Soddy, I've got a good tip for you."
"And that is? ... Grumpy the Generous."
"Get out of real estate ... quickly."
Grumpy
Old Coot has a warped view of life, check him out
If there is something that has really got up your nose,
let Grumpy Old Coot know at grumpy@webwombat.com
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