Food and revolution
I'm in such a tis! Here I am addressing the keyboard with my latest homily when I have other more pressing things to do. When your mind is elsewhere it is so difficult to be profound.
But when you live in the fast lane you need to learn to juggle a few projects at the same time. This is not the place to itemise my ADL — my "activities of daily living". Suffice to say that at this very moment my routine is under pressure.
My problem — which now is your problem — is that I should be cooking for a 91×ÔÅÄÂÛ̳ Weekly fund raising dinner.
A VOICE: Am I then to assume that you don't care to comment on the pressing problems of the world?
MYSELF: You misunderstand me. I'll give my all at some other time. In the meantime ...
A VOICE: In the meantime, indeed! I remind you that we are surrounded by the most pressing social problems, problems which are worsened by a rude offensive sponsored by the business class which daily grows more confident. And you have the gall to say you'd rather be boiling an egg!
MYSELF: Actually, I was hoping to make this delightfully spicy salsa. You see, before you blend the tomatoes you char grill them, then add ...
A VOICE: I don't care.
MYSELF: But won't you be coming to the dinner? It's always a great night out.
A VOICE: How can you talk of food at a time like this? It's time to raise the alarm. It's time to fight.
MYSELF: Yes. But an army marches forward on its stomach and when you taste the lamb rendang you'll know what I mean.
A VOICE: Rendang? Really?
MYSELF: Yes, with sambals and a simply delicious gado gado.
A VOICE: And prawn crackers?
MYSELF: But of course.
A VOICE: Oh, how I love prawn crackers!
MYSELF: Then you'll come.
A VOICE: But the world ...
MYSELF: It'll be there too. And I promise, next week the bourgeoisie won't know what hit them.
By Dave Riley