Double Take - The Sunday Papers

The Sunday Papers

by Vaughan Savidge

Diane thought carefully what her response would be. It was all very flattering having a reporter from the Sunday paper following her wherever she went, recording her life for posterity - but these weekly interviews were beginning to take their toll.

The reporter's question required a measured response - after all, her answer would be seen as a beacon of light, a way forward, for all those horrible "little" people in their dreadful caged flats in Yau Ma Tei, Mong Kok, the Mid Levels and Pokfulam.

The sunlight caught the reporter's bottle of whisky, bringing her back to the question at hand. An answer came to her.

Diane opened her mouth with a wry smile : "Blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah."

The reporter nodded in encouragement. This was good stuff. Certainly better than last week's.

Diane winced as she remembered the disastrous ball on June the fourth. "I hope he doesn't ask me about that" she thought to herself. Whatever had possessed her to suggest an Al Fresco evening in Victoria Park? Those thousands of horrible gatecrashers who came to rub their sweaty bodies close to the glitterati - and sing their terrible songs. When would these malodorous, ordinary little people realise that these big occasions solely required the attendance of people with a certain savoir faire, a certain joie de vivre, a certain (in a French accent) bank balance. She would certainly be more careful in future about the balls she handled.

The reporter was speaking - bringing her back from her thoughts. "Tell me again about your dear friends Crystal, Flora and Chantal."

"Thank God", she thought. "We're back on home turf."

She opened her mouth and the words just came to her - as if by magic.

"Blah blah blah blah, blah blah ........"