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South of the border down sampans' port

Once upon a time, a happy band of pilgrims travelled down to the deep south of their land to visit their worshipful brothers and sisters of a distant parish.

Highways

They took the much talked about Yellow Brick Road to the land of Oz, and found that after all had been said and done, more had been said than done. It was a good Yellow Brick Road as far as Yellow Brick Roads go; and as Yellow Brick Roads go, it went. Which is to say, it went south.

But not quite far south enough in one sense, although in another it had gone too far south - being a budget Yellow Brick Road: a distant relative of a world-class expressway on the distaff side. The less said about its state, condition, and degree the better - even if the staff manning the turnstiles were pleasant and courteous as well as efficient (which is something of a rarity in Cloud Cuckoo Land). An angel warned Adam not to dream of other worlds and what creatures dwell there. It is not good for one's health, you know!

Hotels

One thing they noticed on their way. The news media of the day had splashed out on a full page colour advertisement announcing the gala opening of a grand hostelry in the very southern town to which our pilgrims were heading. Hark, hark, the dogs do bark; the beggars are coming to town - the ad said… or words to that effect. This was the clarion cry from the daily noise of a newspaper, and the people wept when they read the fine print.

Harbours

We have a new harbour, they said - And even if it is still listing slightly to port and cannot be fathomed by ordinary vessels with shallow draughts, it is on solid ground (rocky, in fact… no dears, don't keelhaul us for that…). We have an airport in the making - even if it is miles and furlongs from anything worthwhile visiting or investing in, at present (unless capital and/or the political capital moves south, pronto).

Highfliers

We even have an, um, young man from the general neighbourhood of the fastest developing district in the nation running the country into er, ground-breaking new era. But do we need another star-class hotel in an environment reeking with the odour of chrysanthemums? Spare us some crumbs of bread, O Caesar, and you can dispense with the circuses! Can we eat the Yellow Brick Road, or drink the waters of Humbugstotter?

On arrival in their brethren's community centre, our jolly band of pilgrims were no longer the joyous bunch of happy campers who had set out from another harbour town to the north and west of this not so little port city. Their brothers and sisters were not only as poor as church mice; their church was so poor that there were no mice to be had for love or money. Love there was plenty of; money was somewhat in short supply. As were business confidence, employment opportunities, development avenues, strategic exits.

Hypotheses

In the meantime, the grand panjandrums come and go - talking of Michelangelo, Marco Polo, and Shangri-La. Or is that Xanadu where Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decreed? I can never get my mythical paradises right, dears. Sorry!

Hypocrites

Other problems abound. Mostly of the minor nuisance ilk. The kind of thing that runs to circuitous detours. Charades in terms of explaining away what is plain as pikestaff - that despite growth, development, and progress, the people are underfed, underemployed, and under a cloud (at least, they are over there - out of sight - while we are over here, safe and sound). Criminal negligence of state property (the Rest House on the once famous bay in is utter desuetude, for shame).

Humbugs

Truth be told, though, major issues lurk in the nooks and crannies of slumber-land. That kingly convoys sweep through shanty towns with hardly a glance at the peasantry; so the idle poor (they have no work but to build castles in the air, hoping against hope that their 'gem land' in the shrine city will pay rich dividends - one day) dream of a day when all the humbugs will totter and fall, and all the hypocrites stutter as they mutter utter lies and deception to an electorate grown obese on untruths.

MORAL: One can fool all the people all the time. Only they must be willing to be fooled.
[Editor's Note: The story above, and the characters portrayed and situations presented, are entirely fictitious, and bear no resemblance to real life… And if you believe that, you'll believe just about anything!!]

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