Friday, June 22, 2007


Despite her diminutive size, she commands utter terror amongst her posse of assistants. One can tell when her arrival is imminent, as activity amongst the assistants turns into flurries of anxious activity, and they scatter like a flock of birds when she enters the room. She is charming, and sweet, and speaks with a soft, flute-like voice, until something is not to her exacting standards. She has allocated some of her assistants to look after us, and they dog our every step. God forbid they leave our side for a moment. We float entirely passively through this city, everything is given to us, and done for us, except, thankfully, for wiping our bottoms and digesting our food, although they would probably do that too, if she told them to.

We were at a restaurant when she decided to go to a bar. All assistants simultaneously reached for their cellphones and located a suitable bar, making sure a selection of the best tables would be available for our arrival. They made sure the driver was outside and prepared to drive the moment we were ready. She never waits.

We went to the bar. It was beautiful – there were banks of flowered gardens, and the trees were festooned with lights. The candle-lit tables overlooked a harbour wreathed in evening mist.

She was not pleased.

"No, no, no," she said, lips pursed. "I want to go up," and she jabbed an imperative finger skywards. Assistants fled to find a skyscraper bar.
Up we went.
We drank Manhattans above the city lights and watched fireworks ignited from a moored barge. I don’t think the firework display was actually her doing, but she seemed to be taking credit for it.

"How are you?" she asked. "Do you have everything you want?"
Perhaps I shouldn’t have had five Manhattans.
"We have been given everything we want, except for one thing," I said.
She turned slightly towards the flock of assistants.
"I have always wanted a pony."
She started to raise a hand, and the flock reached for their cellphones. Fortunately, she realised I wasn’t serious.
"Oh, a pony! Oh, ha ha ha!"

She swept past us at breakfast the next day.
"Did you like the pony I had sent to your room, Mrs Smith?"
"Oh yes, thank-you so much. You are very generous, but I don’t think it was necessary to send three."
"Oh, three ponies! Ha ha ha!"

We will be heading home shortly. I am slightly afraid there will be a herd of ponies grazing our lawn when we return.


d-man said...


Ponies taste like chicken.

Cactus Kate said...

Asian hospitality.

You are obviously vewy impowtant.

Just don't eat anything that you cannot identify.

Mrs Smith said...

Just don't eat anything that you cannot identify

Too late. I ate something yesterday that had all the taste and texture of a Matchbox car. No idea what it was, apart from it being from an animal of some type. At least it wasn't still moving, unlike some other things I have been offered.