It was just another day in Paradise, the sun rose, as it always did, the waves lapped against the shore, as they always did, life, went on, as it always did. But sinister moves were afoot, for a few, like those wee little pigs from 1984, were scheming - after all, the gods may have created man in his image but some men were more equelll than others were they not?
And so, with rhetoric and whispered sweet nothings, with promises of even greater pleasures (after all, this is paradise is it not?) to come, of claims to take paradise to the forefront, to be a miracle (of indefinite proportion) we the people were asked to pave the way for those few to tread upon the yellow brick road with the vague promise that we too would walk upon it...
Time of course will tell if this is to be so, if we everyday Paradisians will enjoy the fruits of our labour, walk the streets of New London like Dick Whittington where the streets were supposedly paved in gold - or if those fruits are to be enjoyed by other less industrious souls!
Or perhaps it will be a mere case of ususfructus - the right to the enjoyment of the fruits of a thing by one person, while the ownership belonged to another - this of course interpreted in true Paradisian style to accommodate the chosen few.
But the people have spoken, or at least seemed to. End result of course is that the little hut down by the fish pond is soon to be home to a band of some of the most interesting characters that we have seen fit to gather in that one place since 1948. If loose talk is to be relied upon amongst those few are drug barons, rapists, murderers, thieves of different hues, stars, some mind you barely out of their teens!
What then have the people said? That its OK to be an oaf? Perhaps, I'd like to think not, but then, what do i know eh?