Ah, Afghanistan, Af-ghan-is-tan (Writing a song in my head here, emulating the efforts of The Stranglers when they wrote such compelling and melodic ditties as 'Shah Shah a Go Go'). That old Shah of Iran, before Obama's time, was an old friend of the United States; don't know if he ever got BFF status, the 19 gun salutes and red carpets though, or was ever taken to the basketball court in a jet plane. He moved of course, well friends come and go, only the new tenants in charge of Iran aren't very friendly, they don't want to play ball.
So, of course, not everyone's like me, there are some sceptics out there, and what do they think is discussed between courses in the White House, over the rich mahogany dining table? What subject do you think the most powerful man in the free world would want to talk about while the plates are cleared and the after-eights opened with abandon? "How's that Scottish thing going down, Dude? I hear the Scots want independence? What will you do with your nukes, Davie boy, the Scots don't want them?"
Back at the ranch, it's come to attention that those other pesky bad neighbours, the Iranians, are becoming the neighbours from hell, they're getting a bit above themselves; they want a nuclear device of their own. They're a bit insular and aloof, won't come to any parties, won't even give the neighbours a friendly nod in passing.
Perhaps Afghanistan, that hot potato in the dining room, could be left on its own now, eleven years of enforced civilisation is enough for any land, the pawns need a wee break too, before we decide and move the pieces back into another fray. Iran should be more pally wally rather than left out in the cold to fester all alone. We'd only be doing them a favour after all. "This chess game is great, Barack! Can we please keep our nukes, you know we'll do anything to keep them? By the way, you've got such strength, moral authority and wisdom, really you have!"
So is anything decided, or even implied, or is the talk as trivial as about the weather and the cost to the respective tax-payers of the shopping sprees by the wives. The table-tennis tournament was cancelled when the 'made in China' sticker was found under the table, no wiff-waff in the White House - under the table, isn't that metaphorically where the real humdinger deals are made? Hmm, what happens when a Somebody meets a nobody, who's a wannabe Somebody? "I'll give you a shout and tell you what to say when I need you to say it out loud, Davie Boy."
The Cameron's come home, David won't shut up about how super smashing it is to go Airforce One, more legroom than BA, and RTFM for the new barbeque all the way home, he can't wait to grill Lord Fraser. Much to the chagrin of Sam; she contents herself with looking forward to boasting how she gave Michelle tips on avoiding split-ends, and on how reflective the White House en-suite bathroom mirror was...
Meanwhile, there's a row been brewing back home, that darned aforementioned Lord Fraser, opening his big mouth and telling all and sundry about threatening to test the latest laser guided bombs on Scotland. Before we could ask the go-ahead from the BFF. Still, we get to keep our nukes, as long as we keep up with the installments, and ask "how high?" when required to jump. And the Iranians, well, they're not allowed nukes, and if we can't bomb the Scots, who knows?
Wee exchange of pressies.
The game originated as an after-dinner parlour game, commonly known as wiff-waff.
Some Lordy type who thinks maybe bombing your neighbour is friendly fire.
Some music that may or may not have any relevance.
Psycho Killer - Talking Heads
Shah Shah a Go Go - The Stranglers
Nuclear Device -The Stranglers