THE MAIL BROUGHT this plaintive cry: “Isn’t anything else happening in JA besides the saga of You Know Who and Who? Can’t you manage to salvage something from the mess you’ve got yourselves into?”

It may surprise our correspondent to hear that we do have other things on our minds and while they may not be as dramatic, they hold enough drama, thank you very much. How much more challenging can you get than the news of an impending increase in bus fares which will set a lot more people to walking?

Good for their health, you will say. After all, some people do shell out hefty sums to gyms to walk round and round a space like caged animals. Nothing wrong – it’s fashionable. Not so for those for whom walking will be another act of daily drudgery when they can’t find bread for all the fare stages.

Up to now, there is no brand of economic reasoning which has been able to make palatable the fact that whenever we sit down at table with one of those save-the-world entities, our people seem destined to come away hungrier than before. Despite all the hype that there is now a kinder, gentler IMF, poor people are still the ones ketching hell in the Devil’s refrigerator.

As to the place which Mr D and Co hold in the centre of public attention, despite all the wishing, it doesn’t seem that the situation is going away any time soon. Not if every few days (or so it seems) another bizarre piece of the puzzle floats to the surface from down where it was hiding. We need a change of pace. It is full time we had a go at putting ourselves in the winner’s circle. I have a suggestion. We all love competitions, don’t it? Currently the big telecoms, which dominate the marketing scene, seem eager to give away millions, so long as we reach out via their products, of course. Well, since we are so willing to participate in all kinds of games and gimmicks for elusive millions, how about a really big prize for really preposterous ideas such as taming the worst rumour? The winner would get a super-phone which he/she could use to spread the rumour far and wide. The loser would have to clean up the damage caused by the

fallout… like the one last week which resulted in panic and chaos in Downtown Kingston.

In it the two major characters in the Mr D and Co serial were alleged to have had a confrontation in which one told the other to throw in his cards and leave town. The offended one, rumour said, responded with violence and threats of reprisal. So the shooting started, which was enough to send people running, taking the story with them to spread like wildfire wherever they went. It took a while for the real cause of the noise of battle to come to light. It was another cops and wanted men shoot-out which ended in death and injury. Only then did the hysteria cease. It showed how frayed nerves are over the Mr D and Co story. I agree, we can’t continue this way.

A MORE IMMEDIATE and urgent need, however, is the water shortage being experienced islandwide. We’ve moved long past the days of fetching water from rivers and springs. We depend on modern delivery of water into our homes, be it palatial residences or simple shelters. We’ve all bought into the Water Commission’s mantra that “Water is life”, a theory to which we subscribe fully – until the bills arrive, then we get most “wroughted”.

Life as we know it is turned upside down. How can we live without water? No wonder we have resorted to lamentations and curses about the short-sightedness of succeeding generations of politicians who have all failed to plan ahead to meet the expansion of communities. “WE NEED MORE DAMS,” the people cry.

So we are back to arguments about de-silting not only dams, but rivers. Someone shared with me recently a brilliant idea (he thought) to dredge the entire Rio Cobre, get out the sand and make room for water to be stored till needed. In all this, not much is heard about concern for the environment wherein watershed areas have been sacrificed for buildings. Then there is the careless pollution of waterways which adds to the grief. Even now, some of us still don’t get it. All we want to know is, “Weh de water deh?” Every few days, the rain taunts us with short, quick showers which do little to change the overall situation. Could the water all run out? Don’t even go there.

THE GOVERNMENT like everybody else is hoping for Divine Intervention. They said as much in the Throne Speech yesterday, eliciting one of the few rounds of desk-thumping. Over all, there wasn’t much in the speech to inspire the usual schoolboy cheering, but hope springs eternal.

Incidentally, I found the Throne Speech to be very subdued. The GG read it carefully, enunciating each word so that who had ears to hear, could hear. The parliamentarians seemed low-key, no doubt because their cheering sections had been pushed back from their accustomed areas around Gordon House to facilitate the nearby schools where students were writing their GSAT exams – or so the Minister of Education said. Nothing wrong with that, but it did make for a dull morning.

GOOD NEWS: In response to a query from Online as to whether there are any good things here, I would point to the South St Elizabeth farming community which has created its own unique irrigation system which has been their lifesaver over the years.

For those who’ve never heard of it, a popular species of grass is specially grown to be used in transferring every available drop of water to the roots of the scallion and vegetables which are the economic lifeblood of the community. This must be the only place where you can get in serious trouble for stealing grass. The patience and the ingenuity of the people is a lesson to all. Most of the time they do not have the luxury of water to waste as the rest of us usually do when things are better and the water is flowing.

DEFINITELY POSTSCRIPT: What more could possibly be said in the Bogle statue argument when someone declares, with absolute seriousness, that sculptor Edna Manley colluded with the English government to build evil into it! And … from someone else, comes the idea for a better work: Deacon Bogle must be depicted on a big, white horse, dressed in his waistcoat. Yeah, right… Time to move on… Sorry, Mr B, … can’t help you!

gloudonb@yahoo.com