The chairman of the Ballybog Arts Week called the final meeting of the arts comitay to order. "This looks as if it's going to be the most successful, most culturally stimulating week yet. Let us begin by hearing from the comitay secretary."
The secretary cleared her throat. "Thank you, Father Chairman. Firstly, the Bulgarian dance troupe Tsatsatarova from the remote province of Moldachia. The good news is that the dance troupe, the cost of whose business-class flights we covered in full, arrived at Dublin Airport three days ago. But they have not been seen since. They have not checked into the Ballybog Waldorf Astoria which we paid for in advance.
Large troupe
"Immigration at Dublin Airport were surprised at the size of the troupe - 300 people seemed rather large even for the Bolshoi, never mind the Moldachian National Dance Troupe. They were surprised too that 40 of the `dancers' were aged 70 or over, 50 of them were infants, and four were in wheelchairs.
"So they contacted the Bulgarian government in Sofia. Let me here break the good news to you. There is indeed a province of Moldachia. The bad news is that it is in Latvia. There is no province of Moldachia in Bulgaria. There is no dance troupe called Tsatsatsarova. There are, however, 300 Bulgarian people seeking political asylum in Dublin even as we speak."
The silence which followed was long and thoughtful. "And at a cost to date of £10,000, they were the star attraction for the opening ceremony to be attended by the President, the Taoiseach, the US Ambassador and other VIPs, is that right?" murmured Father Chairman.
The secretary silently inclined her head.
"Well, no matter!" cried Father Chairman, adding jestingly: "I hear young Jimmy Darcy is rather handy with the old spoons."
The secretary paused before saying: "I fear that we have been the victim of Jimmy's irrepressible sense of optimism. He only began learning the instrument last week. At the moment, he plays only the spoon. Not spoons. Spoon."
Father Chairman smiled. "I was joking. I'm not at all sure it would be quite the thing to have a lad bashing a single spoon on the stage to inaugurate the Ballybog Arts Week before the President, Taoiseach and so on, ha ha ha."
"With talk of Henry Kissinger and Mr Gorbachev as well," added the secretary in a low voice.
"Now now, enough of the gloom and doom there. It's very simple. We'll just have to reschedule the acts intended for the second night for the first night instead, bring on the Romanian National Choir, maybe the Georgian Sword Dancers and the Colombian Trampoliners as well! Sure wouldn't that make a more splendid opening night than those bloody old Bulgarians anyway?"
Bright side
A murmur of hearty approval passed through the comitay. Father Chairman sat with a large and complacent smile on his face. "The trick," he said to the secretary sagely, "is that you've got to look on the bright side. Always look on the bright side. I do. And look how things always work out."
"Thank you for that, Father Chairman," said the secretary. "I'm deeply grateful. Now, as for the Romanian National Choir, it turns out not to be quite as expected - unless you expected the choir to consist of a single family of deaf-mutes called Constantaniou - which is what turned up at Dublin Airport yesterday, with visas issued so that they might sing in the Ballybog Arts Week. Perhaps they intended to sign their songs. At all events, it's hypothetical, because they're claiming political asylum here as well. I have a fax from them - they were wondering if we could send them some more money. It seems they're running out of the expenses we advanced them, and they're finding Dublin rather pricey."
Father Chairman was staring hard at his pencil. "I suppose you have news for me now of the defection of the Georgian Sword Dancers," he said heavily.
"No, of the defection of the Georgian Sword Dancers I have no news at all, largely, I believe, because the plane bringing them here was shot down in flames over Chechnya."
"Does that mean they're not coming?" asked Father Chairman in low, hunted tones. The secretary cleared her throat and searched for words, but unable to find any appropriate to the occasion, stayed silent.
Trampoliners
"What about the Colombian Trampoliners? Wouldn't they be a grand start to our arts week before all our celebrity guests?"
"Absolutely first class. But unfortunately, they were all arrested at JFK with a ton of cocaine and 35 prostitutes concealed in their trampoline box. They apparently intended to make Ballybog their European vice headquarters. So, no trampoliners."
"What, in toto, does that leave us?" whimpered Father Chairman thinly.
"In toto? Jimmy Darcy and his spoon."
The sound of a priestly pencil snapping was completely drowned by the noise of incoming helicopters laden with VIPs arriving for Ballybog Arts Week.
