A Cyril, a Tito and a Pravin walk into a bar

Cyril, Tito and Pravin meet at some hotel in the centre of Joburg. Hope it isn’t the old Federal we frequented as young journalists.

Then again, if the meeting is meant to be in secret, the old watering hole is a clever cover, as only journos frequent the tatty digs.

However, if they happen to spot our three top political players, they’ll down drinks and sniff them out.

The gents seat themselves in a darkish corner of the lounge, and speak in hushed tones.

Says Tito: “Okay, Cyril, give it to me straight. Why on earth did you press on my button to fill a seat that’s a veritable hot potato?”

“Ag, sorry, Tito, but it was Pravin who persuaded me to buzz you,” says Cyril.

“Yes, Tito, I’m the guilty party. You know how these things work.”

“No, I’ve forgotten how they work. Remind me.”

Cyril takes over. “You know we’re facing an election, and the ANC is in the dwang. So we had to be careful who we appointed in Comrade Nene’s place. It had to be a person outside the circle – and who knows the job.”

Says Pravin: “The circle is getting smaller with fewer to trust. So, your name.”

“And you know the numbers,” adds Cyril. “So my number’s up. Tee-hee. But what do you expect me to do with this hot number?” “

Easy,” says Cyril. “Tell them what they want to know.”

“What do they want to know? I’ve forgotten.”

“That you’re going to do a cleanup job, and only the rich will be heavily taxed,” says Pravin.

Says Cyril, “Then toss them a curve ball.”

“I’ve never been good at ball games,” says Tito.

“No, what I mean is, pull out a red herring,” says Cyril.

“Fishing? Can’t stand fishing.”

“No, Tito, bring up something divorced from the norm. Like toll fees.”

“But hasn’t it already taken its toll. Tee-hee?”

Cyril whispers to Pravin while downing a Chivas: “Have we bet on the wrong horse?”

With that, my Heidi punches me awake. “Why were you whinnying?”

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