Schadenfreude: A review of the Olive Press by A.N. Maier

March 2, 2010  •  Opinion  •  1 Comments

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• PROTAGONISTS: Torres (left) and auctioneer John White come under the satirical microscope of Maier

Dear Olive,

Far be it from me to revel in the misfortune of others but…

… anyone who saw the last two James Bond movies should know that dodgy-looking blokes calling themselves “Mr White” are clearly not to be trusted, even if they do look like they’ve been on the “Antiques Rogueshow.”

Moreover, judging from his picture in the last Olive Press it is quite obvious that this man is totally blind. How else could you get away with wearing a spotted tie with a stripey shirt? Now there’s the real crime.

And while I’m having my say…

… You keep on telling us that this is the wettest winter since Noah took up woodwork and then you go on to inform us that the reservoirs in Cadiz are only 85 per cent full.

So tell me Olive, just how big are these reservoirs? I reckon they must be the size of Greenland to still be 15 per cent empty after all the rain we’ve had.

Finally, it would be rude of me to get fired before mentioning Rafael Berdaguer’s column in which he tackled the prickly issue of having a neighbour with an offensive bush.

Unless, of course, someone stole the 15 per cent. Perhaps it was Mr White, who needed it for his “laundry”.

I was delighted to read about that new poll where you can vote for the company you hate the most.

Now that’s my kind of democracy. I’m planning to vote 329 times with my first vote going to the Cadiz Water Board for letting Mr White steal all that water.

Alas, there was no shortage of tragedy reported in last week’s paper, and none more so than the inability of Fernando Torres to pronounce the word “Pepsi”.

My thoughts and condolences are with Fernando and his family at this difficult time as they mourn the decision not to go with Coca Cola in the first place.

Personally, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Spanish people can’t say “Smith’s Crisps” either but the Olive Press didn’t make a big song and dance about that.

Finally, it would be rude of me to get fired before mentioning Rafael Berdaguer’s column in which he tackled the prickly issue of having a neighbour with an offensive bush.

And no that wasn’t a joke, so behave.

My dad has a neighbour, well two actually, but one in particular who planted a palm tree right between my dad’s house and the Mediterranean – well, not all of it of course but the bit that my dad liked looking at.

Now, as the estimable Mr Berdaguer pointed out in his excellent column, because the palm tree was more than two metres from my dad’s fence, he couldn’t have it taken away; not even my Mr White.

And you know what they say, “From little acorns, great Palm trees grow.” And it did; and then some.

Eventually, the palm tree grew so tall and bushy and full of palms that my dad had to live in perpetual darkness, like those people in Greenland – not the one in Cadiz, but the real one.

And now my dad can’t see the Mediterranean any more. He can’t even find the bathroom, it’s so dark. When he told me about his misfortune, I tried to console him, telling him that Fernando Torres can’t say “Pepsi”, but he just sighed, turned away and tripped over the dog.

Tragedy, so much tragedy

schadenfreude, noun
pleasure derived by someone from another person’s misfortune.
ORIGIN German, from Schaden ‘harm’ + Freude ‘

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