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Whenever two or more Sri Lankans gather there are two subjects that hog any conversation. The exchange of habitual pleasantries over, the talk inevitably turns to politics and cricket.

Which topic takes pride of place depends on who has most recently been playing pandu with the public purse and how much has been pilfered by government politicians and their ‘catchers’ or our cricket’s alchemists caught in the glare of the spotlight desperately trying to cover-up their suspicious activities.

Investigations by the ICC’s anti-corruption sleuths who have still not completed what they started, appears to suggest that the suspected corruption and dubious deals go much deeper than merely tampering with the surface of the pitch.

So a group of seven males (also known as the G7) thankfully separated from the feminine kind ensconced elsewhere without the chance of uttering “aney don’t say that men” each time the corruption of some politician was exposed like a body carved up on a post-mortem table, had the opportunity to penetrate beyond the epidermis, with expletives and all.

There we were glasses in hand and an array of bottles on our host’s trolley, ready to mock and troll at the haps and mishaps of politicians and the official acolytes that cling on to politicians like blood-sucking leaches.

Long before the first drink was down to the half-way mark, M (let’s call him G1), a long time resident of this Brexit-savaged nation, broke the ice (the ice was already broken but does it really matter?) by firing a couple of Kim Jong-un type missiles at what was originally called the “yahapalana” government but before long had acquired many colourful and meaningful names to describe its three-year life.

G1’s vituperative criticism of the yahapalanaya leaders and its virtually rudderless drift amidst accusations of corruption, cronyism, family clannishness, financial profligacy and round-the-world travel was heading for a Wagnerian crescendo ideal for goose-stepping uniformed battalions.

With the second whisky well down the hatch, G1’s diatribe was rousing the ire of G7, a medical doctor and very much a UNP-type from that old school down Racecourse Avenue where his father had learnt the way before him (and what a way I tell you) burst out demanding to know what G1 would have done had he the reins of office in his hand.

Maybe his alma mater did not teach him about Pandora’s Box in Greek mythology or being a scientifically-inclined man he does not believe in myths and so had no qualms about opening the box. His challenge to G1 had the same effect as ignoring the cautionary words to keep the lid tightly on.

With the rest egging G1 on to say what he would do, so from here on it is G1’s story and it is hardly a cautionary tale.

Well let me begin at the beginning (always a good place to begin if you ask me that is). The campaign comes first. Like most politicians make enough promises that the voter will not be able to resist. The promises must be of two kinds. Small promises that can be rather easily fulfilled and the major promises one or two of which can also be met, never mind the long-term consequences for the country and the people.

Make the existing government and its leaders seem even bigger pariahs than they are. Who actually is the bigger pariah will take time to sort out. In the meantime, you must make your plans to make hay while the iron is hot, if a mixed metaphor might be permitted after the third drink.

If you have family make early plans for them to make a good living. Think of giving them posts that carry weight and influence.

Never mind if you have not passed your GCE ‘O’ level which means the lowest level. Sympathetic people will vote for you.

It is said that 94 of the current crop of the Diyawanna Oya denizens have no GCE ‘O’ level but they seem to be doing damn well without an MBBS, G1 uttered sarcastically looking at G7.

Having laid out the plan for the furtherance of self and progeny, have your learned (that is anybody with an ‘A’ level) advisers to prepare a programme that sounds exciting enough to make the voters rush to the polling stations to put a cross against your name.

Who cares what’s in the programme — you are not going to implement it anyway.

When the masses rally round and vote for you, that’s the time to take your country and people for a ride.

“That, my friends, is another secret — looking after oneself until the time comes to break a major promise. But one must first have enough support in the cabinet and party.”

Therefore, one must appoint politicians rejected by the people not only to parliament through that devious system called national list but also to the cabinet.

It is better if one heads a coalition government. Not that it is necessarily good for the country but it is certainly good for you

When the time is ripe you blame your partners of corruption and denigrating the name of the government.

Somebody told me the other day — I don’t have to know these things; that is why I appoint my kith and kin to do the work — there are 192 countries in the world, give or take a couple that could well disappear once dear Donald has dumped enough plastic on them.

Now the secret is to pick the smallest and most isolated countries where only backpackers go on holiday and whose leaders are eager to play host to anybody who has noticed them.

Otherwise, their people would think they have elected or whatever is done to get into power, a set of idiots who cannot pay for a freebee for some other inconsequential leader with a whole family in tow.

Never mind if the family lingers on for some more days at our public’s expense while the leader has taken wing and has little to show the nation what was achieved except to widen the horizons of oneself and family.

The secret, friends, is to look for places rarely visited by other leaders. I’ve studied the atlas.

I was thinking of that place called Diego Garcia. But those American fellows won’t let anybody near it. Why, they even got the British to kill some 1000 pet dogs and chase the inhabitants away before handing it over the US military. That is of no use to me.

But never mind. One can rectify all this and fulfill more promises during the second term.

At this point G4 interjected to remind of a promise to serve only one term.

G1 turned on G4 like an enraged politician caught with his fingers in the till.

“I say that was then. Now is now, no?”