It would have been better to call the whole thing off

An example of multi-tasking as impressive 76 years later as in its day. The lyrics cleverly allude to the characters’ different regional dialects at a time when social standing – and how one spoke – really mattered in the matrimonial stakes.

Let’s call the whole thing off is even more famous for the curious lyrics such as ‘you like “to-may-toes” and I like “to-mah-toes” and ‘You say eether and I say eyether.?You say neether and I say nyther;?Eether, eyether, neether, nyther,?Let’s call the whole thing off!’

It has been parried over the years, hilariously so by the Pythons who made no distinction between pronunciations in their version whatsoever which simply rendered the song pointless.

The song came to mind over the recent furor about the mainstay of the Island’s economy, the finance industry and whether or not it is as kosher as a salt beef sandwich from the New-York-style Deli West One, in London’s Blandford Street.

The debate over semantics when the Top Toad sat across the table from Premier ‘Call me Dave’ Cameron at the recent Downing Street pow-wow with the offshore tax havens, conjured up a scene where Cameron and Senator Ian Gorst burst into song on the Gerswin’s theme. The lyrics as follows: ‘you say tax evasion and we say avoidance; you say tax haven and we say offshore financial centre. Evasion, avoidance; tax haven, kosher, let’s call the whole thing off’.

Whatever our beloved politicians may say when they get to play with the big boys, and no matter how much they trill on about being lily white in financial dealings – even those that go on behind closed doors, shrouded in total secrecy so nobody knows anything about them anyway – if London, Washington or the EU decide to pull the rug out from under the feet of our golden goose, there’s isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.

Unless, of course, the usefulness of the offshore finance centres or tax havens, whichever is your preference, serves their purposes more than the tax revenue lost by those who seek every means – legal or otherwise – to protect their wealth. As we all know, politicians will go to almost any lengths, including throwing principles out of the window, to remain in office.

I can’t say that I am any more impressed with the big boys – oh and Angela Merkel – than I am with our own crop of politicians. Notwithstanding my dismay at the current dire state of politics, local, national and players on the international stage, we can all thanks our lucky stars that they have not emulated the antics of Italy’s disgraced former prime minister Silvio Berlusconi who took the concept of party politics to a whole new level!

There they were, getting all cozy in Northern Ireland at the G8 summit, and they couldn’t be bothered to wear ties let alone jackets – Frau Merkel excused.

I ask you, there you are representing your country and you can’t even be bothered to make an effort. Long gone are the days when top hats and tails were de rigor for prime ministers and presidents (I believe John Kennedy was the last US president to be so attired at his inauguration) but there is no need to let standards slip.

Why are the world leaders so sloppy in the dress stakes and, moreover, why on earth do they try to appear all matey-matey and casual? After all, they not only enjoy decent salaries, but pretty generous expense allowances so you’d think they could afford a smart jacket and a tie or two.

Nonetheless, when it comes to getting down to business, it doesn’t matter one tiny bit who is wearing what. We all know that when the doors close on those lengthy summit meetings that they start knocking seven bells out of each other verbally or in Merkel’s and Vladimir Putin’s case, digging in their heels, refusing to budge and forcing all the others to come round to their way of thinking. So much for democracy, folks!

You knew the G8 summit had got off to a rocky start when Barrack Obama’s people secured exclusivity of the hotel gym and pool, leaving Putin to swim in a lake. To prove that he can compete in the macho man league, apparently Cameron took an early morning ‘wild’ swim in the aforementioned lake.

Honestly, I ask you, and we thought we had a rum lot in the cast of the Brothers Grimm’ fairytale emporium, a coterie of whom enjoyed a freebie to sunny Northern Ireland hot on the heels of big boys.

Thankfully, superior dress codes applied as ties were sported so we can be thankful that, compared to the world leaders, our own took trouble over the cut of their gib when representing us on the national stage.

Unfortunately, Cameron had taken leave by the time the political minnows racked up with their bags of duty free, having bigger fish to fry back in Downing Street.

No chance of another duet, as he left the bat to be picked up by his hapless sidekick, Nick Clegg.

While the air miles accrued might come in handy it was probably best – and a saving to the public purse – to have called the whole thing off!