An open letter to Xara.

Aaah! XaraX - x!

Like a beautiful woman glimpsed from afar, desirable, but tantalisingly unreachable, unknowable and yet somehow familiar. The ethereal future incarnation of the flagship of a dynasty. That flagship, having foundered on the rocks of commercial greed, is now back home, safe, but cocooned in dry dock silently awaiting the tendings of her builders.

But wait, these same artisans have turned their attention to more modern, flashier craft. Build 'em quick and sell 'em cheap seems to be the new battle cry and if you can't sell 'em, rent 'em. Has the low drudgery of avarice dulled their senses or are they not inclined to waste their time on a rusting hulk? Who knows?

We, the proletariat (known affectionately in the airline industry as 'self-loading cargo'), beseech these men of good graces and tireless labour, to put aside their aspirations of great wealth and opportunity. To turn briefly away from their dreams of Eldorado and donate a small part of their time and energy to a worthwhile cause. The resurrection of the good ship XaraX.

A little caulking above and below the waterline, a larger hold for export goods, a strengthening of some of the timbers and a lick of paint is all that is needed. (The old set of sails can be re-used, as she always was a speedy craft.) Then, re-launched to great fanfare and merriment, with significant discounts for previous passengers, she will be free to embrace the future as a thoroughly modern vessel and claim her rightful place as the best in her class.

So, I ask, will the good ship XaraX rise again to embrace a new dawn? The shroud of secrecy is tight and impenetrable. Not even the aforementioned artisans are inclined to speak. A reliable source tells me that the mere utterance of the X word at Xara HQ has the same effect as mentioning the word Macbeth in a theatre or discount in a whorehouse.

This may or may not be true, the dream, however, endures. Even my Granny says so, and she's got a wooden leg.


Yours Faithfully,
Captain Ahab

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