I.M. Beck - quote unquote

By the time you read this, the head man at the glass palace down Mile End way will have been anointed by the great and good of the Malta Labour Party, no doubt having been installed on the throne with a sceptre and funny hat, blessed among mortals, leader of the Workers' Movement.

Having had to hop off to parts foreign for a couple of days, I've had to write this even earlier than usual, so I am in the dark as to who was actually elected on Thursday. I am morally convinced, however, that it will have been that genius among men, none other than, the one and only, come on down, Doctor Alfred Sant. In fact, the only doubt I have is whether he will have been elected by a resounding majority, a simple majority or what.

Yes indeed, the only uncertainty about the election, at least while I am tapping these words out against a background of Sky News telling us about worrying things happening in the real world, is the size of Doctor Alfred Sant's majority.

No doubt when (not if) the dear fellow is elected, his supporters, among whom is Emanwel Cuschier(i), I have no doubt, will leap up and down and cheer madly, pleased as Punch (and Judy, for that matter) that their boy done good.

What they are forgetting, of course, is the fact that even the simple act of celebration on their part proves beyond much doubt that there are cracks developing in the Malta Labour Party and unless Doctor Alfred Sant got a virtually unanimous endorsement by the party delegates, these cracks will continue to exist, papered over for the time being, but there they are all the same, ready to bring the whole sorry edifice crashing down.

What a prospect

With Doctor Alfred Sant safely re-ensconced in his seat, the action will now go down a level, for the election of the book-ends to take place. Here the contestation is keener, because whereas the leadership race was something of a foregone conclusion, the deputy-boss positions are open wider than the United defence in any game not involving another English club.

Dr George Vella, not often a feature of this column, has raised his standing in the eyes of the political world by doing what would have been unremarkable to the nth degree in any western democracy other than this one. He decided not to contest any post within the leadership of the MLP, which after the whuppings that the party has received of late is hardly, as I say, remarkable.

Well, it wouldn't be remarkable were it not for the fact that Doctor Alfred Sant and Dr Joe Brincat think that standing aside, after being whupped in 1998 and 2003 (twice - three times if you include the local council elections) is not something that should be done by honourable men.

The other deputy position is also vacant, as things stand, because the Deputy Leader for Party Affairs, Dr Joe Brincat hasn't stood down (see above) but has been elected and MPs can't be D-L PAs, apparently.

So we have the prospect of some new blood at the secondary level of leadership, which is exciting stuff, especially when one hears that apart from normal blokes, such as Dr Michael Falzon (who in any sensible party, would be a shoo-in) there is a pretty good chance that Mr Emanwel or Manwel or whatever he wants to call himself Cuschieri, will be elected Deputy Leader for Party Affairs.

Can you imagine the electability of the jolly old MLP with those two at the helm? Doctor Alfred Sant, genius and quintessential European, will be backed up by the brother of Tourism Sector Observer Joseph Cuschieri, (E)Manwel of that brood. And flanked by someone else (Dr Joe Brincat?) who will be treated with the intellectual contempt he no doubt will be deemed by il-Lijder to deserve.

These three, whoever they may be, will be guiding the Labour Party through the trials and tribulations of adjusting to another five years in opposition and Malta taking its rightful place in Europe. They say they want to govern some day: there's more of a chance of hell freezing over at this time.

And while you're imagining things, can you imagine the unctuousness of E(Manwel) Cuschieri's voice, if he is elected to Deputy-Leadership and allowed to go back onto the air to spread the good word among the faithful?

The really amusing thing about all this, of course, is the way people who keep propagating the myth that us of the bought and paid for media are worried about Doctor Alfred Sant and (E)manwel Cuschieri keeping their stranglehold on the MLP.

Nothing could be further from the truth: these lads give us such a terrific amount of innocent fun that we would be the first to vote for them: if we weren't a bit more interested in having a decent opposition in the national interest, that is.

A disgrace

You will allow me, I trust, to have a bit of a whinge and whine about my immediate environment.

Since November of last year, rude mechanicals have been, sporadically and without apparent rhyme or reason, ripping up the road, adjusting pavements, resurfacing the road, ripping up the road again, resurfacing the road, leaving gaping holes in the road, laying surface pipes which leak or do a good impression of Versailles, leaving tyre-ripping traps all over the place and generally creating mayhem.

I am informed that these seriously challenged twerps are there on the instructions of the Water Services Corporation, which has come down from on high onto the Balzan local council and forced the latter to do its bidding. The sheer amateurish and generally incompetent manner in which the work has been undertaken beggars the imagination and, to cap it all, some fool in some ivory tower or other has decreed that the pavements are to become esplanades of Parisian proportions, thereby causing numerous parking spots to disappear.

It seems to have been lost on the people who decide these things that their corporations and authorities are there to make life easier for poor suckers like us who actually live in the places they monkey around with all the time. They are not meant to tee us off all the time, because they are incapable of doing work properly or on time.

Of course, the simplest of simple things, such as sign-posting the works to ensure that people don't drive slambang into them, are also beyond the intelligence of these twits.

If anyone thinks I am kidding about how annoyed people are, might I suggest they come to the junction of Main Streets Balzan and Lija, with a sign round their neck saying "I am the genius who planned this"?

I would suggest they ask the police to supply a few protective bodies, though, because they might very well get lynched. If they don't know where to come, as probably they don't because they don't really give a monkey's, they can ask the mayor of Balzan, who is the poor sucker who has been getting the blame for all this and who is, actually, not much to blame, as these incompetents actually answer to someone else and not his council.

And, while on the subject of whines and whinges, would the traffic planning tyro who thought up the idea of making Lord Strickland Street, in Attard (formerly Long Street) one way please stand up and take a bow? I've used this street to get home for about 20 odd years and I've never had to wait longer than a few seconds for a particularly large vehicle to get out of the way.

Now I have to go all the way to Attard and double back, which is a pain in the neck, to say nothing of a waste of fuel.

A bite of humble pud

In another part of this estimable paper last week, I wrote about a rather fine piece of Bavarian engineering, thereby demonstrating my complete lack of memory for where I've been and what I've done.

Erm, BMWs come from Munich, not Frankfurt, which is where I said they come from. Silly me.

Oh, and I almost forgot, a 320 is actually 2.2 litres, as was pointed out to me by a real enthusiast.

Sorry.

Bad one

So, we went to the movies last week and afterwards, desiring some sustenance for the inner person (see, I can be politically correct after all) we toddled off to Ben & Jerry's (or whatever it's called) to get some food, which one hears is OK there, if mildly pricey.

Well, that was the plan, and a pretty good one it was too.

The only problem was that after having been given a coffee right smartly while waiting for the birds, who had gone to watch a girly movie which was longer than ours (it takes longer to jerk tears than kill everyone, apparently), we went inside and upstairs, being as the ladies feel cold all the time.

We went upstairs. We waited. We waited some more. We waited a little bit more. And then we waited a little bit more, more.

Then we left, leaving approximately the right amount of cash for the coffee somewhere in the vicinity of the cash register.

Did anyone think it was strange that we left without having ordered anything? No, of course not. Why should they have thought so?

After all, we were only potentially paying customers and the customer is always wrong.

bocca@waldonet.net.mt