Exemption forms

Sunday evening. The recitation of the rosary on PBS radio is aborted, with no apologies given, just so that Chen Vella's programme Maltin Biss could go on air. And it is not even 7 p.m. yet.

A similar thing happened again on Wednesday afternoon. The programme Maestro was announced after the BBC news - and it did not go out because a local programme was scheduled.

One would have thought that 'now' everything would be streamlined, with no margin of error.

Smash Television is really scraping the bottom of the barrel. For want of yet another God Television (a Caucasian from South Africa telling us he has a "warrant" from God to collect money from the faithful - I will refrain from using the Maltese equivalent - for his mission), or even more teleshopping, last week they recycled the hoary old interview with Malcolm Lowell.

I used to think that this man was parodying himself and all he stood for, out of a wicked sense of fun. I have slightly revised my original opinion. The speech he gave at a recent party he threw (Ah! But you look so Aryan, what's your surname?) had many youths cut up their black t-shirts in shock, disgust and horror because they didn't want to form part of this type of elite.

In any case, the Broadcasting Authority must wear its brand new dentures and use them against this station for allowing this person, again, in a manner of speaking, to spew venom against people whom he does not regard as the Chosen Few.

What makes it all the more ironic, and galling, is that he speaks in the kitchen language he so despises, presumably so that he may get his message across to the great unwashed, his pathetic equivalent of calling a spade a spade.

Are we supposed to cast a vote in favour of this aspiring Le Penn extremist that he might represent us in Evropa? I shudder to think that the rest of the world would think we are like-minded - just as, for that matter, I shudder to think that the rest of the world will think that Maltese music is something between Marija il-Maltija and On Again... Off Again.

Speaking of the Eurovision Song Festival (who was?) I do suppose that the great expectations and the hype have a negative psychological effect on whoever is representing Malta in any given year. If we learn to lighten up, we may one day start having our own Canzonissima - and invite foreign (or at least fellow European) singers to compete on an even keel with our home-grown talent.

Meanwhile, most local MCs would do well to study the flowing rhythm of the whole caboodle, which left no time for the usual inane platter chatter and inane comments.

It was just my luck to chance on the Super Five draw again this week - and the ridiculous rain of riches has not been removed.

Meanwhile, I noted that the young lady doing the presentation refereed more than once to viewers on the 'stations' (i.e., Net and Super One) who were ostensibly showing the draw simultaneously. However, the latter station was showing Flicks Flash, a streamlined version of currently showing cinema film trailers.

It is a pity that not one person on the Station of the Nation thought to check whether in fact the programme was going out on the other stations, and, thence, to put the presenter right.

Again I ask: is this the kind of 'reorganisation' we should expect from PBS?

Right after this film clip collection, Super One aired what appears to be a trial run of programmes by fledgling journalists who probably have a communications degree and a couple of good ideas, therefore qualify to make a programme on television.

One particular gimmick is to get the (wo)man in the street to ask a question, which is then answered by the presenter, inset, icon-style, in a corner of the screen.

I couldn't help watching bits of Bondi+, since the topic was Valletta. It used to be a lovely end to an outing when we would arrive at what was then the Castille bus terminus, shinny to the Upper Barrakka, and make our way down to Ta' Liesse, whence home. Now there's talk of a cable car system; it would be pathetic, were it not utterly ridiculous.

The bastions were originally built to keep marauders out. In time we mellowed, and started letting 'outsiders' into our city built by gentlemen for gentlemen. Now someone has come up with an idea as sacrilegious as would have been tunnelling through the thick walls; creating a circus atmosphere by means of cable cars which would no doubt rattle the foundations of the selfsame bastions, Jericho style.

One of those afternoon pick-a-revolving-panel-and-chance-to-win-a-prize programmes has overflowed into the evening. The whole is called, of course, kitcheNETte, this part of the programme so soporific that it's a wonder there are people awake enough to call in. What an anti-climax to the first part, a cookery demonstration by Karmen Tedesco. Do "the people" really want this type of thing?

Imagine switching on your television set or radio and hearing about yourself, or rather your alleged transgressions, without having been consulted about the matter and without having the least idea that you were going to be the guest star. People whom you would have considered your friends now look on you as a source of copy; those who really are your friends know that since the story has broken because of the connotations, they must present to their public at least a watered-down version of events.

Over the years, this has happened to many; so I expect it will happen again. And again.