Confessions of a minister... Volume Three, Revelations 20

Sunday
Wake up with a monumental hangover and a monosyllabic wife. Through her gritted teeth she informs me that after the reception we attended last night - I think it was to celebrate Bangladesh's national day... or national flood relief day... or something - I was apparently caught in a drunken clinch with some nubile Bangladeshi lady. Wifey was and is not amused, and tells me so... at length. I grovel and apologise.

The trouble is that, dammit, I can't even remember if the Bangladeshi lady was even worth the aggro.

Monday
At Cabinet this morning, Lawrence (I must remember... never, ever Wenzu - or worse, Lorry!) calls us to order and asks our opinions on the media's reaction to his very first budget. Silence reigns... and, no, it wasn't me that sniggered. In fact I defend his budget speech as... courageous, which can mean swingeing, and necessary... etc.

Of course the trouble with being in government so long, is that you can't blame the other lot for getting you into this mess.

Tuesday
It's that time of year again. Today we do the ministry Christmas lunch. On my insistence it's at a rather downbeat eatery in Valletta. Not because it's cheap - even though it is... cheap and nasty. No, I chose it because if I'd opted for a five-star hotel, it's acutely embarrassing to have to have the office junior carried home unconscious, and to leave the ladies' WC awash in female puke.

This year it all goes reasonably well, and I acquire yet another desk set... for wifey's next charity car-boot sale.

Later to V's: to chill out...

Wednesday
Wifey phones me at my ministry, to screech that she's just been booked for parking, by a warden in Sliema. She splutters: "I was only on the double yellow line for 15 bloody minutes. You have to do something... now"!

I smile to myself, cough once, then drawl: Couldn't possibly, Sweetie. You'll have to take it up with the local council... Shouldn't be too difficult, after all... you're on it! I then put down the phone, making sure I unplugged it... then switch off my mobile, before the onset of the verbal explosion.

Thursday
As Christmas approaches, the party invites increase accordingly. Today attend drinks at home of very, very old party grandee... who seems to have rather lost the plot.

After I scream my name, my ministry and my many successes directly into his ear for fully 15 minutes, he finally nods knowingly, taps the side of his nose, winks and says: "Ah yes, I remember you. Weren't you the idiot who challenged George Borg Olivier - unsuccessfully - for the party leadership"? No, I'm bloody not... I was still in short trousers when... why is everybody laughing?

Friday
Reluctantly agree to be Santa Claus... again... at my district's orphanage Christmas party. Make sure it turns into a photo-op, PR exercise.

And there they all are... the deserving orphans, clambering all over me, bursting with Christmas cheer and incontinence.

Looking on the bright side, this should guarantee me... I mean the party... 50 more votes in 2012. There is some dissent in the camp when I remove Santa's beard for the photo-op. But hey! What's the point of a charitable act, if they don't know who's being charitable?

Later to V's, who remarks: "Ugh! Who gave you a golden shower?" What?

Saturday
This morning I must judge the mechanical cribs in my village.

After being escorted around some 40-odd garages containing cribs, the local mayor asks me to choose the winner. After stoking the tension for a minute or three, and to tumultuous applause... from some quarters... I announce that it is Leli. He obligingly breaks down in tears of gratitude. I remain aloof and insist that my decision had nothing whatever to do with the fact that he is the secretary of the local party club.