I.M. Beck - quote unquote

It was 25 years ago today (well, today plus two) when the world seemed to become a bleaker place. John Lennon, a musician, was shot and killed in New York and the news was all over the airwaves.

In those days, the net was something you caught fish in and television, even assuming you could get your hands on a set, was restricted to a few Italian stations and MLPBS, which started transmissions when the latest episode of government propaganda was good and ready.

So I was restricted to trying to hear all about it on the radio and a rotary dialled one at that - the BBC used to come in on short-wave (not even Dom Mintoff had figured out how to block it) but you could twirl the dial slowly and pick up snatches of Russian, Greek, Arabic and whatever. It was a bit like a Pink Floyd song, when you think about it.

When the news broke, I did a quick trawl through the waves and all I could hear was "Lennon", "John Lennon" and "Lennon muerto".

So this morning, if you haven't done this already last Thursday, when it actually was the 25th anniversary of the good guy's death, pause a while and remember his genius.

Some verse

On occasion, I've imposed on your good nature by reproducing some verses the very form of which betray a thought process which is seriously weird. Couple this with the vile viciousness which some of Mr Lowell's three-line stanzas contain and you'll quickly note that I've probably made quite a few breakfasts go down the wrong way.

If Mr Lowell doesn't like my description of his literary efforts, incidentally, he can try suing - it will be interesting to have a court analyse his writing to determine whether characterising them as vile viciousness is fair comment or not - hours of endless fun will be had by all.

This week, I'll make amends. It's only a rock song, which sounds like it's the title of a rock song, but you might want to read gently through it, and reflect.

Here you are.

"Imagine there's no heaven, / It's easy if you try, / No hell below us, / Above us only sky, / Imagine all the people,/ Living for today ...

Imagine there's no countries, / It isn't hard to do, /Nothing to kill or die for, / And no religion too,/ Imagine all the people, / Living life in peace ...

You may say I'm a dreamer, / But I'm not the only one, / I hope some day you'll join us, / And the world will live as one.

Imagine no possessions, / I wonder if you can, / No need for greed or hunger, / A brotherhood of man, / Imagine all the people, / sharing all the world" - John Lennon (1940 - 1980).

Naïve? Sure it is. Whimsical? Definitely. Unrealistic? Beyond doubt.

But does it contribute anything to the sum total of the human experience? Sure it does. Does it go some way towards restoring your faith in humanity? Unless you're terminally prejudiced and bigoted, of course it does.

Imagine it, because if the Radically Revolting Racist Right have their way, there's no way you're going to live in a world like that.

A challenge

Mr Malcolm Seychell, some day last week, issued a challenge to me to engage him in debate on television - him and me, together, mano a mano, to the death.

He didn't use those words, of course, but I have little doubt that in his mind, he sees himself as some sort of Caped Crusader, probably decked out in a Darth Vader Helmet, all in a tasteful black with a flash motif on the back, poised to save the world from the joint terrors of differently coloured immigrants and ne'er do well do-gooding NGOs and their fifth column columnists, such as the vile and disgusting yours truly.

Here's my answer to Mr Seychell, in words of one or two syllables, so no one will misunderstand.

"Don't be a silly little bigot, I don't believe (OK, three syllables) (is it three?) in giving you people space to spew".

Is that clear?

Let me put it in a slightly less complicated way: no, Malsey, I will not give you more free publicity than I have to give you already. It's bad enough that I have to keep lifting the stone every so often to keep exposing the racists, I'm not about to become part of your dog and pony show.

What will happen now, of course, is that a chorus of "Becky is a coward, Becky is a coward" will rise from that small fetid corner of the internet playing field where the cowardly bullies hang out, sneering and lashing out at anyone who looks a bit different to them or who they think (well, sort of think, anyway) thinks about the world differently to them.

I could care less.

And yes, you horrid people, I do look at your site every so often, because unlike the Church Organised and what seems to be quite a significant proportion of the media (perhaps un-coincidentally, the media that always supported the less liberal aspects of the country) I happen to think that someone needs to keep an eye on you.

U-turn, we turn, everybody turn

The General Workers' Union has denied pulling a U-ee over the Sea Malta thing, responding to the government's statement that it had done that very thing.

The thing about U-turns, of course, especially when you pull them with the speed with which the jolly old GWU is described as having pulled its brace this week, is that you get a bit disorientated, losing touch with where your elbow and your nose are, not to mention other bits of the anatomy.

Just for the sake of factual accuracy, let's take a quick look at what positions were adopted by the GWU in respect of Sea Malta over the last few days.

First, we had the "sorry no, can't accept" position, which had the merit of being clear, if not of being what the majority of the employees seemed to want.

Which led to the Grimaldis saying, fine, that's your prerogative, but that's the deal up the spout, we're out of here.

Then, that is to say after seeing the rear-end of the Grimaldis, we had the "OK, we'll take it but you must promise to play with us and with us only for the next few years" position being taken, which, without the rider condition, was what the majority of the employees wanted.

I'm pretty sure that said majority, if asked, would have preferred to have a job rather than a guarantee that the GWU would remain the recognised union, so why this bit was tacked on remains a mystery.

For that matter, I'm pretty sure that the minority of employees who had rejected the deal in the first place were interested in matters other than union recognition, which adds further to the mystery of why the GWU thought it could move the goalposts yet again.

When the "OK, we're OK with the deal but..." position was not welcomed with a fatted calf and general merriment from the Grimaldi side, the GWU thought it was about time to accept the deal that had always been on the table, unconditionally.

At the time of writing, which due to various parameters impinging on my comfort, is being carried out at the crack of dawn, the deal, notwithstanding the GWU's pulling back from the brink, was still off - hopefully by the time you read this, it will be back on and the people who want to work for the new Sea Malta will be able to have a decent Christmas.

But was that a U-turn, as denied by the GWU?

Well, more precisely, it was a three point turn - from "No" to "Well, yes, but..." to "OK, yes, yes, yes".

More importantly, was it the best way to deal with the situation?

Now, that's another question - brinkmanship, as performed by people like Dom Mintoff (for those of you who don't remember him, he was Prime Minister for some considerable time) quite often gets results, but that generally happens when the guy on the other side has something to lose if you walk away from the table.

On the other hand, when you play poker with card-sharps like your common or garden Italian business family, you'd better hold more than a couple of deuces, especially when the other player at the table is Black-eyed Austin of Strait Street, who loves the world to believe that he only bluffs when he's holding at least four aces.

On nosh

Just so that the few people who only read this column to get ideas about where to scoff it are not down, last weekend's bout of transient sensory pleasure was at Peppino's in St Julians, where the traffic and parking is horrendous but you get a consistently good meal, whether or not Dede is being cheerful.

He was cheerful this week and the food was good, as consistency demands.

A polite warning to all purveyors of nosh for public consumption: you are in the public arena and I have the right, if the fancy takes me, to dump on you, provided I don't mis-state the facts.

I'm only mentioning this because last week, a restaurant owner spent 13 minutes and seven seconds bending my ear about how unfair I had been with his establishment, which shall remain nameless. Apparently, I had neglected to mention that the meal I had ingested at a decidedly high cost had been styled as a "banquet".

Big whoop.

bocca@waldonet.net.mt