Confessions of a minister - Volume 3, Revelations 36

At last, a whole day to myself with politics completely off the agenda. I don't even read the Sunday papers. After a protracted lunch at home I, with wifey in tow, set off for a leisurely stroll around San Anton Palace's public gardens. On a sunny spring afternoon it is most pleasant to just wander casually around the well-tended shrubs. Besides... it's important that I get to know the back garden well... before I... ahem... move in through the front door.

Not for a year or two yet, I trust. I'm still far too young to be put out to presidential grass.

Monday

At Cabinet this morning there is much to discuss. Lawrence is having another of his belt-tightening spasms. To incredulous gasps from the rest of us, he suddenly announces that from now on, all ministers going abroad on government business must travel tourist class. What? Is the man crazy?! I have never travelled 'steerage' in my life - and I don't intend to start now. Think again, Lawrence, I plead. Do you want a constitutional crisis on your hands? I refuse and that's that!

Tuesday

At breakfast this morning wifey suddenly announces that today is her birthday. Is it? Well, I'll be blowed! She then proceeds to suggest that since I forgot to give her a card or a gift, I should take her out to dinner. It's a bloody imposition and a damned nuisance, but I do so, for a quiet life. Since she implies that she rather fancies Chinese food, I take her instead to the Mumbai Grill at the Gargantua Palace Hotel.

As usual she moans all the way through from the poppadoms to the coffee, which hardly adds much to the party atmosphere. Then the cow objects when I send her home in a taxi. I'm not going with her... She's the party-pooper, not me. Late to V's... and now the party can really start in earnest.

Wednesday

Fly to Brussels... first class! Naturally.

I'll make up the difference in cost out of my own pocket... which I shall then reclaim in expenses.

I am extremely miffed to find waiting for me at the airport a driver and a bloody Volkswagen Golf! But when I demand to know where the diplomatic Mercedes is, he replies: "This is the diplomatic Mercedes. We're economising, or didn't anybody tell you?" Really! Lawrence is carrying this belt-tightening nonsense too far.

Thursday

I am in Brussels for a high-level meeting with the EU Commissioner for doling out the cash, to demand to know where all that lovely EU money we were supposed to receive is. I am ushered into the inner sanctum of the Commissioner's deputy's assistant jobsworth. I refuse coffee and croissants and demand some money. He, an anorexic Pole with a disconcerting twitch, informs me: "This is not a piggy bank, you know.

There are rules and regulations to be adhered to and... budgetary requirements to regulate fiscal stipulations in correlation with across the board statutory economic capabilities." Do I take that as a no?

Friday

Return to Malta empty-handed. Lawrence is none too pleased, to put it mildly. When I inform my PPS, he drawls: "Yes well, Onorevoli, maybe you should have asked Mintoff to negotiate for you. Not only would you have got double the cash, but he'd also almost certainly have got us the keys to the vaults of the European Central Bank."

So much for support in my own ministry. I always thought my PPS had dangerously left-wing tendencies. Now I'm certain.Later to V's, who asks if I brought her anything from Brussels. Of course I did, petal... I brought myself. Lawrence is not the only one who's none too pleased with me.

Saturday

As a penance for my failed Brussels trip, I am made to stand-in for the PM at an open-air forum at the Valletta Waterfront organised by AD... on "Prosperity... when?" After the usual gloomy predictions from the Opposition spokesman for rubbishing everything we do... and don't do, it's my turn.

Utilising all my usual deft political footwork, I immediately claim a subsequent engagement and leave. I've had enough of bloody politics for one week.