Interview with a 'compassionate' superstar...

Sylvanus: Rejxill... may I call you Rejxill?

Rejxill: Ho, ho, ho! Well after all, it is my name... (Collapses in spasm of uncontrollable... yet compassionate laughter.)

Syl: (Joining in the merriment) Ho, ho, ho! Well Rejjxill -

RF: - I'd rather you call me Ms Filler.

Syl: No probs. So tell me Ms Fillup, how does it feel to produce and present not only the most popular TV programme on the local networks, but also the most repellent?

RF: Believe me Sylvester -

Syl: -- I'd rather you call me Mr Anus.

RF: Believe me Sylvester it fills my heart -

Syl: - And your bank account.

RF: It fills my heart with joy... compassionate joy, that is of course. To see those happy smiles on the faces of people who... only minutes before... could only dream of winning a weekend break for two in Tirana; it's all the reward I need.

Syl: Apart from your fee and the advertising revenue, that is. But let's move on. You have been a TV fixture for a few years now. Surely you must be running out of quadriplegic children, long-lost relatives, birth parents, terminally ill tots, sob-on-cue relatives, etc...?

RF: Not at all... as long as there are unfortunate people to exploit... I mean help, then my dedicated staff of compassionate snoopers will surely find them... even if it means scouring every hospital bed in Malta and Gozo, checking-out the birth certificates of every brat in every Church home, chasing every ambulance that's ever called out from the A & E department at St Luke's, grilling every incontinent geriatric in every retirement home and hospital, cruising up the Amazon in search of yet more over-emotional parents. Oh yes Sylvester, wherever there's a compassionate story to be milked and a buck to be made... you will find me.

Syl: Quite. Tell me Rej - skuzi, Ms Fillet... can you sleep at night?

RF: Oh yes Sylvester... like a baby. Just to know that during the day that's just passed I have made someone happy and a few more grand for me... is the only sleeping pill I need.

Syl: But surely you must be running out of tear-jerking fables to slop before your TV audience?

RF: (With a knowing... yet compassionate chuckle)... Not at all Sylvester - not at all. For instance, I have just returned from Mongolia, where I discovered the birth parents of a young Maltese/Mongolian orphan boy, living in a yurt in the middle of the Gobi desert. Admittedly it wasn't easy at first to persuade them that they had a son in far off Malta. Possibly the fact that they were both in their mid 80s and their "son" was just 12, made my task trickier than normal...
But lots of group hugs and a substantial cheque soon convinced them of their right to claim Cyrano... as their true birth-brat. Believe me Sylvester... to see the expressions on those poor people's faces, as I handed them the photo of Cyrano, together with the money... made my heart sing... that is of course compassionately sing, you understand.

Syl: What a touching and yes... heart warmingly compassionate load of old tosh that was Rejx... er Ms Filibuster... whatever. So, from that I take it we can look forward to yet another series of blubbing relatives, grasping hamalli, brain-dead punters, syphilitic siblings and conjoined Siamese quins?

RF: How did you know we'd lined up the Siamese quins? But yes you're quite right... My new series, which starts transmitting in the autumn, promises bigger and better prizes, even more crippled toddlers, long-lost relatives from even further afield, yet more diseased and dying grannies hanging on until they see the... extra-compassionate smile on the face of the never before seen granddaughter, who stands to inherit all the old biddy's land, gold and gilt-edged shares. Oh yes Sylvester... we are promising our audience the works... the water-works.

Syl: I can hardly wait.