I.M. Beck - quote unquote

Far be it for me to stick my oar in now that there are multifarious libel writs flying around, but I have to say I'm more than slightly bemused at the way the Nationalist press is getting at a chap whom I count among my friends, even if we do have great sport getting at each other about politics.

The gentleman to whom I refer is one Patrick Dalli, husband of Labour MP Helena, and our paths have crossed - and a friendship struck up - because he's a fine painter and my missus moves in those circles. I would describe PD as the archetypal champagne socialist (or perhaps pint or two of fine lager socialist) but that's more a term of endearment in Malta in the early 21st century than an insult of any great pith and moment.

From what I can make out from the headlines (I don't read the Nationalist press assiduously, parties that are in government rarely produce anything worth reading much), umbrage has been taken and scandal trumpeted from the rooftops because Mr Dalli went to parts Middle Eastern at the same time as a Labour Party delegation went that-a-ways. It has been said, again from what I can make out, that he was actually part of the delegation but, for the life of me, I can't much see why this is sticking so much in the craw of the chaps over at PNPress, to the extent that they saw fit to video the Dallis' rather fine abode.

I mean to say, if it had been public money that was used to transport Mr Dalli and his contractor colleagues I'd have seen the point, but that doesn't seem to be the reasoning behind the media spotlight that has been trained in the Dalli direction. Oh well, no doubt it will all come out in the wash, I suppose, by which time the great unwashed will be even less interested in the story than they are now.

Moving away from the topical issue, doesn't the bitterness engendered by the whole affair bring into sharp highlight the unpleasantness that brews up when personal lives become the subject of "political" (and the inverted commas are deliberate) comment? The Nationalists, especially my old friend Michael Frendo, will say that they didn't start it, and they're more than slightly right, and if memory serves, their media were above this sort of thing, originally. But there are some things that you shouldn't imitate, aren't there?

True colours

A short and sharp piece in this estimable rag by Ariadne Massa, above the fold on page one a few days ago (which any hack will tell you is the place to be) made for interesting reading.

Apparently, local councils aren't as hot-shot keen on slapping fines on people who spread their junk around with gay abandon as they are on slapping parking tickets on anything that doesn't move.

The reason for why this is, one learns on reading the piece, is that while traffic fines are self-recovering, in that you don't get your horseless carriage licence renewed if you don't fork over the dosh, in the case of litter fines, there's not much the councils can do other than brief counsel to go to court to recover the money, and we all know that, according to the Hon. Carmelo Mifsud Bonnici, Parliamentary Secretary responsible for Justice, lawyers charge money by the wheel-barrow load to do the simplest thing and recovering littering fines is not exactly the simplest thing in the world, so you can imagine what it will cost to do this. Actually, it would be the simplest thing in the world, if it were not for the fact that enforcement of judgements and the recovery of amounts due is one of the main problems faced when you (eventually) get a court judgement in your favour. Many is the time when a judgement creditor has had to resort to printing out a copy of the learned judge's oeuvre and framing it for use as a dart-board, in some scant compensation for the fact that the court system grinds exceedingly slowly and spits out very little at the end of it.

So here we have a sweet irony - local councils, which might wish to seek to recover money from defaulters through the courts but perhaps are put off by the creaking inefficiency of the system, fall within the purview of the same ministry that administers and is responsible for the legal system.

Good one, Joe

A gentleman who signs "Joe Borg" from Xghajra poured all manner of scorn over one of my humble efforts at being mildly amusing about another resident of Xghajra's views about the legal profession and the judiciary.

According to "Mr Borg", I was totally wrong: the Hon. Dr Carmelo Mifsud Bonnici, Parliamentary Secretary responsible for Justice (as I've mentioned before), had only lambasted the judiciary for the delays in court and not the corps of legal beagles. I consulted some legal beagles of my acquaintance and to a man and woman they confirmed that on at least two occasions, straddling the occasion when he made comments about the judiciary, the dear fellow had poured some measure of opprobrium over lawyers.

So it is "Mr Borg" who was wrong: strike one against him.

Strike two followed immediately after. My interlocutor made it known to all and sundry that yours truly is a twit, because the Constitution is not, actually, "the highest institution of the land", this honour falling to the judiciary.

Buzzzz, wrong answer: while it is true that I employed a slightly inaccurate term, in that the Constitution is, to be finicky about it, not actually an institution, the fact remains that the highest source of authority in the land is the law, and yon Constitution is, erm, the highest law. Everyone, Mr Borg included, is subject to the Rule of Law: he might have done well to have taken some lessons on this from his more illustrious co-resident, who is well versed in the law.

To make sure his dismissal from the ranks of the right (as in, the right as opposed to the wrong) was immediate, our hero went on to introduce into the equation a mild but completely irrelevant rant about the iniquity of rent laws (about which he is right and he should have addressed this to his neighbour) followed by an invitation to me to ingest some timpana, a dish for which I have to say I have little enthusiasm.

Strike three, you're out, mate.

Hang him?

I am, as I believe I've had occasion to point out, completely and utterly opposed to the death penalty, for various reasons, not least of which is the horrible depths of inhumanity to which the process drags the people meting out the punishment.

But should Saddam Hussein be executed?

I believe that, on balance, the scales of justice should come down in favour of putting an end to his foul existence. He was, and remains, at war with civilisation and, in war, people are killed. Letting him rot in jail would perhaps have been a fitting punishment, especially as he would have had a few years to reflect on his vileness, but this would have - literally - left a casus belli on the battlefield, which is hardly justifiable.

After all, the fundamentalists, the ones who think everyone is out to diss their religion when actually hardly anyone in their right minds gives a tinker's cuss about whether one is Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or a motorcycle mechanic, need only the slightest of excuses to go on some bloodthirsty rampage, so why give them yet another excuse?

The fundamentalists on the other side of the divide do enough in this regard, and then some.

Some gripes

Why is it that the best team in England is being ignored when it comes to coverage of the Carling Cup? Just a hint as to which team I'm on about, the team is the one that was beaten by Spurs last Sunday - since when are there so many Spurs supporters in Malta? My mobile went spare as soon as the final whistle went.

Who is the design guru that dreamt up that railing affair along Ta' Xbiex Sea Front? I'm reliably informed that it's not quite got the most pleasing of aspects.

On matters more pleasant

On Saturday, along with a couple of thousand or so others, I went to the Hibs ground for the rugby match against Croatia.

The uninitiated will think that losing 40 something is a whupping that should cause red faces all round. It's not - the day after our match, England lost by pretty much the same margin to the All Blacks and they're in the same league, while we're a country of a third of a million squaring up to countries with many more millions from which to pick their squads.

This is to say nothing of the fact that your average Croatian is built like a brick garden shed (not to mention another type of construction) while your common or garden Maltese is not generally so well constructed. No one will say that things couldn't have gone better - rugby is, above all, a game where honesty and integrity are paramount - but as far as I am concerned, the mere fact that we're up there mixing it with the big guys is honour enough.

Continuing in the Anglo-Saxon tradition, on Sunday, we partook of lunch at the King's Own Band Club, in Valletta. You might wonder what possessed us, being as band clubs are not normally noted as oases of culinary delight but your sense of wonder is misplaced, as the food in this august institution is extremely good. So good, in fact, that we went there again on Tuesday evening, after having enjoyed a very good operatic concert at the Manoel.

It would appear to be insular to say that Gillian Zammit was the star of the evening, but she was, though there's much to be said for it being a four-way draw, between Ms Zammit and Mro Ciardi, who was enjoying himself enormously, the National Orchestra, which was excellent, and the late entry substitute tenor, Davide Sotgiu, who was superb.