I.M. Beck - quote unquote

I am, as it were, back, having been on a well-deserved (at least from my point of view) vacation for the last couple of weeks. We were over at the Big Apple, of which more later, and, strange as it may sound, internet access wasn't that easy. Actually, it was, what wasn't that easy was typing on the cheap keyboards internet cafés make available to the punters, and trying to produce 1,500 words on my mobile phone/PDA was a non-starter, so I thought I'd take a real holiday.

And give you one, too, which I thought would be a nice thing to do. Those of you who thought I was gone for good, on the other hand, can now start to feel disappointed.

It's pretty amazing, also, how a distance of a few thousand miles and six hours on the clock tend to detach one from the mundane and quotidian. I did keep in touch with what was going on here by dint of being able to log on to timesofmalta.com and di-ve.com, both excellent sites in their own way, even if the use of the Queen's tongue is a bit peculiar on one of them (no prizes for telling which) but issues which would normally have roused me to put fingers to keyboard to bang out a couple of hundred choice bons mot (or should that be bon mots?) were taken with some amusement and not much else.

Thus, I failed to take on board the sheer enormity of the fact that Mr Jason Micallef hadn't paid his annual membership fee to the Malta Labour Party for the past three years or so. Now that I have been given this earth-shatteringly important news by the Nationalist media, with explanations as to the underlying context, I can appreciate how remiss I was not to catch the first plane back over the Pond to join the throng of media folk that was no doubt besieging the gates of the Glass Palace in order to be there when the structure came tumbling down.

Just in case you hadn't noticed, I'm being ever so slightly sarcastic, and then some. I've no idea how much an annual membership in the Malta Labour Party costs (just as I've no idea how much the same thing in the Nationalist Party costs, for that matter) but I've little doubt that it's a couple of quid or so, which makes Mr Micallef's sin of omission venial in the extreme, to the extent that not even the most vengeful of vengeful Old Testament gods would give it any importance.

Not the Nationalist media, however, which trumpeted the news as if Doctor Alfred Sant had been dragged away in chains to be charged with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand of Austria.

Naturally, there will be an apologist or two who will come over all sanctimonious and point out that the MLP had prevented a (Labour) councillor from becoming mayor (or something like that) for precisely the same pettifogging sin that was being ignored now that it had been committed by an anointed one, so all that was being done was pointing up the two-weights/two-measures aspect of the thing, to which all I would answer is "grow up".

Union dues

I seem to have moved a couple of people to react to some of my musings a couple of weeks ago.

A gentleman who frequents the Union Club wrote to me directly as follows: "... the part of your contribution last weekend relating to the New Year's Day lunch at the Malta Union Club may have been correct, but, in reality, it was unfair on the caterer of the club as you should have at least included some consolation on the fact that in the four months he has been under contract he and his team have built a rather good reputation for the quality of food served".

He went on to admit that "this naturally does not diminish the occasional failed event", continuing that "the climax however was the New Year's Eve dinner dance, which every participant who attended agreed that it was 'a very good and enjoyable evening'. The function which immediately followed, the New Year's Day lunch, unfortunately, turned out to be much of an anti-climax, and a failure, much to the dismay of those present; but this should never place the Malta Union Club in any bad light - it is still a unique place in the centre of Sliema and which is made use of by many citizens, for various reasons. The present caterer is undoubtedly doing his utmost to make a success of his Union Club challenge, and a success it has been, in general, so far," he ended.

I reproduced the relevant bits of the missive in full as I thought it would be only fair to do so, since I don't go to the Union Club and am therefore unaware that the membership is generally quite keen on the fare being served up. So there you have it.

Irritating on the vernacular

One Joseph P. Borg from Naxxar went on at some length about my piece about Maltese literature and my discomfort with the idea that a board to promote it be set up.

Mr Borg's letter was published on January 19, and I won't bore you with a repetition thereof: suffice it to say that while I may have generalised, as one does, the fact remains that a high proportion of literary output sees the light of day in Malta without any reference being made to criteria that reflect objective merit, criteria which would, in themselves, be more relevant in getting stuff published than having a board set up to facilitate this.

Having texts set for exams helps, too.

Thrust and counter

Now, since I am still mildly jet-lagged and don't feel like paraphrasing, I will reproduce for your delectation and nearly in full, a series of e-mails that took place between yours truly and a certain Frans Sammut (that's who the e-mail said it was, anyway) while I was away. I've chopped out a couple of bits that are irrelevant (for reasons of professional ethics) but nothing has been lost by the chops.

He wrote:

"I have been told that you chose to spend your spleen on Maltese writers in The Times. I wouldn't have noticed since I never bother to read the kind of articles you write. You see, I don't like nicotine addicts, and I like porno viewers even less.

"I will go straight to the point because I don't have time to waste with the likes of you. I challenge you to drag in my name in the same connection in articles you may churn out in The Times and I'll see you in court.

"Go on, mister, make my day."

I responded, perhaps less than charitably:

"Actually, my dear fellow, one vents one's spleen, not spends it, but I suppose these niceties are lost on the likes of you. I'm going to have such fun with your e-mail, thanks!"

He wrote back:

"The challenge still stands. If you prevaricate it simply means you are the coward one would suspect lurking behind the idiocies you dish out to your poor readers. Oh, move on, fellow, don't make me laugh. Spleen! I regret I used it in connexion with your scribblings. Try as you might, you don't manage to show much of it."

To which I replied, with some exasperation (remember, I was doing this over my mobile):

"Prevaricate? Don't know what you think I intend doing - I've never read anything of yours that I can remember, so I doubt I'll be commenting on your literary efforts, such as they may be. Don't bother answering this, as I won't be responding by e-mail."

The implication that I would go public is clear but he persisted, in a mildly insulting vein, with (and I quote verbatim, monolithic structure and all):

"I wasn't referring to my literary output that has received sufficient kudos from academics of a calibre you wouldn't even dream of. I was referring to the national literary scene on which you do not have the necessary qualifications to comment. I have no reason to doubt your credentials in - omissis - but I have several regarding your literary prowess. Dishing out inanities week in week out does not qualify one to comment on academe. This is something you seem unable to grasp or unwilling to understand. Not too unusual, really, in this land of presumptuous people and pompous axxxx. Medical doctors presume to comment on works of art, lawyers on literary works. Such an attitude is redolent of the old agrarian society and its professionisti-contadini mentality, which, for all your ill-disguised snobbery, places you in the early 20th century, a full 100 years behind the times! You enjoy a good reputation in - omissis - because you studied it and obviously worked hard at it. Good for you. But this achievement, this accomplishment does not enable you to understand literature when you do not seem to have read more than, say, five books in your entire life. You shouldn't really have provoked this reaction from those of us who do not take things lying down. They say lawyers don't ask questions the answers to which they do not know. And, of course, it is now natural for you to prevaricate. It would be much better if you were to change your attitude to things national and, particularly, to areas you are not sufficiently conversant with. Above all, if you do not want to court trouble, let sleeping dogs lie."

After that rant, further comment is not really required, I think, except to state, for the record, as it were, that I do not smoke (and am not addicted to nicotine) and while I appreciate the female form, preferably unclothed, as much as the next straight guy, I wouldn't classify myself as a "porno viewer".

Oh, and I've read ever so slightly more than five books in my entire life, none of which, I am glad to say, were written by "Mr Sammut".

Next week, a few tips on how to eat well in New York and the saga of our lost baggage, unless British Airways do the decent thing before then and respond to the three e-mails I sent them which were totally ignored.

imbocca@gmail.com