No, but seriously...

Confessions of a Minister - Volume 3, Revelations 47

Sunday
No day of rest for the Minister for the Europeanisation of Malta. Today at Ta' Qali, for the - God help us - Gurnata Familja Taghna, I am obliged to judge the party's Housewife of the Year.

This entails trying to smirk convincingly as 18 obese middle-aged matrons file past, each dressed for a Mafia funeral. Then I'm obliged to sample 18 slabs of timpana... of varying quality and density.

And the winner? I naturally crown (literally) the wife of our party's main financial contributor... Foregone conclusion, really.

Monday
At Cabinet this morning, my colleague the Minister for Papering Over the Cracks informs us that, according to his ministry's research, our lot will need a miracle if we hope to win the next general election.

Maybe, but I refuse to align myself with a Cabinet faction who try to persuade Lawrence to take the short walk across Grand Harbour from Valletta to Vittoriosa. I distance myself totally from those who urge him to: "Go on, Prim... try! After all, it has been done before."

Tuesday
An old schoolfriend from St Edward's, who emigrated to Oz in the late 1970s to escape Mintoff's excesses, is in town. We meet for lunch... he's paying. Over several brandies afterwards he leans back and grunts: "So you're a government minister here now, are you? My God! There really was brain-drain in the Seventies, wasn't there?"

Bastard! I never did like the fellow. Later to V's: For a little social intercourse. Although I'm b******d if I know what's social about it.

Wednesday
To Parliament... where one of the Opposition's pre-pubescent members gets into a rant about... of all things... global warming. Oh for goodness' sake! I'm with George W. on this one. Global warming is undoubtedly one of the great myths of our time. Just because a few ice caps melt and the Alaskan Tourist Board are advertising sun and sea holidays, it doesn't mean we're experiencing global warming.

That's the sad thing about these new Opposition MPs. We are running the country so well, they have to invent things to complain about.

Thursday
When I get in to my office this morning, my PPS tells me the most inflated Maltese industrialist and land rapist wants me to phone him... as soon as I get in!

Ha! So he thinks I'm going to kow-tow to someone who, not only sucks up to us... but was also one of Mintoff's boot-lickers. Some chance!

He's on the phone now?! Put him through... immediately.

Yes sir, of course sir, whatever you say sir. I'll see to it immediately... or sooner.

Heq! It's what's known as the politics of pragmatism. X'taghmel?

Friday
Receive in my office the deputy assistant to the Assistant Commissioner for Irregular Immigration into the EU. She turns out to be a gargantuan Bavarian Hausfrau, with a backside that extends into Poland. She demands to know how all these Somalis and Sudanese irregulars are integrating with the local population. Oh fine, just fine... I lie. But you wouldn't want your son or daughter to marry one, would you?

Like I always say, absolutely no sense of humour, these Krauts. Totally mirthless.

Late to V's, who says she has something she wants to take up with me. Certainly precious, just where would you suggest tonight?

Saturday
Fly to Brussels for high-level meeting with the interior designer of Malta House. V accompanies me to... take things down. In Brussels, the designer, a Mr Chen, assures me that all is in order for my inspection of the premises. Erm... yes well... I suppose we should have expected the bamboo furniture, the copies of the Little Red Book on every bedside table and the squat-over WCs. But I'll admit I was little thrown by the 10-metre high portrait of Chairman Mao that totally dominates the main reception room. I'll see if Richard can find a more suitable place for it... like in a skip.