The bird-killing season started this week and even before it had started a bird of a protected species had been blasted from the sky.

Of course, this creature had been killed by a committee member of Birdlife, in order to sully the hitherto spotless reputation of Malta's conservationist hunter. What else do you think could have happened? Malta's hunter-conservationists are completely and exclusively law-abiding to a man. "What do you mean? What about all those news reports of bird-killers being found guilty in court of a string of offences and misdemeanours?" No, those weren't hunters, those were agents provocateur, planted by the vicious anti-hunting lobby, that violent cabal of bigots bent on eradicating the noble sport of bird-decimation from the skies of this fair land.

I suppose I'd better be careful what I write... The government has given the bird-killers due warning: "Break the law at your own peril." If abuses carry on being perpetrated regardless of the law, then the law will be made even more stringent. Naturally, this in itself is provocation and the government risks the hunting fraternity turning to Labour to find solace. Those are not my words, they're the hunters'.

All this will no doubt make me a legitimate target for the apologists for the killers of living things. Given that not much discrimination is shown by these wonderful folk when they're playing with their shotguns, I doubt it would take anything much to get them irritated with me in print and just in case some of them haven't got the point, I'm saying that since the law has already been broken, it's time for the government to show it has a spine.

If the jolly old MLP wants to suck up to the bird-killers, then that's their affair, and if the PN wants to do the same thing, then, again, that's their look-out, but it's the government's job to uphold the law and to do what it said it will do.

Depressing

I was listening to the radio at the crack of dawn some days ago, which is when you can get to hear the BBC, the best radio station in the world by far, relayed by the best radio station in Malta, Campus FM.

There was a documentary about the Middle East on, which is hardly programme content which is calculated to get one up and about feeling all cheerful and chipper.

This particular programme was even more depressing than usual. The producers clearly thought that it was about time that the old ruse of getting some students together to talk about the future was resurrected. In theory, this should have been an uplifting exercise, because, usually, students tend towards being idealistic and less bound to the fundamentalist shackles of their elders.

Not this time and not in this part of the world, I'm afraid. Both sides of the divide spent their time parroting the platitudes and excuses with which we've all become familiar. In the name of their religion, they all felt oppressed and entitled to oppress and terrorised and entitled to terrorise. While the rest of the world (at least, those of us for whom religion is a private affair that does not entitle us to shove it down anyone's throat or threaten to kill him in order to save him) looks on in increasing despair, these children confirmed, if confirmation were needed, that for the sake of a few acres of land and an adherence to a different ritual, they were prepared to kill or die, or both.

The sad thing was that they had virtually the same accent.

Such fun

As I write this, I'm watching Milan trying to get past Bayern Munich, which is an enjoyable enough experience. You see, I don't really give a darn who wins, because Bayern have that obnoxious twerp Kahn as their "keeper" and any team that has him in its ranks doesn't really deserve to get on in life.

He's almost as much a disgrace to us "keepers" as that whining sniveller who plays for Arsenal.

On the other hand, if Milan don't get through, I'm hardly about to lose any sleep, because, hey, they're Italian and we all know what I think about Italian football, don't we?

I wonder if my life insurance carrier is reading this and debating with himself whether he should cancel my cover, being as I'm doing my very best to annoy the bird-killers and the Italian clan at the same time. All I need to do now is get at the racist scum who I presume are still lurking under their fetid rocks and I've got myself a hat-trick.

Milan are two up and have neutralised Bayern's away goals now, so it's looking good for them, which is actually quite a good thing, because they're setting themselves up to be humiliated by an English team.

I'm no Man U supporter, as anyone who can read knows, but I have to say that I really enjoyed the proceedings last Tuesday. I was watching the Chelsea game, of course, as a scan of what feels like an ulcer would prove, but I kept getting nudged over MSN to switch over to watch the goals pouring in to the Roma goal.

Not to put too fine a point on it, as I don't, the dear chaps from the Eternal City were absolutely humiliated, torn to shreds, made to look like novices, shown up for the inept fools they were and, generally, wrecked.

Before anyone writes in to say that this is pretty much what happened to the English national team during the World Cup and since then, let me point out that I've written as much myself on a number of occasions and I'm happy to write it again: England are useless and a disgrace to the beautiful game.

Not so English clubs, however, and the destruction, the dismantling of Roma is proof positive of this.

And what made it even sweeter was the fact that Italian club football was shown to be second-rate not only on the field but also on the terraces. The only crowd trouble that took place in Manchester was provoked by supporters of Roma and they were controlled without indiscriminate beatings by the cops.

So much for English hooligans, then.

The Pope and Miss World

No, it's not a vulgar joke (I'm under no illusions that any such hilarity would be allowed to see the light of day in this paper) but just a prompt for me to ask a question: What do His Holiness and Miss World have in common?

They both want world peace, that's what.

The funny thing is that when a six-foot blonde with big blue eyes simpers that she wants world peace and to work with children, the world falls about laughing but if a stumpy old bloke says it (not necessarily with the working with children bit) it's headline news and gets onto innumerable front pages.

I'm not sure what point I'm making here, frankly, but the mild irony of the situation struck me as being worthy of mention.

At the movies

We saw an excellent movie last week, The History Boys, an Alan Bennett adaptation of an Alan Bennett play.

The excellent writing (now there's a statement of the bleedin' obvious if ever there was one), the very good acting and the superb direction and cinematography turned what could have been a workaday piece of humdrum into a work of uplifting art, proof of the quality of which was to be found in the fact that when it ended, we couldn't believe that so much time had actually passed.

We saw the film at the St James' Cavalier Cinema, a tiny place which felt cavernous by dint of the fact that there were only six of us in there.

Now, you're reading this, so you are a discerning sort who appreciates the finer things in life (well, if I'm not going to praise me, no-one is, so there you have it). Being such a type, then, you are obliged to give support to this cinema by trotting along there, thus making sure it can carry on operating.

Understood? You can find out what's playing by having a look on the Interweb Super Highway or, if you're a technological Neanderthal, by opening the paper.

No nosh to report on this week, 'cos we didn't go anywhere I haven't written about before.

imbocca@gmail.com