I.M. Beck - quote unquote

And just to be going on with last week's theme, the "Ivan Attard" who had been mentioned was also not the Ivan Attard who is an architect and a keen Milan fan. We won't hold that against him.

Just to be clear, for the nth time, the "Ivan Attard" who I exposed as a racist is the one who is a racist and no other, so all the other Attards, Ivan of that ilk, should not fear that their friends, who know that they are not racist think they are racist.

Resigning season

The story broke a tad late last week for me to have fun with it. The story about the MLP secretary general's promise to resign if anyone were able to show that Doctor Alfred Sant had ever used a reference to snakes when talking about the mole within Labour's ranks, I mean. Jason Micallef was unequivocal in his undertaking to forsake the pleasure of heading up Labour's team if he was proved wrong in his equally unequivocal assertion that his boss had never said anything about snakes.

The sad thing for Mr Micallef was that, sorry to say, Doctor Alfred Sant did, in fact and unequivocally, talk about snakes quite a bit and quite vehemently, too, so the only thing left for young Jason, I'm afraid, is for him to fall on his sword and expire quietly, fading into the sunset like what Bob Dylan done when he played Pat Garrett or Billy the Kid in the eponymous movie.

Of course, no one with even the slightest grasp of the realpolitik of politics as played out on this sun-blasted rock had even the smallest illusion that Mr Micallef would stand by his word - no doubt even in his own conscience he is serene in the knowledge that somehow, somewhere there's some way he will be able to weasel his way out of this.

As if to give his trusty lieutenant a fillip, Doctor Alfred Sant has also started to demand all manner of resignations. He's latched on to a particularly ungentlemanly piece of conduct by someone who clearly has very little affection for one of the more innocuous ministers of the Republic, Censu Galea to scream and shout and generally whip up the coffee morning ladies to a frenzy. Apparently, some seven or so years ago, Minister Galea had something of a frank chat with this individual (the leaker - perhaps even a snake - and not Doctor Alfred Sant) and said individual, for reasons known only to himself, thought it would be a good wheeze to commit Minister Galea's words to tape, for posterity.

Well, if not for posterity then for some sort of venal reason, anyway - the upshot of it all is that Doctor Alfred Sant is drawing himself up to his full height, every so often, and demanding that someone does something about it, the it being the failure (alleged) to control (alleged) abuse in the transport or whatever it was sector. The amusing thing is that the details of the abuse remain closeted, presumably because there ain't any.

I well recall Doctor Alfred Sant and his minions doing much the same sort of thing to Minister Michael Frendo about some ticketing machine or other peculiar contraption and Dr Frendo's come back even stronger.

So I suppose Censu Galea should be of good cheer. He must be really annoying Labour if they're going to such lengths to try to muck up his image.

Blair's last hurrah

Just to prove to all the world that New Labour is not dead, it just smells that way, the Right Hon. Tony Blair QC, soon to be erstwhile PM of GB (and not England, as was not-so-gently pointed out to me last week) has been having a bit of a trot around the world.

His latest port of call, as I write this, was Libya where, as reported on the BBC, an institution that New Labour hasn't managed to corrupt (and you can take that with as many pinches of salt as you like) he was instrumental in the sale of missiles to Colonel Gaddafi's military and in obtaining drilling rights for British Petroleum.

How things change. Only a few short years ago, the Jemaheriya was the one of the rogue states, to be spoken of in the same breath as Iran and Satan's Lair. Now, it's been rehabilitated, fit to get its paws on missiles, no less. Of course, it is not entirely coincidental that at the same time, BP got to stick its drill-bits into the ground there.

Would it not have been, perhaps, more useful if Mr Blair had done something to persuade Libya to be ever so slightly less eager to let refugees embark on small boats and head North? That might not have been as efficient a way of getting BP to increase its profits as selling a few missiles, I suppose, and, hey, who cares if Malta and the rest of southern Europe keep having to cope with a flood of humans?

Inane remarks of the week

The really inane remark of the week must have been made by the bloke who writes in the name of St Hubertus' Hunters or whatever it is that quaint organisation is called.

According to Mr Mifsud Bonnici, for it is of him that I write, this association of bird-killers wants to be associated with the running of the new national park.

Please excuse me while I roll on the floor, laughing madly. This is the organisation that tried to excuse the violence perpetrated by certain individuals during the hunters' protest when these were demonstrating in Valletta by implying that they were provoked.

And they want to help run the national park, for the sake of all that's wonderful.

Friends

I promised an honourable mention to the first person who e-mailed in to tell me the name of the pizzeria in Dingli Circus and it's Amigos, as I was informed by one Alex Tortell. They also served tacos and such-like Tex-Mex fare and very good it is too. I was also reminded, by a lady who shall remain nameless, that they have a branch in Paceville.

We had an interesting Sunday evening - first, a good doze of Austrian music, which isn't the most intellectual of stuff but great fun all the same time and then a traipse around town trying to find a convenient hostelry which wasn't also an imitation of Lear's wind-blasted heath.

We did, eventually, get served, but it was un-memorable, so you needn't be told where. Nor will I tell you where we tried before, at 10.20, to be greeted by a young serving wench who hummed and hawed and looked so doubtful about whether she wanted to serve us any food at that ungodly hour that I invited her to forget it and walked out.