I.M. Beck - quote unquote

Apart from joining, sincerely, in the chorus of good wishes for Dr Alfred Sant's full and speedy recovery, I wasn't going to write about his troubles. Having undergone minor abdominal surgery a couple of years ago, I know that he probably isn't much in the mood for anything that exercises him and compared to what Dr Sant went through, mine was a doddle in the park, so even minor pinpricks such as those I deliver to him, on a regular basis would have been too much in the circumstances.

That's not to say I won't start up again when he's fully OK, as one hopes he soon will be, but for the moment I'll be nice to the guy; which is not to say, in its turn, that I'm going to leave out any mention of his troubles completely, though.

This is, after all, the stuff of which political novels are made (I commend to your attention First Lady by Michael Dobbs, which, by scary coincidence, I was reading when the news about Dr Sant's op broke) and the temptation, now that the news is good, to extract some black humour, in the English manner, from the situation is almost, but not quite, insuperable.

The Maltese sense of humour not being Anglo-Saxon, by the longest of long chalks, I'll have to exercise discretion and not even try to be funny.

There's also plenty of serious political comment that can be made, of course, but since the common perception of this column is that, even when I am being serious, I'm not, if I tried to put some erudite analysis together, I would be told to stop trying to be funny at Dr Sant's expense, so I won't even try to be serious, either. I just can't win.

All of that having been said, and the "get well soon" message repeated for emphasis, I'll poke a bit of fun at the medical gentleman who was so effusive about Dr Sant's prognosis on Tuesday, as reported on Wednesday.

According to the learned saw-bones, it's very much on the cards that Dr Sant will be able to lead the MLP into the next election, which isn't earth-shattering news to any great extent (leaving aside the happy implication that it means that Dr Sant should be OK), but the little rider tacked on to the end of the medical bulletin caused one of my eyebrows to lift slightly.

The MD said that he's never seen anyone with Dr Sant's "recuperative powers" (or something on those lines). One might be forgiven for wondering whether this is Superman (sans kryptonite, of course) that we're hearing about. It might very well be true that Dr Sant is special, but this level of gush is usually left to the more breathless pundits whose task is to lionise the subject of their remarks.

On the other hand, it might be that by attributing Dr Sant's recovery to his (Sant's) own qualities, Surgeon Prof. Anthony Zammit was demonstrating a self-effacing streak that is admirable, especially among a class of professionals that is usually quite pleased with itself.

I don't usually, but

I don't usually react to public displays of self-aggrandisement, even when they come from patently mediocre exponents of whatever it is that is the subject of the puffery, but last Tuesday I was pushed into reacting, so react I will.

Just to supply a touch of context, we saw the New Year in at It-Tokk, where we had the pleasure of listening to Ira Losco and Freddie Portelli (not simultaneously, though that would be a duet worth paying very good money for), both of whom are consummate professionals in their respective fields of entertainment.

In fact, the whole event was great fun, with tous, Gozo out in all its finery. A great example of the sort of public entertainment which leaves you with a feel-good feeling (sorry about that inelegant phrase, even Homer nods) and convinces you that we can do things right in this country.

Back on the mainland, while waiting for 'Er Indoors to get herself tricked out to trot off to her sister's to be over-fed (with good nosh, incidentally) and over-watered, I was doing some channel-surfing and I came across a concert being given by a lady who glories under the name La Barokka.

I paused and watched for a few minutes, as I'd seen the name before and had been intrigued. Verily, I thought I had happened onto a comedienne of outstanding class, such was the quality (you know what I mean) of the singing, but then it dawned on me that this person was being deadly serious. This was on national television at lunchtime on New Year's Day, mark you, when on other stations there were the Vienna Concert and the Pope, among other minor attractions, vying for the public's attention.

I am not musically inclined at all: in fact, I forebear from warbling completely, as I have some respect for other people's sensibilities (and you'll be thanked for not remarking that this isn't very obvious from the fact that I keep writing).

I do, however, have ears and my shell-likes were, I'm afraid, mortally wounded by the attack being wrought upon them by La Barokka. If you think I'm exaggerating, I invite you to drop by YouTube, punch in her name, and listen to her assassinating Amazing Grace and Time To Say Goodbye, to say nothing of the other exemplars of self-promotion in which she indulges.

And then, to confirm that this is mediocrity of pretty epic proportions you're witnessing, go to her own website and have a rummage around.

I wouldn't have been pushed to writing this, as I wrote above, except for the fact that this woman clearly thinks she's the bee's knees and, presumably, charges people money to attend her concerts and buy her music. Not only that, she seems to have convinced Super One TV that she's some sort of star (as evidenced by YouTube again).

It is a phenomenon of the internet age that you don't need talent to become a celebrity: a brass neck and an inability to be embarrassed will combine with a distinct lack of critical faculties in certain elements of the media to ensure that if you want to, you can become a star. Of course, if you present yourself in public as a star, you have to accept that people like me, who perhaps aren't among those who can be fooled all the time, might feel inclined to prick your bubble.

And this was one massive bubble that just had to be pricked.

I nearly didn't, but

I wasn't going to write about the euro because by the time you read this it will be old news, but I felt I had to mark the manifestation of Mr Murphy's law with an appropriate mention.

It is fair to say, I think, that the introduction of the euro has gone off pretty smoothly. All except for the PM's symbolic withdrawal of a hundred es, that is - all the possible wise-cracks have been cracked, of course, but just in case you missed them, here are a couple.

Apparently, the machine refused to spew the notes because Mrs PM had been Christmas shopping and the Treasury hadn't yet paid the PM his salary. The cash popped out a few minutes later because, in the meantime, BoV arranged a swift overdraft.

Then there's the alternative story, which runs something on the lines of Dr Gonzi using his government credit card, which had been maxed out because it was the end of the fiscal year and the country was broke.

Oh well, what did you expect, Ben Elton levels of humour or what? Just to annoy a diminutive blonde of my acquaintance by raking over old coals, I'll shove a quick political sting into the tail of this portion of this week's effort.

Those of you with some memory will remember a pretty clever picture put together in the early 1980s, when a shot of Dom Mintoff windsurfing (macho man that he was) was superimposed onto a view of Msida in the throes of a flood.

The author of that masterpiece was an employee of BoV and he suffered dire consequences. I somehow doubt that it even crossed the present PM's mind that anyone should be answerable for the fact that there had been quite a few laughs at his expense.

Things do change, don't they, if not in Msida.

I shouldn't need to, but

By the time you read this, I hope that the media will have demonstrated that, at heart, they are not completely cynical.

Mr John Cassar White has resigned from the chairmanship of Malta Shipyards Ltd and it is to be hoped that no remarks have been made in any segment of the media other than to thank him, as I do on your behalf, for his sterling efforts in the national interest.

It has become a feature of the political media that every time someone resigns, partisan capital is made, one way or the other. This is not one of the occasions when this is justified, so if anyone has made any silly remarks, shame on them.