'I've learnt to listen'

With his Burberry reading spectacles positioned on the tip of his nose, Lawrence Gonzi looks up from the newspapers to see why the cat, called Qattusa, is meowing loudly on the kitchen windowsill.

Washing down his heartburn tablets with coffee, Dr Gonzi glances at his watch and goes back to skimming the day's headlines, as a jackhammer rumbles in the distance, disturbing the morning peace.

"I'm facing what several Maltese are enduring as a result of development... At least we have a considerate contractor who won't start digging before 7.30 a.m.," he says, smiling as his wife Kate discreetly slips him an envelope. It's Valentine's Day, and Mrs Gonzi normally hides the card in his briefcase to surprise her husband. However, today he's leaving it behind.

It's 8.15 a.m. Dr Gonzi leaves his home in Marsascala and gets into the black Cadillac, driven by Patrick Grech, and continues to read the newspaper, lingering over to read sports pages, to see what information he can use to tease England supporters, while BBC World runs in the background.

"As an Inter supporter I've been the butt of jokes for nearly 30 years, so I try to have something up my sleeve when I encounter an England supporter," he says, flipping open his iMate PDA.

He lets out a sigh of frustration when he realises that he has received 300 new e-mails in under 24 hours - some highlight problems, others dish out advice and others send in their words of support. He looks genuinely upset that no matter how hard he tries, he never manages to clear the backlog.

"Everyone will be expecting a reply and I insist on checking them myself because I feel it's one way of knowing what's happening out there and what's troubling people," he says, as he tries to utilise the short drive to the Nationalist Party headquarters in Pietà to answer a few e-mails. At 8.40 a.m. he meets with party general secretary Joe Saliba to discuss the day's programme, which is jam-packed with appointments.

"I just look at the diary of appointments until 1 p.m., otherwise if I don't split the day in my mind, there's a danger I will tell the team to cancel everything," he says, popping a herbal lozenge in his mouth, before dashing to another meeting to discuss the electoral programme.

At 11 a.m., accompanied by Mr Saliba, he gets into the car and, finding a quiet moment, he opens his Valentine's card and smiles tenderly, admitting that he's fortunate to remember the day because it coincides with his dad's birthday.

Before heading to Villa Arrigo, Naxxar, for a televised party event with women, the driver takes a detour to Qronfla in Balzan, to buy a flower for his wife.

The shoppers do a double take, surprised to see the Prime Minister. He smiles at everybody and chooses a long-stemmed rose, and asks for the stalk to be halved so as not to be so conspicuous. Then he busies himself choosing a card - writing Lil Kate on the envelope - pays and leaves with an encouraging message to men to look after their wives.

Back in the car, he goes over some notes, as Mr Saliba updates him on the topics that will be tackled at the event. At 11.20 a.m. he is escorted to the upstairs room at Villa Arrigo for make-up and a quick coffee.

"I can live with anything except make-up. I hate it. I feel like a hypocrite with all that grease smeared over my face; it's just not me, but I'm resigned to it," he says.

When he emerges on the set, he presents his wife with the rose and card - which she opens immediately - and plants a kiss on her cheek, to loud cheers from the female audience.

The talk is over at noon and as he walks out of the hall he stops to shake hands with everybody, and coos at a gurgling baby. Back upstairs, he instantly reaches for the wet wipes to remove the make-up.

Back in the car he checks his PDA and catches up with e-mails, until they reach the University where he will be addressing students. Warmly welcomed, he takes an interest in the student festival stalls, asking them what projects they're working on and what they're studying.

One student shouts out: "Keep up the good work so that we'll graduate under your government". Dr Gonzi gives him the thumbs up, visibly elated by their enthusiasm.

At 1.15 p.m. he hops into the car, waves at the students chanting "Gonzi, Gonzi", takes a sip of water and squirts two puffs of throat spray to ease the strain off his vocal chords.

"The worst thing that can happen on a campaign is losing my voice. It happened towards the end of my speech at the last Independence Day celebrations and it was torture. Now I'm taking all the precautions," he says, delving into the ups and downs of the campaign.

When the going gets tough he seeks solace in his wife, who has the ability to read his every emotion: "I usually try to ride it and hide it, but she realises."

Is he headstrong? If he decided on something, who's the one person who would make him change his mind?

"I can be headstrong on certain matters, but I've learnt to listen, not just hear, and I try to put myself at the other end of the argument. If I feel my decision is mistaken, I don't mind admitting it. It has to be a strong argument to change my mind... However, when I'm convinced about something, I can convince anybody, but if I'm not persuaded, then forget it," he says.

Since the car is stuck in traffic he has some time to chat about what keeps him going through the long days on the campaign trail.

"I derive satisfaction from having really tried to make a difference to people's lives. There comes a moment in life where you stop and ask yourself, 'What have I done?' I've had the privilege of being in this position. I know one day it will come to an end, but at least I can look back and say I did it."

At 1.35 p.m. the driver pulls over by Auberge de Castille, and Dr Gonzi locks himself in his office for an hour-and-a-half of 'Me Time', where he gets to recharge his batteries, locks the door on the world and empties his mind of work-related concerns.

An employee knocks gently and walks in with a tray of food - a hearty soup with chunky pieces of chicken, two sandwiches with ham and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Dr Gonzi hits a lull between 1 and 3 p.m., so when possible he tries to switch off, watch some news and unwind before he's thrown into the whirlwind of the second part of the day. At 3 p.m. he has a private meeting, and at 3.45 p.m. walks down the steps of Castille into the waiting car, destined for Swieqi where he will visit three homes with more than 40 people gathered in each one.

Mrs Gonzi joins him, and both armed with a warm, constant smile, they enter people's homes where they discuss matters informally. He relishes this moment, because he can meet the faces behind the e-mails - "the end users".

At 5.45 p.m. he bids farewell and leaves the last home. In the car, Mario Busuttil, in cahoots with Mrs Gonzi and the OPM press secretary Josephine Vassallo, reminds him to change his tie.

"I thought you were my security man, not my fashion consultant," Dr Gonzi jokes, adding that in the past weeks his freedom to choose what to wear has been completely nullified.

"Now I'm just the individual who's obeying orders. I find my clothes laid out in the morning. I'm not protesting. I know it's important to be well dressed so I accept it. God only knows how I hate all this," he says, knotting his tie.

"One thing that really frustrates me is giving a wonderful speech, and people then comment on your tie, instead of what you have just said," he says, laughing at the irony of it all.

At 5.55 p.m. he arrives at Żebbuġ for a social dialogue. Since it's televised, the make-up artist is waiting outside the tent, but he bears it all with a smile, as the crowd bursts into rapturous applause.

At 7.15 p.m. he manages to wade through the swarm of admirers to his car. Stepping inside he reaches for the wet wipes to remove the make-up again and takes a lozenge, followed by a puff of throat spray. He lets out a yawn. Fatigue is setting in, but once he reaches Balzan for a private meeting with residents, their enthusiasm re-energise him.

At 9.15 p.m. Mr Busuttil is waiting by the door with Dr Gonzi's coat. He's ready for bed, but there's one last destination - a reception at Cafe Riche in Vittoriosa - before his working day ends.

A sizable crowd has braved the chilly evening to meet Dr Gonzi, who is joined by his wife. Everybody wants a piece of him, and the crowd mills around, each one wanting to shake his hands or wish him luck. After a short speech, he finally helps himself to a spring roll and a drink.

At 10.10 p.m. Dr Gonzi and his wife finally get into the car for the journey home. The second he steps through the door, Dr Gonzi leaves the island's problems behind. After a long day, the one thing he's yearning for is removing his shoes, wearing his jogging pants and slipping his tired feet into his bedroom slippers.

After a warm bowl of soup, he'll tune into the Discovery channel and then dip into one of the 30 books that pile by his bedside.

"Since I only read a few pages every night, it takes me forever to finish a book, so I tend to leave a big pile and pick one depending on my mood," he says, adding that it helps him switch off, and sleep soundly.