Here they come, again

Attentive readers will have noticed that I was moderately ennui-ridden over the holiday, there having been not much grist for my mill. Sure, the nasty racists spewed their comments sporadically and the dearly beloved political class vented some hot air, though nowhere near as much as normally, but stuff for commenting about, there was not an 'eck of a lot, to put it mildly.

Imagine my joy, then when on Tuesday the news broke that the Federation of Conservationist Hunters and Trappers had directed its member to boycott the candidature of Mr Edward Demicoli in the upcoming MEP elections.

Not content with having demonstrated beyond the shadow of reasonable doubt that as a political force they are more spent than a spent match after having been snapped in two, doused in water, snapped in two again and doused in water again, these paragons of political acumen thought it would be a serious and thoughtful political point worth making to suggest this boycott.

Have they completely taken leave of their senses? Has the frustration of not being able to slaughter birds indiscriminately anymore finally driven them round the twist? Do they not realise that this move serves as one of the very best endorsements a serious candidate could have?

Mr Demicoli's credentials were solid to start with but now his political rivals must be grinding their teeth in frustration after he's been gifted a reverse-endorsement of such sublime effectiveness. I, for one, will look fondly on anyone who annoys the bird-killing fraternity and Mr Demicoli will figure high on my list of people to vote for, no mistake.

The PM must, in another context, be feeling quietly pleased with his nomination of Dr George Abela to the Presidency.

Leaving aside the self-evident fact that Dr Abela is a fitting nominee (which should not be taken as my saying that all the others who were mentioned are not, please note) the mere fact that the nomination has apparently made some people less than gruntled must mean something.

Like the man said, if I'm annoying everyone all the time, I must be doing something right. It's not that everyone was annoyed at Dr Abela's nomination, far from it, but when you read between the lines and realise that everyone (on whichever side of the divide they lie) whose political-tolerance levels are low was annoyed, you get the picture. It was an interesting nomination for other reasons, of course. Political observers such as I pretend to be can have great fun, though putting it in print risks debasing the Presidency somewhat, which is to be avoided, musing on why Dr Joseph Muscat was so eager to accept that a major player on Labour's side was taken out of the game, for instance. Short-term gain against long-term loss, perhaps? Enthusiasm overtaking more calculated political acumen, mayhap?

Whatever, we have the prospect of another President who will grace the office and who will draw the country together, a phenomenon much to be desired.

And there we have it, the end of another season of peace and goodwill. If you don't live in the Gaza Strip, of course, where there never was one. Or unless you happen to be a refugee, illegal immigrant, economic migrant or simply someone who is in danger of drowning and happen to be from the direction of North Africa and/or have a dark skin.

If you are the latter, and you find yourself at the tender mercies of the Maltese, pray that you fall into the hands of the Armed Forces and the countless other heroes who do their humanitarian duty as a matter of course. Because if, on the other hand, you happen to fall victim to the people whose Christian sentiments are expressed regularly in the comments section of this paper online, may your god be with you.

If you want really to appreciate the depths to which some members of our so-called civilised society can descend, just take a look at the comments below the story about the Ethiopian woman who was airlifted, heavily pregnant, to land during the last gregalata. Anyone with an ounce, a mere ounce, of humanitarian feeling in his or her body will feel nothing but disgust.

Shame on you, all of you.

Onward and upward (not difficult to rise above the depths to which these people drag us) you will be glad to know that the jolly old diet is starting to work again. Sylph-like I'm not and nor am I likely ever to be - but at least I can trot along to D-Bar in Qala and have a darn fine steak without feeling guilty. Much.

And, in conclusion, congratulations to all those who noticed my little test for you last week: it was, of course, the Wilde fellow who made the crack about losing two parents being carelessness, though I suspect he may have filched it from Shaw, living up to the "you will, Oscar, you will" jibe that had been lobbed his way.

imbocca@gmail.com, www.timesofmalta.com/blogs