It's my party... and I'll cry if I want to

People who have children, or who are otherwise familiar with their antics, will recall the way a child who has just done something naughty is usually overcome by the sudden urge to give him or herself up - usually by making quite the opposite declaration, insisting that he has done nothing wrong.

My sister, aged three or four, after emptying the contents of my mother's make-up box onto the floor and sending green translucent eye-shadow or thick black Helena Rubinstein mascara flying all over my parents' fitted beige carpet (a regular occurrence I am told) would, without any prompting or provocation whatsoever, march straight up to my mother and proclaim "Nothing I did Ma" - an allegation which would send my mother into a flurry of panic.

The need to confess, coupled with the denial of wrongdoing, is a typically human characteristic. Every time Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando tells us that he has done nothing wrong, I feel a little bit nauseous and I wonder what he's up to this time and why he feels the need to protest his innocence. And if there's ever been a case of 'the boy in the man' - it's our Jeffrey.

With his impossibly floppy fringe (thinning and greying now admittedly) the irresistible blue eyes, the public, tear-jerking displays of emotive anger - he's the stuff literary heroes and villains are made of. Our very own Heathcliff of Mistra.

I feel a little sorry for the Nationalists. It's hard to feel sorry for a party that has been in power for the last 22 years or longer. My English teachers would probably all reprimand me on the poor choice of adverb. But then Jeffrey is proving to be quite a liability to the party, and not the blue-eyed boy he promised to be. You see, he is in the very enviable position of being able to say 'If you ruin my party at Mistra, I'll ruin your party, period'. You see the Nationalist Party's one seat majority means that they're walking a very tight rope. And JPO seems to be doing cartwheels all around them - making it clear he's not afraid to rock their world.

Pullicino Orlando, the same one who vehemently denied any knowledge or involvement in the Mistra application a year ago, and who, it subsequently emerged, not only knew but also had a hand in accelerating the process, felt the need to remind us all of the little tantrum he threw last year and decided to host a party for a Nationalist MEP candidate on that very same soil. Oh my!

Why would anyone (least of all someone like Alex Perici Calascione whom I remember vaguely to be very understated) want to have a party in his honour? Organising a party on hot property is what you'd do if you wanted to hinder, not help someone's campaign.

Now, I am not exactly in with the party or with the mechanics of how things operate, but I can't help but get the feeling that Gonzi PN were not altogether thrilled at the prospect. I imagine they were pretty uncomfortable with the idea and tried and failed to talk some sense into the man. There must have been a lot of pleading and ego massaging going on behind the scenes, with everyone trying to dissuade Jeffrey from going ahead with his bird-brained plan.

I can picture the scene quite well, in fact, because JPO has started to remind me of the sulky kid who you were begrudgingly made to invite to your party, year in, year out. He was not in your clique or gang, but was in your class or your year. So it was just a little too close for comfort. Leaving him out was more trouble than it was worth. So invariably, you'd have to put up with his tantrum-throwing attention-seeking ways. With balloon bursting and popcorn throwing.

Except this time he was the dreaded kid doing the inviting. And not a lot of people showed up apparently. Most conspicuous in his absence was the guest of honour - Perici Calascione himself. He mysteriously got held up in Gozo on account of some sort of illness. Why am I not surprised? That sort of backhanded generosity would send anyone in his right mind into cardiac arrest.

The Prime Minister didn't show up either. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that he wouldn't, and I'd have willingly put money on that one. It would have been a much safer bet than Manchester United, that's for sure.

The Nationalist Party are being held at ransom. Of course, this is pure speculation, from the comfort of my Natuzzi sofa. I'm pretty sure they tried and failed to discourage the party at Mistra. The way I see it - when JPO wasn't given any prizes for lying and was left out of the Gonzi Cabinet, I feel he was overcome by the same sort of anger that Eris, the Greek Goddess of strife and discord, felt when she was left out of the famous wedding between the sea goddess Thetis and the Greek hero Peleus.

JPO feels slighted and overlooked. He reckons he is being treated shabbily, and because of the wafer-thin majority the Nationalists enjoy, he feels he can throw his weight around and be the party menace. He knows they know they can't really lay down the law. This time round he gets to say - it's my way or the high way.

You see, JPO gets to throw out more than just the toys from the playpen - he gets to throw out the baby and the bath water, and the Nationalists are well aware of this. They can't afford to risk his wrath. They need to keep him happy - so they will have to smile through his tantrums and feign illness, party policy or previous engagements and hold their breath until the next showdown and hope and pray that something or someone else captures his attention in the meantime.

michelaspiteri@gmail.com