Why I would date Thierry Henry

Thierry Henry is possibly the only celebrity footballer I would ever date. And that's saying something, considering footballers are either too dim (Francesco Totti), too ħamalli (Wayne Rooney), too scary (Ronaldinho), too goody-goody (Gary Neville), too metrosexual (David Beckham) or too damn cocky (Cristiano Ronaldo).

But see, Henry, who's French, is none of that. You can tell from interviews that you could have a relaxed, intelligent chat with him over a glass of Bordeaux; he's attractive in a blokey sort of way; he speaks English with a cute accent, and has even contributed to words in the English Concise Dictionary (fine, the word was 'va-va-voom' - but how many of your words have got in there?).

So it's a pity that, for football-ish reasons that I won't go into - suffice to say it was something to do with a hand touching a ball - he is now known the world over as 'Le Cheat'.

And people really do take things to heart. A man wrote to The Sunday Times last week solemnly declaring that as a result of Henry's 'Hand of Frog' he has stopped using Gillette razor blades. And he urged all men in Malta to do the same as long as Henry fronts their advertising campaign. Gillette is bearing the brunt of a pitch misdemeanour: it seems it is no longer 'the best a man can get'.

That's the celebrity/marketing world for you. One minute you're a hero carried over the shoulders, the next, you're the world's number one enemy. What a pity. Such a nice guy, really.

But unless our men plan to go all-Taliban, I assume they will still want to shave off their stubbles. And who will be laughing all the way to the bank? I suppose that'll be Jonny Wilkinson, the British rugby player (World Cup hero, national treasure, etcetera) the front man for Gillette's competitors, Wilkinson Sword. So it seems with every loser there's always a winner.

In the local political scene we've had quite a pick of this up-and-down factor over the space of a few weeks: John Dalli, Joe Borg, Noel Arrigo. Whoever's next?

It's the circle of life. Deep down it's comforting to know that the 'gods' up there have the same rhythm of life as us mere mortals. But it still baffles me. Why is it that just as you're going through a smooth harmonious phase, the rug gets violently pulled from underneath you?

I've come to believe a) there is no such thing as coincidences and b) the universe has quite a sense of humour. And I know this is perhaps a touch sensitive topic in these crucifix-saga days, but perhaps it's all about karma.

After all, karma is supposed to drag back the individual who has gone astray, to his true purpose in life.

It works by making his life uncomfortable, in fact, downright painful and chaotic, until the pain is too great for him to continue and he decides on a course of action which will be more suitable for him.

In short, it means we're forced to return to what we should have been doing in the first place. If only we follow a lifestyle more intended to make our spirit happy, the painful experiences would not be necessary.

Hmmm, I thought as I was reading about all this. "It looks like a solution. And how much more enjoyable life would be if we were slightly clued in."

One thing is for sure: I'd rather adhere to this philosophy than be a champion practitioner of the refined Maltese art of the beżżul: the art of being unlucky. No, no, no! This just makes of us sobbing victims of misfortune.

The karma philosophy at least serves to help us keep in mind that the world does not revolve around us: life sets the scene and the ironic twists as well, but everything is part of a bigger picture. Therefore, I guess the best way to cope is to stand back and laugh.

In the meantime, the war of the razors will go on. But if things truly happen for a reason, who knows, maybe after all this, Henry will fly to Malta for a weekend break.

And dear editor, if that will ever be the case I'm booking myself upfront - I want to bag an interview with him. That's not karma by the way, that's taking life by its horns.

krischetcuti@gmail.com