Getting less wet behind the ears... number: the 21st

Sunday:
Angelika won't allow anybody to baby-sit our new daughter Annabelle except, on rare occasions, her mother. Today is one such occurrence, since she and I are lunching with close friends out at Rogantino's near Kunċizzjoni.

All goes smoothly until - just as I'm about to tuck into my liver paté starter, Angelika's mobile rings. It's her mother (naturally) panicking because when she changed Annabelle her "coco" looked "a funny colour". Angelika totally freaks out and demands to be driven home... issa (now)! The journey is fraught with Angelika totally hyperventilating beside me.

Back at our house, it turns out that the mess in question is perfectly normal. Panic over, but I doubt Angelika will agree to leave her precious daughter again... at least not until she hits puberty.

Monday:
For the first time since I entered Parliament in 2008... this evening I miss a vote. It's on the bill to substantially increase all MPs' pay. Happily, the opposition votes with the government on this one so the bill is passed unopposed. Still the PM is not pleased with me and summons me to explain my absence.

In retrospect, I suppose I have to agree with him that my excuse for being delayed, because I was winding my baby daughter, does seem a bit lame. Just try telling Angelika that.

Tuesday:
The St Julian's local council informs me of their intention to erect a statue of one of their long-serving MPs and ministers, who also happens to be my father. I respond by stating that since statues are usually erected after someone's death, this may seem a little previous seeing as how Pa is very much alive.

They agree and reply that they hope he'll live on longer and stronger but... maybe not indefinitely longer, since they've currently negotiated a very good deal with a local sculptor and they are working to a very tight budget.

Wednesday:
I am still interviewing girls for the privilege of being secretary to a government minister... well OK, parliamentary secretary. But they all seem to fall into one of two categories: either pneumatic bimbos who think that brains are an optional accessory or fat, forty-something frumps with attitude and hair in unfortunate places.

The shortlist has come down to just two - so will it be Bettina with the boobs, the micro skirt and a typing speed of 19 words an hour or Doris with the hirsute top lip, a rear end wider than the Gozo Channel and an alleged typing speed of around 400 words a second?

It's a no-brainer really... Bettina starts Monday.

Thursday:
I am summoned to my minister's presence. He is about to leave on yet another fact-finding visit. This time to Barbados... miskin (poor thing). He tells me to "look after" a visiting British MP, who has apparently been deeply embroiled in their current expenses claims scandal. He adds: "So mind what you say." Right on boss... leave it to me.

All goes well until I take the MP to lunch at Rubino's. Now normally, I would take care of the bill and then try and claim it on expenses but, since he is obviously much better at fooling his exchequer than I am, I suggest he coughs-up for the food.

What did I say? Hey, come back!

Friday:
With just a one-seat majority in Parliament, our parliamentary group is becoming understandably twitchy about party loyalty. So, today, the party whip asks me to sign a pledge of undying steadfastness to the government.

I, of course, agree wholeheartedly but with just one teeny weeny caveat - if I do sign, what's in it for me?

Saturday:
This evening I am a guest speaker at a forum at the parish centre, organised by the archpriest of my village.

The subject, which he has chosen, is 'Divorce... A Sin Too Far'. I'll admit to being somewhat ambivalent on this subject, but on this occasion I agree to toe the 'party' line and condemn the sin of divorce out of hand.

Although... having said that... it's fair to say that my words would have carried a lot more conviction had not Robert, my elder brother, managed to get married and divorced twice already - and all in just the space of five years since he left the priesthood.