I was going to write about Joseph Muscat's performance on Dissett. More precisely, I was going to write about it at second hand because I didn't watch, preferring to have a rather decent glass or so of wine at Nani's in South Street. From all accounts, the Leader of the Opposition sought to be all things to all men and to all women, those with a vote, at any rate.

One thing that struck me was the notion that Dr Muscat ventilated that if Labour was entrusted with the job of governing this happy land, a private member's motion would be tabled to introduce divorce. Follow me here, if you will: if in government, the Labour Party will not do what governments do, that is to say, legislate, but it will do it at one remove, by the means of a Private Member's Bill.

If this isn't symptomatic of the way Dr Muscat is seeking to please everyone all the time about everything, then nothing is: We get the Labour Party making a gesture towards the liberal end of the spectrum while chickening out completely and utterly from annoying the other end, the hidebound conservative end, for whom the mere hint of an idea that maybe there's a chance that Malta Cattolicissima will betray her roots is anathema.

Is this the way it's going to happen from here on in? Is this what the Movement of Progressive Moderates is going to mean, fudging and compromising on everything, because that's where the votes lie?

At least, the Labour Party can say it is 2 - 0 up in the anti-censorship game.

Having been providentially reminded by the son and heir that it behoved me to turn up for the demo organised by the Anti-Censorship Front, I duly rolled up to come across the Hons Evarist Bartolo and Owen Bonnici, who, to their credit, have been consistent in condemning the current lurch towards hidebound conservatism (yes, I know I'm repeating myself but it's a nice phrase).

Accompanying us and some 250 other like-minded souls was Mr Lou Bondì, who recently treated any media person whose e-mail address he had to a sight of his rather superb put-down of MaltaToday's slightly impertinent questions to him.

You can find it on Mrs Daphne Caruana Galizia's blog, if memory serves.

There were no other MPs present, from what I could see, and, since Parliament is having a well-deserved rest, there weren't any waiting to receive the message, Messrs Bartolo and Bonnici not being about to do a "Don Camillo" and rush ahead to greet the demo they had just been on.

Incidentally, I'm not sure if I or Mr Bartolo was the oldest fogey there but, whichever one it was, we outstripped the assorted bunch of kids by quite a bit, with Mr Bondì coming in a creditable third in the age stakes.

I was there, basically, because I'm heartily sick of people like the University Rector and Mrs Teresa Friggieri and assorted other worthies telling me what I can and can't hear, read, see, watch, listen to and otherwise taken on board. I am an adult, and have been for, what 54 minus 18, take one, carry two, remove socks, count toes, whatever number of years it comes to, though the missus might differ as to the maturity of this particular adult.

At the end of the stroll down Republic Street, we had to stand around to be harangued by the organisers of the protest, who deemed it necessary to give us chapter and verse as to why we were there. Fair enough, I suppose, you can't have a protest, especially one that tends towards the Left, without it being made completely and utterly clear to all and sundry why we were there and all that.

We were also subjected to a rather lengthy epistle from one George Peresso, who I thought would have been less prone to the enthusiasms that afflict the young. I can understand, though the colder I got the less understanding I became, why the younger element (that is, virtually all the crowd) was getting a bit strident about the restrictions on their liberties and, quite right they were too, but compared to what others have been through, I couldn't help thinking they were exaggerating slightly.

But Mr Peresso, I thought, should have been less prone to risking being accused of mildly hyperbolic paranoia and when he descended to the Institute of Journalists/Illum school of thought by pooh-poohing "certain blogs", he drew mutters of disapproval from at least two of those present, one of whom was your 'umble scribe.

Things have come to a pretty pass, it has to be said, when writers and journalists fail to see the inconsistency of their position as they appear to open their hearts to control of other writers, in this instance, ironically, during a protest march against censorship.

And now I'm going to watch Inter try to hold off Chelsea, hoping that they don't, so I'm going to send this off before the match starts.

imbocca@gmail.com

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