And here is the news

Sitting in front of the laptop of an evening, the cursor blinking gently, with the hands of time turning inexorably towards the time when sleep will unravel the worn strands of the caring day, or some such pseudo-romantic drivel, the difficulty of finding something to write about raises its ugly head.

Usually, all one has to do is take a quick look at the press and inspiration will present itself but this week there seems to be nothing but the sound of the wind whistling eerily through a dusty street, deserted except for a tumbleweed, erm, tumbling in the breeze.

Picture it, taking your cue from some spaghetti western or other.

I could write about the l-Orizzont's report that the opposition will be voting against the appointment of Mr Ċensu Galea as Deputy Speaker but, really, is this news? Is it even surprising?

After their stupendously confusing whiplash inducing swerve away from a matter of some potential, if not actual, substance (the power station contract) to a matter of actual, and not potential, triviality, which to boot showed up a number of Labour spokesmen as opportunistically callous chancers (i.e. whether Mr Mario Galea said "yay" or "nay") we now have the utterly expected news that Mr Galea (the other one) will not be getting the nod.

Just who is advising the opposition on what they should be doing and when they should be doing it? I have to assume it's the same person(s) who are advising the Leader of the Opposition, who the last we heard of him was Down Under meeting dock workers, on time-keeping and matters of courtesy, because he or she is having the same level of success.

That is to say, none at all.

Incidentally, is this the same person who also advised Dr Joseph Muscat to meet said dock workers? I only ask because an acquaintance who has some acquaintance with Oz was a bit bemused by this, given what one hears about the docks in the upside-down bit of the world.

This is not to say, of course, that the people that Dr Muscat actually met were anything but the salt of the earth and fine upstanding men, one and all. I'm sure they were, because your common or garden thug doesn't spruce himself up to meet visiting politicians, but, as we all know, politics, as with much else in life in the 21st century, is more to do with perception than anything else, and many people's perception of the dock-side in Australia is that it's not somewhere you'd take your old granny for a stroll.

Which means that Dr Muscat might have had a smidgen of wrong advice there - not, I repeat, because the people he actually met were wrong'uns, but because of what it looked like.

But soon, we'll have plenty to comment about, the World Cup being about to kick off in South Africa. I'll be having some fun teasing supporters of Italy, as one does, though if England don't do something decent this time around, I'll also be able to get at Mr Fabio Capello, who although he hasn't done much wrong so far seems to have taken leave slightly of his senses by including Emile Heskey, who I thought had retired years ago.

Presumably the idea is that he'll knock the ball down to Wayne Rooney who will put it away, always assuming he doesn't crock himself in the first game. At least there's a back-bone of players from a decent team, so there's always hope - and Mr O.G. seems to be on form, if the evidence of the Japan game is anything to go by.

On Saturday, we made like real Gozitans and schlepped up to Malta for a meal at Tarragon.

The food alone made it worth the effort. It was, not to put too fine a point on it, excellent. However, not to say but, that's where the enjoyment ended, I'm sorry to say. Good company, which we had, and truly fine food are not quite enough a memorable evening to make, except for the wrong reasons.

Getting a menu proved a long drawn-out affair, to start with, though this was not the fault of the serving ladies, who were charging around willingly, if less than happily. You can't blame them, they were understaffed, especially with two large tables sitting back to back, and with an upper floor jammed, and they weren't helped by the languid sommelier, whose contribution to the proceedings was to ask whether we actually wanted a drinkable wine.

The temptation was to respond "No, we want a bottle of the stuff that will make us vomit it right back up at you, obviously", but we're all too well-brought up for that.

We could also have been spared a couple of the frequent appearances of the boss, whose attempt at humour when he said he would be charging us for the change of glasses after we switched wines would have been more successful if the glasses the girls were changing for us were actually matched with each other and of a decent type.

The place has a good reputation, and the food really does justify it, but when you're setting out your stall as a fine dining experience, the food alone won't carry you ad infinitum.

We'll be back, but probably not on a Saturday.

imbocca@gmail.com
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