Bone dry behind the ears... Number the 25th

Sunday
With most of my parliamentary colleagues planning holidays in exotic places, I suggest to Angelika it would be wonderful if just she and I could take a romantic vacation à deux, for just four or five days in Capri.

Angelika's mother would cheerfully look after our daughter Annabelle while we're away. Angelika fixes me with her famous hurt look and explodes: "How could you even suggest we abandon our daughter. You are despicable!" Then she rushes from the room. OK sweetie, what about plan B, we all stay home and argue. Who said romance was dead? I did.

Monday
With the summer recess looming and my holiday plans scuppered, this morning my minister hands me an unexpected lifeline. Next month he's been offered simultaneous freebie 'fact-finding' missions. One to run the rule over the beaches of the Seychelles, or the other to tour hydro-electric projects in the Ukraine. Since he can physically only go on one, he offers me the spare. And yes, I've always wanted to know how hydro-electric plants work... honest!

Tuesday
I don't believe it. Today my newish secretary, the lovely Bettina, informs me she and her boyfriend are going to holiday "romantically" in - yes you guessed it - Capri. I am pig sick, especially since my mother-in-law is once again agitating for Angelika and I to "try" for another child. A few days in Capri would have been the ideal opportunity. Ah well, what price AI?

Wednesday
Tricky session in parliament, the last before the summer recess. I have to respond to a PQ regarding the award of a tender to supply extras for a blockbuster swords and sandals film to be shot in Malta.

The contract is awarded to a casting agency called Super Numeries, which just happens to be owned by... ahem, my brother.

The opposition press and websites are screaming foul and corruption. I brazen it out in parliament and deny any connection or influence... whatever actually happened. One thing politics has taught me is how to develop a very, very thick skin.

Thursday
On a rare visit to party HQ in Pietà, I bump into the PM, who asks me what my summer vacation plans are. I reply I'm not taking one, but am going on a fact-finding mission to check out hydro-electric plants in the Ukraine.

He replies: "Oh, he gave you that one, did he. Yes, I didn't think he'd pass up a trip to the Seychelles. OK fine, but remember I want a full report on your return."

Report? What report? Nobody mentioned anything about reports. This is supposed to be my holiday.

Friday
Glamorous Italian singing superstar Adriana Polenta flies in for a concert at Luxol and I am deputed to escort her on her Malta visit. She turns out to be disagreeable, demanding and difficult, and hides behind dark glasses the size of plate-glass windows.

She has me running round ensuring everything is in place for her show. Hey hang on. I happen to be an important government minister... well, OK, parliamentary secretary, but the sheer force of her superstar celebrity gets to me and I run around her like a faithful little dog.

And... when her show is over, she does agree to pose for a photo with me... and - she even signs my Adriana Polenta T-shirt. Right, I can die happy now.

Saturday
This morning I descend from cloud Adriana Polenta and turn up at party HQ for a political forum, organised by the party's youth wing. Naturally, I insist on seeing all the questions beforehand, then I reply to these in the vaguest and most evasive manner... so beloved of lawyers, whatever their political colour.

And, of course, at the end, I am given a rapturous and prolonged round of applause.

Oh yesssssssssssss! This is what politics is all about. But what I want to know is: Why can't parliament also be so me-friendly?