Writings on the mayoral laptop

I was going to write about mayoral indiscretions and such like silly-season events but one of the cases has gone seriously sub judice, so it might not be such a good idea.

On the other hand, this might not be such a bad time to reflect on the “damned if you do, damned if you don’t” aspects of these matters, with particular reference to one Borg Olivier, Paul of that ilk, whose birthday, according to Facebook, it has just been. He must have been moderately glad to be able to lose himself in the company of his loved ones for a few hours, celebrating that happy event, such is the frequency with which he’s found himself in the glare of publicity recently.

Oh well, he’s a politician, so he must be used to it.

Damned if he does, that is, dumped on from varying, but always great, heights because of the way he handled the small matter of the Sliema mayor, who is now having his collar felt, so on the merits of the case, no more comment. What I can’t understand, though, is why so many people seem to be getting so irate at the fact that the general secretary (Or is that the other way round?) of a political party is laying down the party line about what, at the end of the day, are allegations of corruption?

Perhaps it might have been a bit more circumspect to meet councillor Sandra Camilleri in his office, preferably after making her wait for half an hour or so to reflect on her duty as a party person, than reading her the riot act in a pub, even if said pub is exalted by the name of one of the greatest modern saints ever to have graced the pages of Hello Magazine.

And then he and his party are damned if they don’t because if they don’t react instantly and without drawing breath to every allegation, sniff, rumour of rumour or badly-flown kite run up every flipping platform by every wannabe-tabloid rag that sees the light of day in this country, they’re accused of cover-ups and scratching the hand that feeds them and every manner of heinous crime.

Truth be told, there are ways of handling things and then there are other ways. For instance, it isn’t exactly diplomatic to go off cruising on a plutocrat’s yacht when, even someone with my faulty memory recalls, your predecessor was pilloried in various rags for doing the same thing not many moons ago. Not that there’s anything wrong with a spot of jolly boating and it’s actually pretty sad that such naked class-envy on the part of some people leads to inane comments being made – it’s as silly as saying that someone buying someone a spot of lunch leads to mega-buck contracts being awarded – but when people live their lives in the glare of the media, stupidity follows as surely as flies gravitate towards molasses.

Were my eyes deceiving me or is it a fact that a mayor from a Gozo locality has resigned in order to be able to defend himself properly against charges of misappropriation because he let his daughter use his council-owned laptop in order to surf the net?

If this is the case, isn’t it about time the boys in blue found themselves a life with which to occupy themselves? One of my fondest memories of when I was about eight is going with my dad to his office (at the Auberge d’Aragon, then the Office of the Prime Minister) there to be made a fuss of by the secretaries and allowed to play with the papyrus and quill pens. Actually, it was with the typewriters, but I know some so-called friends classify me as ever-so-slightly ancient.

The male ancestor, as anyone who knew him will attest, was possessed of an integrity that went beyond exemplary. Should he have been prosecuted for letting me do what is actually more costly to the Exchequer than surfing the net? I think not and if all the Gozitan gentleman did was allow his daughter to use his mayoral laptop, then, equally, the charges being brought against him verge on the amazingly ridiculous and I hope the presiding magistrate will make it known that this is the case.

It is to be expected that the usual suspects will flock to comment on this week’s column in the usual way, berating me for being a running-dog lackey of the Nationalists. Said suspects are generally divided into two classes: the first being the ones who don‘t like me for personal reasons and who don’t let their failure to grasp the nuances of the English language deter them from exposing this fact to the world at large. Forgive them, they know no better.

The second bunch are the ones for whom the government can do no good, usually relatively intelligent people who think it is smart to criticise everything the Nationalists do, because, “maaa, they’ve been there too long, they can’t carry on like this, pass the weight-watchers’ salad cream, please”. You sometimes see them on Facebook, too, with status-lines that read something like “marelli, another case of a mayor, ħawadni ha nifmek“ (spelling deliberate). Don’t forgive them, they know better but refuse to recognise it.

Do you like people watching? Speaking for myself, it’s one of the more enjoyable amusements of the perennially idle. A good place to do it, we discovered last Saturday, is Pebbles in Marsalforn, where in days of yore, Baxan used to be. The food is good, though don’t run away with the idea that it’s going to be haute cuisine, it doesn’t pretend to be, the service is friendly and, thus, very good and the location is suited to the purpose admirably.

imbocca@gmail.com

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