Seasoned in sleaze: number the 35th

Sunday

On a rare day off I suggest to Angelika that she, our daughter Annabelle, and I might take want to have lunch at a hotel on the coast, then spend an hour or so on a nearby beach, where I could take Annabelle for her first paddle in the sea.

This is greeted with a sharp intake of breath, a stifled squawk and the words: “Only you would suggest something like that for our daughter. Food poisoning followed by near lethal exposure to ultra violet rays… and ending up with probably drowning the poor child. She stays home, safely, with me.” I give up.

Monday

I am summoned to Castille during Cabinet to be informed that as part of a mini government reshuffle I am moving: from Parliamentary Secretary for Fooling Some of the People Some of the Time at the Ministry for Obfuscation to the post of PS for Creative Indolence at the Ministry of Lethargy.

Trouble is… I don’t know if this is a promotion, a demotion or a move sideways and there’s nobody I can really ask. I’ll take it as apromotion, then.

Tuesday

I’ve started packing my stuff in order to move to my new office in the Ministry of Lethargy, down near St Elmo. I also have to shred any, erm, sensitive documents. I thought this wouldn’t take long but I am still shredding at 9.30 p.m. And most of the stuff I trash is not so much sensitive as it is,well, embarrassing to me.

Wednesday

Today, I have my first meeting with my new minister. He’s only a few years older than me and very, very ambitious. He’s quite welcoming, but adds the caveat: “You know you’re only in parliament because of the respect the party and the country bears your father.”

He adds: “We are very democratic here at the Ministry of Lethargy; but if you want ownership of the key to the executive loo, you’ll have to earn it.”

Hmm, something tells me I’ll be peeing in the plebs’ loo for the foreseeable future.

Thursday

Having barely moved into my new office, today the Permanent Secretary informs me that the PM wants me to “look after” a low-leveldelegation from the Chinesegovernment.

They are all both unfailingly polite and very small in stature. They express considerable interest and pleasure as I take them to the usual spots… Ħaġar Qim, Mnajdra, Mdina and so on.

Over lunch, I say to their local coach driver in Maltese that I knew the Chinese were small, but this lot are infant-sized. At which Mr Ping, the leader of the delegation, says to me, also in impeccable Maltese: “Oh we come in all sizes, same as you.”

Apparently, he served at their embassy here back in the early 1980s, when they all had to learn Maltese. I am poleaxed with embarrassment; why didn’t somebody warn me?

Friday

As the divorce referendum draws ever nearer, I am faced with something of a dilemma. There is no doubt that in the privacy of the referendum polling booth I shall vote ‘Yes’ for divorce.

But since the PM has decided on a free vote in parliament by show of hands, it looks as though I will have to vote one way in the referendum and another in parliament. It’s what’s known as the politics of expediency.

Saturday

In the wake of my wife Angelika’s second pregnancy, the mother-in-law has so far not moved in with us, as she did for our first child. However, today she arrives at our house carrying a suitcase. Oh no!

She, as ever, ignores me, but makes sure I overhear her tell Angelika: “I’ll leave this here, so I’ll be all set to come as soon as you need me pupa.”

Oh terrific! Wonderful! To counter her I’ve a good mind to turn the spare bedroom into a computer room or a playroom for Annabelle. But knowing the way the kunjata’s mind works, that wouldn’t stop her. She’d merely bed down with Angelika in our bedroom on my side of the bed and make me doss down on the settee in the millroom.

Oh boy! Happy days are here again.