Seasoned in sleaze… number the 40th

Sunday

With parliament reconvening, I decide to end the holiday period by taking my family – yes, including the resident kunjata – for lunch at a very expensive and, reputedly, very chic hotel restaurant.

Bad move. Despite the vast expense, the venture is a complete disaster. My wife, Angelika, spends the whole time fussing about what our daughter Annabelle can and cannot eat; while the mother-in-law, not to be outdone, squawks continuously in defence ofher heavily pregnant daughter’s welfare.

I wonder how much it would cost to take out a contract on the pair of them? Yes, I am justkidding… erm…

Monday

To the House: Where the impressive suntans of my fellow MPs tell me they have holidayed well on our fairly recent pay rise.

I contemplate talking up my fact-finding mission to the Maldives, until I overhear my colleague, the Minister for Irrational Thought, and his opposition equivalent discussing the latest technology on one another’s luxury yachts. In which case, I think I’ll keep my trap shut about my second-handfrejgatina moored in St Paul’s Bay.

Tuesday

Receive in my office a deputation from ‘Lesbians for Langour’. Their spokesperson – a large lady in dungarees and facial hair – berates me and the government, for the current fast pace of life in Malta… so what do I intend to do about it?

I assure her that I will impress upon my colleagues in the administration the urgent need for our islands to… erm... slow down. They leave… unconvinced.

Wednesday

Oh dear! I am summoned to Castille for a dressing down, because one of my little jokes has apparently backfired and there is uproar in the opposition media. The top brass at the OPM give me a right rollocking for: “a gesture ill befitting a member of this administration”.

They are referring to a recent incident which occurred while I was being driven to my office one day last week. As I passed an angry crowd at a bus stop – bewailing the latest non-arrival of an Arriva bus – I reacted to their discomfort by… erm… giving them the finger, then ordering my driver to speed off.

I assure EGC it was supposed to be a joke. He is not amused.

Thursday

My minister presents me with a Parliamentary Question he has received from the opposition. He wants me to reply. It asks: “Would the minister please inform the House why it takes such a long time – usually months – for the Minister for Lethargy to answer even the simplest PQ?”

I reply: “The answer is obvious: Since this ministry is called the Ministry for Lethargy… we are merely fulfilling the stated requirements of our allotted portfolio.”

Next question?

Friday

There is no let-up in the incessant nagging from my mother-in-law (in residence) about my perceived indifference to my wife Angelika’s pregnancy issues.

When I get home this evening, she greets my enquiry about Angelika’s health today with: “Huh! It’s alright for you. My poor daughter has to endure nine months plus of pain, discomfort and sickness… while all you managed to contribute to the issue was five minutes of pleasure.”

Five minutes!? Oh purleez. More like one minute, 30 seconds… tops!

Saturday

Despite the fact that the general election is almost two years away, today I decide to – as it were – test the waters somewhat and pay a few house calls in my district.

Felice, my trusty chief canvasser, has selected 20 or so me-friendly households to call upon. Not a great idea. The first five I visit slam the door in my face as soon as they see the person they have opened the door for.

Others brazen it out in order to tell me what they think of me and the government… not nice.

One man – previously considered a big fan of mine – even has the cheek to tell me that, in order to avoid voting for me, he’d even go to the other extreme and consider voting for the other lot.

I reply that I didn’t realise he was a sado-masochist. Mind you, I said it to an already slammed door… so it lost some of its… erm… impact.