My smartish phone bleeped on a sultry Sunday afternoon. I dozily looked at the message—hoping against hope it was someone kinky wanting some fun with me. Or someone who wanted to take me on a whirlwind tour of the world for six months all expenses included. Or at least offers of a free AC unit run magically on some new alternative energy needing no wads of euros being exchanged with those bandits the Arms people. Turning us all into alms-supplicators dear Joseph would add.
Knew I should have remained not resisting the afternoon siesta. Instead I lazily read the message. The message urged me to go to a BBQ with Charlò Bonnici to celebrate something or other—maybe his coming of age? Poor guy I have nothing against him. Actually I quite admire the guy.
It was him, and at the time he was practically alone from the Nationalist Party, who told Franco Debono to, erm, eff off. OK Charlò wouldn't say it likewise as he is wiser and way much nicer than me. But something on those glorious lines he did say.
Well Debono effed off, did a sort of somersault like the erring prodigal son of Father Gonzi and suddenly turned good and accepted to vote according to the party's whipping orders. Only for the JPO/Jesmond Mugliette tandem to break ranks and fire their misfiring government a new stab in its salty wounds and get RCC sacked. Jesmond and Jeffrey, a fitting duet act—the double Js, the jilted, jealous guys who can't let anyone play because they are sore and so the world to them is a total bore. So fire away at anything that moves is the Js' motto especially to steal some limelight from that frightful—to the Js— Franco Debono.
Back to my Sunday reverie. So I got this message from someone asking me to go to a BBQ. Besides the fact that even without any organised barbecuing we are getting officially and routinely barbecued by the stifling heat, I have no clue why Charlò or his band of friends have invited me. And how, pray, do they have my number? Have I joined their campaign without realising? I have no qualms in backing Charlò but I would have liked to want to do it and choose to do it out of my own free will.
What intrigued me even more than data protection stuffiness was what is to await me at said BBQ. Best—message announced—Maltese talent is on show. Freddie Portelli is included. Actually he seems to be the main star because he got the highest—the only in fact—billing. I know entertainment and politics are hardly related but isn't this a bit ominous for Charlò?
Freddie Portelli—God bless his gait, his elvisness and his vocal chords—has been around ever since God sent us out of Eden. So ominously people might make odious but pertinent comparisons with the party in Government. The PN in power was great, gave us life, energy, phones, chocolate, water in the tap, the EU and a load of other delicacies like jobs for all. But maybe it sounds a bit as if its sell-by date has passed. It sounds and acts lethargic if not jaded. And people might want a change. Now I'm not saying I want a change (and I'm not saying I don't want it either) in case all out there will accuse me of being infra-red or pornographically blue. I'm just stating a fact and comparing Freddie's old style with the PN's own style.
But as I said comparisons, especially when done unconsciously, could be damningly odious. So Charlò should be rather more careful whom to give star billing. And if my memory isn't completely gone I think one of the biggest hits Freddie had—and still plays to great roars of screaming approval and womanly adulation— includes words to the effect of "issa dejjaqtni jaqbillek titlaq 'l hemm."
Oh Lord what awful irony this BBQ promises to provide for Charlò, Gonzi and the PN clan.