It’s never too early for a greasy hotdog

Valletta, Monday, 7am. The road leading to Castille is lined with fast food vendors and the aroma of  reheated sunflower oil fills the air in the best artery-clogging tradition. You’d think stomachs would be turning, but no. The sound of cholesterol and calorie munching was louder than any carcade, as principles of good health and nutrition died a thousand deaths.

And no, it’s not just ‘dawk il-laburisti’ who are partial to good, old-fashioned junk. Those who, like me, were on their way to a day of slogging at the office as opposed to a day of xellerar  figured they may as well jump on the bandwagon. There is nothing like the sight of a be-suited, suitcased 40-something year-old munching solemnly on a hotdog to give me a bad case of the sniggers.

No matter how hard you try, it’s impossible to steal the colour blue

Kudos to the new prime minister (or, the prime minister elect, as sections of the media insist on calling him) for trying his damndest to pull this one off. Yes, I’ve got to admit that Dr Muscat is on to something here. Many would say that blue cuts a somewhat more dashing (if that word can be applied to any of our politicians) figure than ruby red on your typical Mediterranean male.

The effort to achieve a state of nirvana-blue is commendable. Even the twins sported shades of blue in their matching outfits for the swearing-in ceremony. Though in reality those two would look as cute as buttons in anything.

But all the effort is for nought, when the fans insist on swimming in a sea of red. Wherever I looked on Monday, it was like I had been dropped in a poppy field. My advice to the PM? Embrace it. Red is not a dirty colour. And it does make more of a strong statement than baby blue...

There’s no more space for scaremongering

Between Sunday and Monday there must have been half of Malta out on the streets, celebrating. I was out on the streets too, because you know...life doesn’t stop just because there are carcades happening.

Despite all the panicky comments on social media, the worst thing that happened during these celebrations were a couple of fashion disasters. Well, more than a couple, if I have to be honest, but that’s by the by.

The crowds I encountered were loud and messy, but I’ve seen a lot worse during (supposedly) religious feasts.

Good taste in music is unheard of

No, seriously. If there’s one thing I can definitely say about  the revellers, it’s that their taste in music is atrocious. If only carcades came accompanied by the sounds of some good, old-fashioned metal. Some Thin Lizzy or some Iron Maiden perchance? Oh wait, Bring Me Your Daughter to the Slaughter might not be quite the message the new government is after. Maybe something a tad more pacifist? Some Arcade Fire, Sigur Ros or even The XX?

No, instead it’s crap like “I got that boom boom pow” or even “I know you want me, you know I want you” ... or something. Cue lots of tsk tsk’ing at the ‘those laburisti’s’ lack of cultural nous.

Oh wait. Radio 101 pretty much replicates the same playlist. So much for that, then...