If I were a cynic, I’d be congratulating my gay friends on joining the world of marital strife, parents-in-law, custody battles and all the other great things in life that come packaged with marriage. To say nothing of the worry and expense that come with parenthood.

Of course, I should point out, before I am taken out and shot, that the paragraph before this is meant to be taken as a touch of morbid humour: I am on record as being in favour of same-sex unions and, perhaps less enthusiastically, having not much against same-sex adoptions.

On reflection, and I commend to you the blog of She Who Must Not Be Named (again, my tongue resides in my cheek) for a number of posts that raise some pretty cogent considerations on the matter of same-sex adoptions, perhaps I might have been a touch too liberal in not expressing the thought more forcefully that the thing should be studied more in depth.

Be that as it may be, the die is cast and the law is what it is, so there’s not much to be gained by discussing it: one hopes that the Adoptions Board will discharge its duty excellently, in the interests of the children (and only the children) as it must do when considering single-parent, same-sex or different-sex adoptions.

There is much to discuss, though, on the way the law was passed and on the way the interested parties conducted themselves.

Let’s start with the Nationalist Party, which seems to be the target of everyone’s spleen, for being on the wrong side of history and similar – word-play intended – histrionics.

Many, and I’m not saying I’m not one of them, think that the PN should have seen the writing on the wall and capitulated, voting in favour while protesting manfully (it’s an expression, you can’t say personfully, a squiggly red line appears under it) about the dastardliness of Muscat’s machinations in tacking on adoption in what ended up being a successful gambit to put them in a bad light.

Muscat had said himself, a few years back, that he wasn’t of the opinion that gays should adopt

No-one will convince me that Muscat didn’t play this one with that intention. He had said himself, a few years back, that he wasn’t of the opinion that gays should adopt, and there hasn’t been much to change his mind since then, except for the sudden realisation that this was cute card to play. Sticking to one’s positions, as Joseph Cuschieri has only just reminded us, is all well and good, but needs must and all that.

Is the PN so very far on the wrong side of history, though?

Yes, fine, the massed ranks of celebrants, many of them in wedding finery, on Tuesday, booed and hissed at the Opposition MPs for all they were worth, but a glance at the Times’ online poll shows that the populace at large isn’t that inclined to condemn the PN.

So maybe there’s something to be said for standing up to be counted, whatever the great philosophers of the age (Friggieri and Fenech, take a bow, if from opposite sides of the stage) might think.

And what price the booing and hissing, huh? Those booing and hissing, and shouting and bellowing, mark you, were the so-called liberals and yearners after freedom and equality and what they managed to achieve, on Tuesday evening, was to turn themselves into a cackling band of tricoteuses, howling for the heads of anyone who dared not pander to their whims and wishes.

That they had the wind in their sails is incontestable: no less an authority in the land than the Prime Minister had championed their cause and it is hardly surprising that “Viva l-Labour” rang out on St George’s Square.

At least we were spared the hollowness of “Tagħna lkoll”.

They didn’t come out of this all that well, truth be told, triumphalism and intolerance being stripes that they really shouldn’t have pinned to their sleeves with such vim and vigour.

So who came out of this smelling of carnations, roses not being the traditional wedding flower, after all?

Not many, frankly, not even the Labour Party, if only because quite a few of its own grass-root supporters are as uncomfortable, if not more so, with the result as are supporters of the PN’s, the latter for various reasons.

The timing of Muscat’s excellent gambit, just before the MEP elections, betrays his political opportunism. He didn’t need to tack adoption onto the law, no-one was really baying for it, but if he hadn’t, the PN would have been as comfortable voting for the law as they were, more importantly in the greater scheme of things, in voting to change the Constitution to eradicate – emphatically – discrimination on the grounds of sexual orientation.

So Muscat too doesn’t exactly come out of this all that nicely. Sure, for the moment he’s basking in the sunlight of the admiration of the righteous.

Apart from the genuine many who are justifiably happy with the result, there are many who admire street-smarts and cunning, so they rather fancy him at the moment, too.

There are a few of us who can see through this sort of thing, however, and while grudgingly conceding that he’s a master at it, we don’t think it adds to his list of attributes.

And perhaps to make sure we see through him, I don’t know, no sooner had the partying we don’t yet know who paid for died down that he was laying out the snares for another little trap for his opponents to trip themselves up in.

The next challenge, the PM has decreed, will be the legalisation of drugs, in certain circumstances. Here again, he has the advantage of liberal knees jerking in time with his new tune, and it would behoove the Nationalists not to fall for it, again.

It occurs to me, in this context, that he has a golden opportunity to signal his government’s liberal outlook on life: instead of letting the Holmes case trundle on, why doesn’t he advise the President to let the quality of mercy not be strained? It is in his power to do so, and it would serve justice perhaps better if he would take this route rather than letting the man rot in jail.

I should be clear, here, and say that I don’t know the ins and outs of the case in any detail, just what I read in the papers, but seeing Mr Holmes grasping at such straws as insinuating that because Legal Aid lawyers are paid out of the Attorney-General’s financial vote there was some impropriety, as if this has anything whatsoever to do with the real merits of the case, I can’t help but think that the rule of law is not truly being served.

My usual haunts for nourishment on your behalf are to the North, as you know.

Last Saturday, instead, we tried out somewhere down South, in Marsaxlokk, La Nostra Padrona, and it was an enjoyable experience. You need to book, as it was deservedly crowded, but it’s worth the effort. On a more prosaic level, the need to lunch on a couple of occasions took me to New York Best near the University and Badass in Valletta where, surprise, surprise, burgers were ingested.

Also good stuff, though don’t imagine that you’re going to get out any too quickly, this ain’t fast food.

If you thought you spotted me with a large grin on my face last Saturday morning, you would have been imagining things. I had a full-face crash helmet on, but I also had the grin: I was having a go on my new boy’s toy, that which many have described as incontrovertible evidence that I have hit the male menopause. In my defence, I’ve biked since I was at Uni, with a hiatus during the more impressionable years of the heir’s life, an effort at being a good example to the lad.

It didn’t work and for a few years I’ve been back on two wheels. For the petrol heads among you, the new ride is a Racing Blu Yamaha MT 07, and it’s great fun.

imbocca@gmail.com

http://www.timesofmalta.com/articles/ author/20