What a panic last week, you’d have thought the Exocets or Scuds were about to start raining down on the airport. Or that Paceville was about to be blown into oblivion and where would the younger generation go to have fun and forget about boring politics then?

But the minister responsible for the AFM came onto our screens to reassure us that all was well and that ISIS wasn’t about to descend onto us and lop off our heads.

So that’s alright then.

Let me make it clear that I’m in no way trying to make light of the horror that’s unfolding around us or of the murderous barbarism of the thugs who are making use of Islam to spread their vile hatred. These are troubled times indeed.

Troubled though the world is, this is no excuse for the incipient racism that takes every opportunity to crawl out from under the fetid rocks where the bigots skulk. The criminals chanting in praise of God as they kill and maim are as representative of the religion they purport to espouse as I am fluent in Swahili, so let’s put a stop to stoking the fires of racism by wrapping ourselves in the flag, shall we?

It would not be Malta and our self-regarding insularity if the bigger picture were not almost immediately blotted out by parochial idiocy and egocentric airheadedness. I know I keep saying I shouldn’t, but somehow my eyes keep getting drawn to the comments below the main stories, especially on the portals where moderation (as in the comments being moderated, not moderation being taken on board as a virtue) is conspicuous by its absence.

One of these portals allowed images of the latest horrific atrocity perpetrated by ISIS to be viewed, bucking the trend in most of the civilised world.

Troubled though the world is, this is no excuse for incipient racism

The two titles that live together on the portal in question, which shall remain nameless, were the only ones in Malta to allow the oxygen of publicity to give life to the vileness and they should be ashamed of themselves.

Cynics say they did this to increase their hits, which if true is not nice at all.

That being as may be, some of the comments, as I was saying, are mind numbingly ridiculous.

One series of them used the threat of terrorism as a vehicle to promote a Yes to spring bird killing, the basic message being that it was a good thing that the hunters are around because when the Moslem hordes descend on us, presumably from the slave galleys that set off from Constantinople, the valiant bird slaughterers will stand shoulder to shoulder at Dragut Point and blast them to Kingdom Come with their over-and-under shotguns.

Imprecations of ‘You don’t mess with Malta’ and ‘Small island, big pebbles’ were flung around with such jolly abandon that you’d be forgiven for thinking that Winston Churchill had put the 50 years since his funeral behind him and managed to resurrect himself in the form of a mildly hysterical, not to say delusional, band of bird-killing brothers.

If this sort of weirdness weren’t enough to put you in the mood to say No resoundingly, consider if you will the reaction to the perfectly clear argument made that stopping spring hunting will not, 100 per cent not, endanger any other hobby.

The head of the conservationist bird killers, who has absolutely no legal training whatsoever, and who was unable to muster a single lawyer to back up what one must charitably call his arguments, poo-pooed the learned opinion of many lawyers with the jaw dropping comment that thousands of lawyers argue about every interpretation all the time.

The catch with his argument, so-called, was that, in this instance, a bunch of lawyers were making a case that not a single other lawyer was gainsaying.

This notwithstanding, needless to say, the misinformation about other hobbies being endangered goes on regardless, so all you can do, really, is keep repeating to yourself that the only way to beat this bunch is to vote No.

The hunting lobby does not hold a monopoly on jaw-dropping inanities, it need hardly be said.

Almost, but not quite, lost in the cacophony of claim and counterclaim about the siting of the Valletta Tat Market next to Piano’s masterpiece was the most fatuous of fatuous remarks made by one of the purveyors of the cheap and nasty merchandise that passes for goods people might want to buy, were it not for the fact that they don’t, really.

This paragon of good taste and refinement, seeking to justify the government’s “Ħu ġo fik” obsession with cluttering up the space near the new Parliament building, let it be known that by siting their stalls there, they would be doing us a favour because our eyes would be shielded from the blasphemy that is the new building.

For this remark alone, but not only for it, by a long chalk, we should band together in an attempt to have the market banned not only from Ordnance Street but from anywhere civilised people might stumble onto it.

Let’s face it, in a situation where the V-18 bunch are coming across, by comparison, as guardians of our cultural heritage, Heaven help us, anyone even remotely connected with the decision to let those stalls even see the light of day at all and, even worse, to place the market anywhere near the Piano project should hide his head in shame and never seek to be connected with the arts in public again.

And “being remotely connected” includes failing to object to the moronic idea or failing to notice what was going on around you, even if you were distracted by other worthy causes.

You can understand someone like Willie Mangion, on his intrepid mission to find a garage, not twigging that Valletta was being raped, but not others, especially when they set themselves up as arbiters of taste and refinement.

I can’t let this week go past without saluting the memory of one of the good guys. Michael Refalo succumbed a few days ago, diminishing the ranks of gentlemen who served the country. He deserved, and received, respect from all sides and he set an example that many could do worse than follow.

For the purpose of closing in the usual manner, last weekend we were much further north than usual and we were lucky enough to be in good company, to enjoy magnificent views (not to mention art by the tonne) and to sample food that was fit for gods. We also went to a darn good flea market, travelling quite a distance into the sticks, and surprisingly it was under a concrete motorway bridge, not next to a Royal or Republican Palace.

But it’s about somewhere to eat locally that you want to hear, so here you go: if you crave meat, head to DayFresh, next to the windmill in Naxxar Road, Birkirkara and experience eating butcher-fresh cuts.

Good stuff, well made, decently priced.

imbocca@gmail.com

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