The bunch of clowns running the country got all sniffy about the fact that “some entities” had jumped the gun and announced that Malta will be withdrawing temporarily from Schengen in order to ensure that no one takes a potshot at Her Maj while CHOGM is taking place here at the end of this month.

Precisely how this is going to stop a determined terrorist from trying to bump off an exalted leader of one of the assorted so-called democratic states of the Commonwealth isn’t immediately apparent, truth be told, and nor is it immediately clear why, exactly, we’re wasting resources in hosting this conference here in the first place.

One can only assume that Premier Joseph continues to suffer from a hankering to be seen with the celebs of the political world, leading him to jump up like an over-excited schoolboy and volunteer to serve the tea and biscuits when whichever cradle of democracy it was, was asked to withdraw from the honour.

Be that as it may be, the CHOGM circus is coming to town, and we all have to be good boys and girls and not clutter up the streets, or come and go into our country, or go to University or school and generally obey our lords and masters, so there.

It doesn’t seem to have dawned on Premier Joe that strutting the world’s stage is not simply a matter of shoving your way into a team photo

If we don’t, or if someone tells people prematurely that they have to jump through hoops in order to get in and out of the country, as we used to before we joined Schengen, Premier Joe’s minions will get hysterical and start shouting.

Clowns, that’s what they are: instead of planning things properly and with foresight, they shoot off diktats as the fancy takes them. A couple of friends of mine were called by Virtu’ last week to be told that they had to have all the paperwork concerning their bikes to get back in, because apparently the cops were going to get picky.

Luckily, they’re resourceful types and will have the papers they need, but do the morons who think these things up not have the capacity of thought? Instead of getting uppity about people being told things as far in advance as possible, shouldn’t the flipping cops or the CHOGM organising committee actually have planned things properly in the first place? If they don’t get even the smallest thing like telling people in advance that they need certain documents, will they get the big things right?

But wait, these are people appointed by Premier Joe on their ‘merits’, so isn’t it axiomatic that they are not, actually, likely to do things properly? Is CHOGM going to turn out to be a national embarrassment, notwithstanding that the Brits have had to be called in to spare Premier Joe’s nominee’s blushes?

Pretty much the same thing is going to happen with Valletta 18 from what we’re hearing, though I doubt the Brits are going to bail us out there – and heaven help the country when we take over the EU Presidency, from what I hear they have no idea where to start.

It doesn’t seem to have dawned on Premier Joe that strutting the world’s stage is not simply a matter of shoving your way into a team photo or getting someone to organise a rock concert for you: you have to have strength in depth and a pretty good team.

This bunch don’t even have strength in shallowness, let alone any depth of which to speak.

Moving along on the subject of shallowness, the prize for hitting new depths of shallowness (not really something you can do, but I’m sure you take my meaning) must go to Portomaso’s favourite tenant, Minister the Hon. Dr Chris Cardona, who seems to think that by portraying Joe Cassar’s resignation as a sign of weakness he can deflect the pressure building up on him and his buddies to do the same.

Let’s make no bones about it: Cassar did not do the right thing in accepting – if accept he did – any gestures from someone like Gaffarena. On the evidence, the paltry value of the gestures resulted in absolutely nothing in return for Gaffarena, but it remains a mistake, a terminal one, as it turns out, on Cassar’s part. It was a mistake to put himself in that situation, from an ethical point of view and from a realpolitik point of view, because it put him into the firing line of cynics like Premier Muscat and his lapdogs in the media.

However, Cassar redeemed himself, in spades, when he took the honourable way out and resigned, in sharp contrast to such a long list of people on Premier Joe’s side of the House, from the top down, that it would take up the paltry word-count my editor allows me to list them.

Just as a taster, an aperitif, as it were, consider Café Premier Muscat, Gaffarena-buddy Falzon, Husband of Sai Konrad Mizzi, Trips-to-Spain the Other Mizzi, jobs for the boy and girl Abela and so on and so forth, not forgetting the man himself, Borrow My Flat Pay Me Later Chris Cardona. Are all of these going to resign, because frankly, their behaviour isn’t a million miles from Cassar’s.

I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting if I were you, because they’re not going anywhere, they’re going to hang on for dear life, like that Mallia bloke, who even when he just had to go, didn’t until even Premier Joe had to bow to the inevitable.

And then these clowns have the nerve to tweet that Simon Busuttil was weak with Cassar: truly some of these people inhabit a moral plane that is light years away from any vestiges of decency. No wonder the comment has been heard that when it comes to corruption, there are people underfoot at the moment who outstrip – and by far – even the most enthusiastic porkers of Mintoff’s day.

I’m not going to name names (do I look like I want a libel suit?) but they know who they are. Their problem is that more and more of us, the Great Unwashed, are getting to recognise them. Maybe the sight of their snouts in the trough is a bitof a giveaway.

Premier Joseph Muscat was elected to power, and to the right to hobnob with Her Majesty and Obama and the Sultan of Oman and the Shah of Persia (and flog a few passports while he’s about it) because he promised meritocracy and clean government. “I’ll be different” he promised, hand on heart, and he has been, no denying it, but there’s being different and being Premier Muscat.

Just ask the environmentalists about how different Premier Muscat is from when he was Wannabe Premier Muscat, and see how pleased they are that they were part of the movement towards being different, meaning in getting the Nationalists kicked out. It’s not they who are making hay while the sun shines out of Premier Muscat’s eyes, and that’s for sure, but then they only have themselves to blame for not being careful what they wished for in the first place.

We had a celebration in Sicily last weekend, to welcome into the family a rather special broad who was nutty enough to marry the Son & Heir. If you need to put on a shindig there or want a room for a few nights, for that matter, you can do far worse than engaging the people at the Poggio del Sole Resort, in Ragusa. They were nothing short of excellent, in all respects, from organising the reception itself to the excellent pizza they produce in the evenings.

While on the catamaran waiting to head north, I picked up Jacob – my Titanium Man, co-written by his mum, Sarah Cachia, and Kristina Chetcuti. It’s not a long book, and I finished it with tears rolling surreptitiously down my cheeks (I’m supposed to be a macho biker, darn it) before we’d even cast off.

Read it and you’ll see why.