Dear Minister,
I trust this finds you well. And yes, the box of goodies you discovered on your front doorstep this morning was indeed from yours truly.
I particularly hope you enjoy the bottle of whisky; yes it is a 20-year-old single malt and of a limited edition… naturally.
This letter is by way of my application for the vacant post of chief of police.
Yes I know there’s no actual vacancy at the moment, but you have been changing your top man in the force rather a lot recently, so I thought I’d get my submission in early; just in case another vacancy comes up soon.
It is a position I have aspired to throughout my 27 years unblemished service, well, apart from one or two disciplinary blips, which were not my fault.
I mean, how did I know that little Arab that I hit over the head with a bottle had such a thin skull. And how could anybody tell that that black man who tripped when entering the cell in the lockup would suffer multiple fractures and abrasions to the whole of his body.
But I’m not a racist, you hear, I’m just a diligent policeman – OK.
Throughout my years of service, I have risen through the ranks of our esteemed police force, from the lowly rank of constable third class to the mightily elevated rank of… constable first class. So I think I’m well qualified to apply.
You will naturally be wondering what are the qualities I shall bring to the job; well here are my full credentials:
My family have, as you well know, been passionate supporters of the party since those far off days when we were ruled by the benign dictatorship of Is-Salvatur.
In fact, my nannu was on the front lines during that nasty business of the siege of Żejtun and several other incendiary events.
My devotion to both my duty and to the party (not necessarily in that order) has never been questioned
My father fought alongside the great Karmenu together with the aristocracy of the workers when we valiantly went on the offensive in Valletta, on that never to be forgotten morning some 30 years ago. Indeed, he bears the scars of that epic battle to this very day. And still insists he was sober when he fell off the truck.
My mother even figured in the struggle and it was she who was seen on TVM at the time hurling obscenities and rotting fruit at those from the then Opposition who dared to try to speak at their so-called public meetings back in those heady days.
Ah me! Nostalgia, nostalgia. Quite brings a tear to the eye.
Which brings my saga round to me. As you may know, Onorevoli, I am one of the party’s staunchest supporters and – even more solidly – a devotee of your good self.
Indeed, who was it who saw to it that the embarrassing incident of your parking ticket.
My devotion to both my duty and to the party (not necessarily in that order) has never been questioned, nor will it be.
I have served in some of the toughest neighbourhoods and been involved in some of the nastiest situations to have arisen during my 27 years in the force.
Oh yes, I have fought in the thick of pitched battles in Paceville, where I am frequently to be seen in mortal combat with drunken, out-of-control English language students, where I am always eager and willing to bring any miscreant to justice.
But I am also never afraid to wade fearlessly into the sound and fury that is a typical tombla night in the Benghisa Senior Citizens Club.
Believe me, Onorevoli, you have no idea what damage an accurately aimed set of false teeth can inflict on one’s person.
In conclusion, I think I can also say I am extremely well versed in all aspects of policing in the Maltese islands.
My singular ability to vacate a potentially nasty situation has been honed over many years of dedicated self-preservation.
And my aptitude for looking the other way, when a member of our party is possibly performing an illegal act, is a skill known only to seasoned coppers.
I await your call.