Christmas comes but once a year, but when it comes it brings… lots of freebies from my loyal constituents.

I never realised just how much we MPs get out of the festive season. So far… and December has only just begun… I have cleaned up 16 hampers full of foody goodies and booze, plus 37 bottles of whisky, 19 bottles of cognac (the good stuff… no rubbish) 16 bottles of vodka, I’ve lost count of the number of bottles of wine (both decent and undrinkable plonk), plus free membership to three Paceville gentlemen’s clubs.

And all just because I promised a few favours to some of my constituents. And don’t worry, I know who gave me the cheap plonk, so I know who not to answer the phone to for the next 12 months.

So you see, there is added value to my being part of Jo-zeff’s happy band. Not that I expect any freebies, of course… but if I don’t get any… look out!

It’s at this time of the year that I look back on my good fortune in knowing and loving (but not in that way) our charismatic and loveable leader Jo-zeff. Who would ever have thought that this shy, retiring Eurosceptic country boy from Burmarrad would grow and mature into one of the seminal leaders of both Europe and the western world.

Today, on the cusp of our presidency of the EU, Jo-zeff stands astride our continent, second to no man... or woman for that matter. A mini colossus with a disarming smirk and a luxuriant head of skin.

Here is a man for all seasons. Like a puppy, he is for life, not just for Krismiss.

And I have this to say to that slavering chasing pack of Opposition journalists who habitually pursue our capo in an attempt to pose embarrassing questions to him as he sprints for his car:

This is also the time of year when we party

Get thee hence, dogs. Leave the man alone. How would you like it if your every mistake and cock-up was scrutinised and questioned? Dear Jo-zeff is only human… if only super-human.

This is also the time of year when we party. And – as is my wont – I have got my ‘do’ out of the way early and threw my party at that exclusive Valletta bistro known as MacDonald’s.

I agree it can be a bit of a bore to have to queue for our food with all the ordinary punters, but at least I paid. Well… I’m paid for as much as I can claim on expenses.

Latecomers just had to stump up for themselves; I’m not made of money. By throwing my bash early I also ensure that I get invited to a lot more dos than I otherwise would. Cunning eh.

Anyway it was a great success. Jo-zeff wasn’t able to make it unfortunately. But, of course, he is a very busy man and has a country to run. But it didn’t matter, because he invited me to his do later in the month anyway… pheeew!

Here and now I’d like to clear up any misunderstanding that may have occurred in the wake of the fracas that occurred in my local każin last Saturday.

Accompanied by my fiancée Doris, we almost managed to get out of the club before the fight started. But I want everyone to know that Doris insists it wasn’t she who was the main aggressor.

She maintains it was the barman’s wife who threw the first punch. But my Doris is a big girl… a very big girl, and anyone taking her on should be on their guard.

However, the news from Mater Dei is that, despite severe bruising, the barman’s wife should be released sometime next week. Anyway, I sent a large bouquet… on expenses, of course.

So I hope that clears things up.

Comments:

Patriot writes: Trump in America, Brexit in Britain and Muscat in Malta… this truly is the end of civilisation as we know it.

No Friend of Simon B writes: Have you noticed how much Simon Busuttil resembles physically and intellectually… Donald Trump?

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