When Beck was me, I’m pretty sure I had made passing reference to TW3, the popular abbreviation for That Was The Week That Was, an English telly show of yore that had brought satire to the teeny screen.
I could have done the same this week but instead I thought I’d simply call it a funny week, as in funny, peculiar, rather than funny, haha, I hasten to add.
It was a week in which we saw a criminal being heartily embraced by the Prime Minister and christened a “Soldier of Steel”. This phenomenon made many shake their head in disgust and many others in wonder, awe a(we)lmost, at the speed with which Joseph Muscat’s marketing acumen had plummeted to the depths of thinking that lionising Cyrus Engerer was a poke in the eye to the Nationalists.
I doubt anything could have given the Nationalists greater satisfaction than the sight of Muscat having to stick up for someone of whom they were well rid and then some.
The thing is, not only did Muscat champion Engerer, he did so at the expense of the respect a prime minister has to have for the rule of law, a concept with which the majority of Labour prime ministers of the past 35 odd years were, to put it mildly, unfamiliar. Now it seems that three out of four have the same problem, if Muscat’s expressed conviction that the court, the Attorney General and the police conspired to do down his poor little friend Engerer is anything to go by.
It was the week in which we saw a homophobe retained in service by the minister responsible for, of all things, LGBTI (forgive me if I left a letter or two out, I’m finding it difficult to keep up) rights, because, according to Helena Dalli, Engerer has paid the price and anyway, homophobe?
The LBGTI lobby, apparently, can only see homophobia when it is on the PN side
Yes, minister, only a homophobe uses illicitly-purloined compromising pictures of a former same-sex lover to shame him and prejudice his employers towards him and only a homophobe threatens to make even more of the same public.
This particular homophobe did what he did because he knew (hoped?) that the pictures would be perceived as “disgusting” and “shameful” by certain people.
This particular homophobe, therefore, shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near any public office that is concerned with minority rights if only because of the perception that his involvement gives and the fact that he “has no access to sensitive information” is utterly irrelevant.
And this is quite apart from the fact that there’s a small matter of the public service management code, which has something to say about criminals being engaged in public service.
But, then, why would the minister care about something like that? She thinks that the “price” you pay for committing crimes is being unable to contest an election.
It was the week during which we heard the deafening silence of the LBGTI lobby, who, apparently, can only see homophobia when it is on the PN side (and even when it isn’t) and who don’t seem to be constitutionally capable of standing up to be counted when Labour is involved.
For the arguments as to why Engerer’s crime was homophobic, see above, as for the rest, use your eyes and ears.
• It was the week when we heard the Prime Minister do a Vicky Pollard (“yes, but, no, but, yes, but, am I bothered?”) when asked whether the power station contract had been signed, flip-flopping his version within what I’m told were 10 seconds.
We also heard him spinning the yarn, which has become more than slightly boring, about how inclusive and meritocratic his government is because they’ve retained Anton Attard at PBS and Lou Bondí to help organise assorted concerts and shows to commemorate Independence, EU accession and a couple of silly dates chucked into the mix to appease his toy soldiers (you can’t call them soldiers of steel any more, that’s reserved for convicted criminals).
Wow, really impressive, within the panoply of their stellar appointments, a couple of people who are actually pretty good at what they do are involved, giving Muscat an excuse to mention them one or a dozen times every time the subject of the betrayal of ‘meritocracy’ comes up.
I’m morally convinced that – as a bonus prize, as it were – Muscat just loves the general perception, irrespective of its validity, that his Machiavellian move to gag them has worked. I’m sure he simply squirms with delight at it, in fact, just as he must get all manner of thrill at knowing that Lawrence Gonzi’s nemeses, the Debonos, the Pullicino Orlandos and the Musumecis of this world, are seen as being clasped to his bosom, stalwarts of the Labour Movement to the hilt.
• It was the week during which we saw a drag-queen singer prance and squeak and generally behave like a silly vapid twerp (it was Eurovision, what do you expect?) but then get “most dangerous person” status (by the Daily Mirror, but still) because Vladimir Putin, like many others, to be fair, is a raving homophobe.
It was an act, people, not the burning of a transvestite martyr on a bonfire of amputated ‘surplus bits’, so get over it, and get over the fact, while we’re at it, that this was not a bearded lady (shades of freak shows of yesteryear) but a man, admittedly dressed to kill, in ladies’ wear.
While on the subject of freak shows, it was the week during which Ruth Amaira proved that she is a broadcaster of true mettle and skill. How else do you explain that she didn’t collapse howling with helpless laughter during the five-way monologue fest masquerading as a debate between the fringe parties? Their party pieces ranged from incoherent mumbling to downright racist ranting, through what must be a contender for Oxymoron of the Year, the environmentalist plea for Comino to be turned into an ersatz Ibiza.
Oh well, we should be thankful for these small comedic mercies, though there’s nothing funny, really, about one of the candidates who, in the same sentence, managed to advocate pushback (of human beings) and tell us to vote for her because she stands for animal rights.
The alternative is Muscat droning on about how the Labour Party, having just won the election with a 36K landslide, is going into the MEP elections as the underdog. True, given his governance of the nation over the last year and a bit has given even Martin Scicluna pause for thought but, come on, underdogs?
Yeah right, look there’s a marine, run along and tell it to him, he might take a pot-shot at the pig flying past.
• In times like these, it is comforting to know that you can nourish the outer man, for the inner one often feels starved of anything that will sustain him through trying times.
If my use of the noun ‘man’ raises the hackles of any passing feminist, incidentally, let it be known that I’m past caring. If the LGBTI lobby doesn’t care about Dalli’s retention of Engerer, I don’t care about failing to use ‘man or woman’ or ‘s/he’ or ‘person’ or any other sop to the slavering hounds of political correctness.
So, back to telling you about where you can get decent food, an obligation I failed to undertake last week, for reasons which I forget.
In Valletta, Zero Sei, near the Manoel Theatre, will serve you a good plate of pasta, if you can get past the hordes of lawyers who seem to treat the place as their office canteen.
In Xagħra, not that you haven’t read this before, DVenue remains a good option for lunch, though if you like to hear yourself think, go later than 1pm, to avoid recalling Quasimodo’s cry.
And for a leisurely lunch with a view to die for and food to live for, Il-Kantra, down in Mġarr ix-Xini from the Ta’ Ċenċ side is the place to go.
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http://www.timesofmalta.com/articles/author/20