Remember when the BBC’s Antique Roadshow came to Malta? It must have been sometime in the 1980s, I think. Everyone flocked to the Mediterranean Conference Centre with the bust of the Tork ta’ taħt it-Taraġ (a statue of an unhandsome chap traditionally kept under the stairs to scare evil spirits), hoping it would be worth a pot of gold.
Never had the judges looked so perplexed and overwhelmed, which explains why they and their bow ties never set foot on the island again: “We can’t possibly face them again, they have a ghastly sense of queue!”
The programme came to my mind, because headlining the news these days is our very own ‘Budget Roadshow’. Forgive me, but I have to stop and titter every time I hear it. Each time, I imagine Joseph Muscat and Edward Scicluna bursting out of a wagon, doing a bit of a juggling act with coins and purses and cheque books, round off with a couple of cartwheels, then bowing and driving on to the next village.
I’ve become a fan of these ‘roadshows’ and am following them avidly. You see, I love peeking at other people’s houses, and that’s what this is all about, isn’t it really? No one cares what the politician is saying, what matters is: what does the house tell us about this family hand-picked by the Prime Minister to drop by for a cup of tea?
Only there’s never tea, is there? There’s never someone stacking the dishwasher, there’s never someone fixing up a dinner, there’s never a school project under way on the table. There’s never a feel of politicians merely slotting into their lives: what with the cameras and all, everyone is way too prim and proper and excited and in awe.
Take the Naxxar family, which featured in the ‘roadshow’ last week. The Prime Minister sat on one side of the kitchen table and the rest of the family crowded and crammed on the other side.
You can see, that between them, the family, must have spent at least €700 on manicures, blow-dries, make-up, new outfits, a major spring clean and so on. (Oh wait, that’s probably the whole amount they would have pocketed this month thanks to the new Budget, but shh!).
No one cares what the politician is saying, what matters is: what does the house tell us about this family?
There was, however, a fruit bowl in the middle of the table full of lovely apples, although everyone was too polite to tuck in. Politicians be warned: if you ever came to my house to plug your stuff, I’d make you an espresso, but in return, you have to open stubborn jars for me.
In any case, my point this week is not the Budget, it’s the Maltese homes. Because this was the year of ‘Politicians in Our Kitchens’ – they’ve been at it since January – we got a sneak peek of quite a few houses.
From all this voyeurism I can conclude that our houses always have to have an all-important arkata somewhere; there has to be the tiles mal-faċċata; a thousand figorini all over the place; a pot with plastic flowers, and the television is always switched on even if no one is watching it.
Your typical Maltese house on the inside resembles the set of Ipokriti: a yellow wall here, a blue wall there, a black faux-leather sofa, the standard ‘oak’ ‘tal-Fitwell’ kitchen, black bedroom furniture and mirror wardrobes. And because there’s lots of terracotta tiles and lacey curtains and old farmer’s tools stuck on the wall, we love to describe it as ‘stil rustiku’.
We seem oblivious to other possible styles and tastes: retro? bohemian? shabby-chic? Blank stares. It’s either ‘rustic’ or ‘modern’. ‘Modern’ is pretty much the same as ‘rustic’, sans the old tools on the wall. One thing can be said: Maltese and minimalism do not really go hand in hand.
Possibly these days, houses feel more cluttered because they are shrinking. I love old Maltese houses. I once had a small house of character in Żebbuġ, with two internal courtyards.
The 90-year-old owner from whom I bought it had been brought up in the house and had told me that in the morning, his mother and his aunts would gather in the yard to do the washing, and in summer evenings it was were they all converged with chairs to talk about the day.
Why don’t we build like that anymore? Why do we keep pulling down old houses – cue the recent Naxxar village-core saga – only to build miniscule flats with no yard, no roof, and at times, not even a balcony. I tell you we’re going to go mad living all cooped up like that.
The problem is, of course, that although our space is getting smaller, we never throw anything away. The plus point of that is, I suppose, that should the Antiques Roadshow dare to come here again, we’d still keep ’em busy.
krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @KrisChetcuti