Sunday
Despite depressingly negative reactions so far, today, with my chief canvasser, I embark on another round of home visits in my district.
Maltese politics is probably... no, certainly the one most important topic in the civilised world today
An even more disheartening morning: Today I encounter: (1) A born-again Mintoffian and am lucky to escape with my dignity and my jaw intact; (2) A 19-year-old anarchist who wants to blow up the new parliament building (don’t we all), ... and (3) A Somali illegal immigrant, who informs me that he’s just waiting for a few more like-minded countrymen to get here, before they declare Malta an Islamic state and impose Sharia law.
Suddenly emigration is looking a rather attractive prospect.
Monday
With the parliamentary recess imminent, the freebie foreign trips for ministries are being doled out.
My minister has already bagged a 15-day ‘fact-finding’ freebie to assess the tourism practices of Goa and the Maldives. Which means he’s left me and his parliamentary assistant to choose between a 10-day tour of battery recycling plants in Uzbekistan or a week-long trip to a cryogenics unit in Pontypridd, Wales.
When... if we get back into power, I shall insist on being given a ministry... otherwise I may well do a Franco... so there!
Tuesday
My London-based cousin Angelo is visiting on holiday. Today I try explaining to him the current political situation here in Malta.
After my 90-minute account, he snorts: “It’s parish pump stuff, isn’t it – and about as important and interesting as who won the pub quiz last night.” How dare he! Maltese politics is probably... no, certainly the one most important topic in the civilised world today. True!
Wednesday
Manage to escape from the ministry for a few hours into the warm embrace of Ludmilla. And – while there’s no doubting the benefits of having a compliant mistress – she is definitely becoming somewhat high maintenance.
Today, after shelling out yet another €500 in ‘expenses’ I subtly suggest that it really is time she got herself a job here. She replies sweetly that since Ukraine isn’t in the EU yet, she’ll need a work permit. And she doesn’t think she’ll get one, since her only valid credentials are horizontal ones.
Yes, right... think again.
Thursday
Morning: My minister despatches me to the Marsa Club, where I am required to ‘tee-off’ an international golf tournament there.
I am already pretty teed-off after my fascinating 40-minute speech is yawned through by most of those present.
After this I am asked to hit a minute white ball, perched on what looks like a toothpick with a lump of wood attached to the end of a long thin pole. After 21 tries, all I manage to hit are lumps of turf and a female member who was standing too close. Bloody silly game.
Friday
Prize day at my old school, where I am to speak and hand out the prizes.
Afterwards, over tea and cup-cakes, the headmaster asks me: “Have you made any plans for after the next election? I mean, it’s quite obvious you won’t make it back. A word of advice; stick to the law. After your speech today it’s obvious you’re not cut out for either teaching or lecturing.”
Swine! I always said he was a pinko!
Saturday
At yet another of those ghastly ‘family days’ – this one at Ta’Qali – I meet up with a casually attired PM and his entourage. At first he seems not to know who I am, but when I playfully jog his memory, he says: “Oh right, the slick one.” And yes, he did say slick, not thick... as the opposition gutter media insist.
I take the opportunity to assure him of my undying support and add: “In the unlikely event that we get returned to power and you decide you don’t want to give me the ministry I deserve... what are the chances of me taking over from RCC on a permanent basis?”
He just smiles and walks on. A good sign or...