Malta has more chance of winning the Eurovision Song Contest than you have of getting back into Parliament

With the political situation stabilised... sort of... at least for the next few days, I can concentrate on my domestic woes.

Having filed for divorce from my shrewish wife, I have moved in with my Ukrainian, erm... friend Ludmilla. Trouble is, I didn’t realise I’m not the only manin her life, there are others... lots and lotsof others.

And frankly, after just a few weeks I’m getting sick of having to sleep on the settee, four nights out of seven. Plus at other times having to evacuate the flat for hours on end.

It means I’m getting well known in the bars around Port Tomasso, which mayor may not be a good thing for anaspiring politician.

Monday

The one downside of dumping my child-obsessed wife is the fact that she is denying me access to my two daughters.

Despite letters from my divorce lawyer, my cousin Natalie, Angelika refuses to allow me anywhere near them, citing probable “mental and physical contamination” as her reason.

I’m sure she can’t do this, but other than kidnapping my own children, I’m at a loss as to what to do. Maybe I can ask Daphne to write something in her blog to diss the vindictive cow... Angelika I mean – not Daphne.

Tuesday

While taking a coffee outside Cordina’s this morning I am approached by – horror of horrors – the ghastly Franco. He joins me at my table and orders a cappuccino, as if nothing were amiss.

Obviously I can’t have this. So, with a toss of my head... I get up and say I need to take a leak... then scarper.

The nerve of the fellow. I just hope nobody that matters saw us.

Wednesday

Morning: To St James to take coffee with a much more congenial companion. Bertie Bonnicci Miller was in my year at Law School and is now a high-flying lawyer with the EU in Brussels.

I confide that I’m uncertain whether I’ll get re-elected at the next election. Bertie replies: “From what I’ve read, my friend, Malta has more chance of winning the Eurovision Song Contest than you have of getting back into Parliament.”

Hey, thanks for that. But at least he promises to try and find me a nice little Brussels sinecure... which was the whole point of this lunch anyway.

Thursday

This morning a very unwelcome guest visits me in my office at the ministry. My soon-to-be ex mother-in-law barges past security and my secretary to confront me across my desk. She snarls: “So you’re running away from your responsibilities and – I can hardly bring myself to say the word... divorcing my daughter, are you?”

I remain calm – on the outside – and reply: “I’m a very busy man, do you have an appointment?” Then, as two security guards carry her out, she yells: “Don’t worry useless! We’re going to counter-sue you for every penny you’ve got... and then some!”

I really don’t think I like that woman.

Friday

As if I didn’t have enough problems, today I find an e-mail on my iPhone from Tonio informing me that we – that is, all MPs – are soon to be subject to scrutiny from a ‘morality’ watchdog.

Morality watchdog? Oh purleez! My morals are of the unimpeachable sort. Of course they are... At least they are of the unimpeachable sort that we parliamentarians are familiar with; and these days I’ve even got a mistress to prove it.

Saturday

To Gozo for the conference of that branch of the party’s youth movement. The morning session is held at the Astra, while after lunch we’ll be in the Aurora down the road. This is apparently necessary because of local – not party – politics.

I’m due to make the keynote speech in the afternoon session – and, as I am leaving the Astra to go to lunch, one of their committee members sidles up to me and says: “So you’re with... them are you!” He elaborates: “Them... down the hill.” And he spits copiously on the pavement.

I protest that I don’t take sides, but he shoots back: “You already did.”

And now they’ve even seen fit to pillory me on Facebook, with my face superimposed on the body of a clown. Well at least it wasn’t Gaddafi... whoops!