[attach id=257592 size="medium"]If you’re a man reading this and you want to impress your lady, get a dog, don the man-pinny, bring out the Jamie Oliver cookbook, scrub clean that kitchen surface, and keep calm all along.[/attach]

My grandmother must be Simon Busuttil’s number one fan. I don’t mean now that he’s been elected party leader – although obviously she’s extremely delighted – but she’s been his keen follower since his very first appearance on TV sometime at the turn of the millennium.

Deep down in her heart, I know, she thinks of him like some sort of an on-screen grandchild – and it’s the reason why she has not yet quite forgiven me for voting for Arnold Cassola at the EP elections.

So when Xarabank had a programme on the new PN leader, I thought she’d be constantly on the phone, going over his every single nuance. As it were, she wasn’t – but all my girlfriends were.

Gfs: “Are you watching it?”

Me: “No.” (was happily reading Machiavelli for Parents – more on that another time)

Gfs: “You have to!” (in gooey, gushy tones)

Finally our politicians’ lives are reflecting the different paths of our modern society

Now my girlfriends are definitely not news junkies, and even when pressed to pick their favourite PN leader contender they thought Mario de Marco “had the oomph” and Ray Bugeja was “kind of cute”.

So that Friday, I raised my suspicious eyebrow. What’s up? Did Busuttil just make some Earth-shattering policy announcement? Not really, I was told, it’s not that kind of programme.

Then my sister (aka patron saint of animals) called too, giggling:

“I recognise him now! Everyday as I’m driving to work, I always notice this man wearing a cap, jogging with the dog trying to catch up. I always feel she’d rather be chewing on a bone than doing all that running about. But now I’ve put my mind at rest that she’s a happy coddled dog!”

Bit by bit, I pieced the salient parts of the programme: Simon cooks complex chicken dishes; he cleans the kitchen after he cooks; he prepares packed lunches; he cleans the kitchen after he cooks; he helps his son with his homework and is very calm; he cleans the kitchen after he cooks; he does the shopping and chats politely to the grocer lady; he cleans the kitchen after he cooks; he calls out to his dog the minute he sets foot home and in turn it gives him dewy-eyed looks like he’s her hero.

My friends are absolutely certain, based on what they saw, that the new PN leader irons his own shirts; cleans up the beer glasses when his mates come over; replaces light bulbs when they’re off; and would be able to whip up a dinner for six at a short notice, and they were besotted.

Hmm. Could it be that he earned himself five votes back mostly for sticking to the old chef’s adage – clean as you go along? By the next day, I was feeling so out of the conversation loop that I looked up the streamed programme.

It occurred to me, while watching it, that this was a very accurate portrayal of the life of a single parent. Which, this being Malta where we usually like our politicians to have a wife and 2.2 kids, is quite unusual to watch. (Alfred Sant was a single parent, but back then, the media was more conservative).

Most of the time, the only single parents that make it to the spotlight are those living on benefits. The truth is that there are several of us who actually hold down a job, pay taxes and in general get on with life, which is admittedly a tad different.

When you’re single, it’s OK if you have an empty fridge, when you’re married, you can tell your partner to fill up the fridge, but as a single parent you are the only boss of the household: you must fill the fridge yourself.

House engineering – the Aussie word for housework, maintenance and parenting – has to be juggled by one person in single-parentdom, but the upside is that there are no bartering, compromises, nagging or disgruntlement that comes with a household run in tandem. And the efficiency that comes with that is possibly what impressed my coupled-up girlfriends.

It’s certainly very healthy that finally our politicians’ lives are reflecting the different paths of our modern society. We also have a Prime Minister with very young children, deputy leaders who are married with kids, and a deputy who is a grandfather. This variety in statuses can only augur to a better understanding of human conditions.

But mostly, let this be a lesson for men, on what women want. If you’re a man reading this and you want to impress your lady, get a dog, don the man-pinny, bring out the Jamie Oliver cookbook, scrub clean that kitchen surface, and keep calm all along. It works.

“Halfway through Xarabank I realised I was in love,” said a friend, who was, err, watching it with her boyfriend.

My granny was, of course, having none of this romantic tosh. She was only worried about Simon’s late dining habits: “Now if you see him when you’re out reporting, tell him it’s not good for the digestive system.”

krischetcuti@gmail.com