When I was I. M. Beck, I was accused of being a running dog lackey of the Nationalist Party, then in government. Variously, luminaries such as Maria l-Maws, a writer in KullĦadd, a Labour-owned semi-tabloid, rumoured to be none other than our esteemed Minister of Education, had me down as an appointee to so many positions of importance that I would have needed more heads than a hydra to wear all the hats.

Needless to say, nothing was further from the truth. I was not made a magistrate, or PN secretary-general or, most amusingly, “something in the Freeport”. So Maria l-Maws was left with egg on her/his face, an adornment with which Evarist Bartolo is not unfamiliar.

One gets used to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune being directed one’s way, of course, and, virtually on a yearly basis, people I’d annoyed, generally but not always hailing from the so-called Left, would table a parliamentary question asking how much I’d have earned from delivering professional services to some government entity or other. Precisely why this was of interest to anyone is beyond me, though I have to confess to some idle curiosity as to the compensation others earn, being as I’m only human.

But it wasn’t idle curiosity that prompted the questions in the House, I’m morally convinced. One can only surmise but what seems to have motivated the honourable questioners could have been a desire to portray me as – wait for it – a running dog lackey of the PN.

Cheap shot, you might think, to which I’d respond with the classic: “You might say so but I certainly mustn’t comment.”

You might ask what brought this on, to which I’d answer it certainly isn’t the fact that the Pullicino Orlando fellow was one of the people who’d pulled the little stunt when he was an honourable member and it isn’t the fact that he’s carrying on the trend even now, in a different context.

No buyer of a Maltese passport is going to do anything more than pay the price and carry on with his life

No, it’s just that the Prime Minister saw fit to blurt out, during his impassioned defence of his scheme to monetise my citizenship, that the PN is “run by bloggers”.

A quick review of the blogosphere will probably lead you to the opinion that yours truly, who has been blogging in this estimable paper (virtual paper, technically) for years, cannot but be one of the bloggers who Joseph Muscat thinks runs the PN, since he used the plural and there aren’t that many of us, now are there? His position on this is not a million miles from the sort of rubbish that used to get chucked my way in the recent past, hence my choice of subject this week.

Let me spell things out in words that are easy to understand by anyone with even the meanest intelligence, let alone by someone with multiple degrees like our Prime Minister.

First point, relating to the pre-election era: I never received direction or took orders or was told what to write by any official, MP, policymaker or other functionary of the blinking PN. To say that this was the case is a downright lie, whoever it is said by. Is that sufficiently clear?

Second point, relating to the post-election era: I am not involved in, directly or indirectly, or even have the remotest interest in being involved in, the direction of the PN and, again, to say that this is the case is a downright lie, whoever it is said by. Again, is that sufficiently clear?

What is it about being critical of the Labour Party, in Opposition or in government, that makes people attribute some form of ulterior motive to the criticism?

The citizenship for cash scheme dreamt up by Muscat and rushed through Parliament with unseemly haste is wrong, it is cheap and tawdry and embarrassing. It has met with almost universal negative criticism, except for the assorted little Labour weasels and the various bloggers and columnists who are besotted with Labour.

If you think I’m over-egging the besottedness (is that a word?), I can only invite you to have a read of them for yourself, if you can bear it. At this rate, they’re going to start believing that Josè Herrera’s idea of culture (an U-17 footy tournament, for Heaven’s sake) is a valid one and telling us that we have to give him a chance.

In the wider world, in the meantime, the only people who stuck up for Muscat in the European Parliament were adherents to political philosophies in whose company he shouldn’t contemplate being seen even dead, much less alive and kicking.

I mean, honestly, UKIP of all parties! If I were Muscat I’d stop the sale of citizenship in its tracks just for that, though I’m not holding my breath waiting for him to shift his position, unless expediency raises its head, this being the only reason he’d do it.

So, dear Prime Minister, if you’ll forgive me the touch of lèse-majesté in addressing you directly, I am proud to have stood up to be counted among those who oppose your horrid little scheme publicly, alongside the Maltese MEPs who were undaunted by your supporters’ concerted attack on their integrity and patriotism.

It is not unpatriotic, whatever your little weasels spout, to be against something your government has done because the government is not the country, despite your craven attempts to emulate your hero Dom Mintoff’s post-colonial posturing back in the 1970s and 1980s.

While on the subject of selling Malta by the pound (anyone get the rock reference?) how is it not newsworthy to try to get a mug shot of the first – or one of the first anyway – buyers when it is the government itself that is boasting about how Jacques Villeneuve is interested in becoming Maltese? Is it only news if it comes from official quarters but top secret and meritorious of inquiry and insult and vilification if it comes from investigation or tip-offs?

Or is it the case that if the potential buyer is a Chinese oligarch, he’s entitled to anonymity and special treatment, while others are OK to use as examples of how we’re going to attract talent to these shores?

Perhaps Villeneuve is going to establish a Grand Prix school here as part of his ‘investment’ in our country in the hope that the horrendous driving standards we espouse might raise themselves to levels that are at least equal to the chaos of Istanbul or Cairo.

No, probably he’s not, just as no buyer of a Maltese passport is going to do anything more than pay the price and carry on with his life, having the tiniest of minimal contact with the country that was stupid enough to prostitute itself.

I was invited to lunch last week at Scoglitti, on the Valletta seafront, Sliema side, down near the ferry quay. It was spoilt, but only minimally, by the fact that I was in the company of a dyed-in-the-wool Milan supporter (he told me to say that, we didn’t talk about football) but the food was really very good.

The only little niggle I have is with the speed of service, which was about as fast as the goals that came against Chelsea when they played Man U last Sunday (that is to say, not at all) but it was Friday and no-one was in a hurry, really.

From what I could see, you need to book because the place was pretty packed and I could see, and taste, why.

imbocca@gmail.com

www.timesofmalta.com/articles/author/20