My previous blog has been up long enough and my Beck column has added to its already perfectly adequate clarity and Pullicino Orlando has done nothing about it. He is therefore happy to be perceived as someone who lies – in this case he said a lie about someone as insignificant as me, in other cases, well, it's up to him and what passes for his conscience whether he said lies or not.
No doubt I'll be forgiven for having my own take on that.
And so we move into the silly season, the long, hot days when the pace of life subordinates itself to the beating sun and the burning desire to do nothing. The less torpid (is that what describes someone who shows torpor?) amongst us head to the beach and then get hot and sweaty trudging back home, the less energetic seek shade and make like cats, those most sensible of creatures, who have radar that finds the warm places in winter and the cool(ish) places in the current misbegotten season.
Joseph Muscat, I see from Saturday's Times, seems to have got himself a dose of the silliness that marks the time of year. According to the aspirant for Malta's Youngest Premier Medal (though it seems that's not actually going to be the case) the Minister of Finance is an amateur and he keeps getting things wrong. I don't suppose he means "amateur" in the classic sense, because last time I looked, Mr Fenech was in receipt of a salary, presumably he's using it in the Maltese sense of "dilettant", pejoratively.
Far be it from me to quarrel with Dr Muscat's handle on the way the country is being run, my only qualification is an A-level in Economics which is ancient, and he has a Ph.D. (in?) but from where I'm sitting, our nose is above the water, unlike the proboscis of many of our Mediterranean cousins.
Muscat will no doubt say that this is more by luck than by judgement, and that's as may be, but the fact remains that we're surviving, which quite frankly is not a bad thing, especially when you consider that the alternatives that Labour is proposing are nothing more than a spiffy-looking but fundamentally empty bunch of promises which will, Lord help up, be brought home by the people he has around him, who don't even seem capable to put together an electoral manifesto, let alone actual policies.