So, according to a turncoat who is “deeply involved” in Labour’s organisation, Yana Mintoff Bland is to contest the elections on behalf of, well, wait for it, the Labour Party.

So far, we only have Cyrus Engerer’s word for that, and we all know what that is worth.  A few weeks before he decided that his true home was within Labour’s ranks, he had given the impression that he was swearing undying fealty to GonziPN, so I think I’ll be forgiven for wondering whether a bucket of warm spit is worth more than his word.   Perhaps we’re going to get another Grace Borg, as soon as the comment-storm this particular candidature has kicked up gets noticed.

Honestly, just as Dom Mintoff fades from the scene, allowing Labour to get some respite from the horrors his memory evokes in the hearts and minds of those who had started to forget the Seventies and Eighties, along comes this specimen, with her woolly hat and woollier ideas, to serve as a peg on which to hang a myriad of reasons to say that Labour sure hasn’t changed since the initials were MLP rather than PL and they weren’t shy to have the flaming torch as part of their emblem.   In the wake of the announcement that Debono Grech is to contest as well, this is rich.

The Mintoff years, for all Labour’s revisionist history, were years of horrendous denial of basic rights and violence, both moral and physical.   Yana Mintoff Bland was nowhere to be seen in those days, daddy having made sure that his nearest and dearest were well shielded from the trials and tribulations the rest of us suffered on a daily basis, but her condescending faux-Socialist attitude and air of superiority came out very clearly when she addressed the Labour General Conference recently.

Can you imagine the derision that would have been poured over anyone who dared speak in her curious accent and mish-mash of Maltese in her father’s day?  She’d have been pilloried and ridiculed, at best.

This woman knows nothing of our country’s past and she knows even less of its present: she is obviously there simply to keep the warm glow of Mintoffian memories kindled in the hearts of Labour’s core.  I suspect Labour will live to regret trundling out another Mintoff for our amusement, because the name Mintoff is anything but amusing.