Let me start with Paul Borg Olivier’s holiday on Żaren Vassallo’s luxury yacht, which Mr Vassallo, no doubt, deserves to have as a result of his toil and resultant success. Whether he wishes to finance the Nationalist Party or the dog’s home, for that matter, is nobody’s business, it’s just his choice in a free country. But is Dr Borg Olivier really his friend, as the latter has declared? I wouldn’t think so.

I suppose everybody is entitled to have new friends as one moves forward and things develop. And friends of friends, of course (acknowledgements to Alfred Sant). The problem is that two or three years ago, another “friend” of Mr Vassallo – more likely to be a real friend, as opposed to Dr Borg Olivier, since Joe Saliba has the Mosta connection – also had a holiday on Mr Vassallo’s yacht, and good for him, and certainly nothing wrong at all. Yet, Mr Saliba’s holiday raised one hell of a hullabaloo. Why did Dr Borg Olivier repeat this unnecessarily? He could have had a holiday somewhere else. Perhaps it was a challenge to Labour?

When I was chairman of Posta Limited (now Maltapost), and that was many moons ago, I was accused by a minister at the time of being politically insensitive about entering into a deal to develop a new, state-of-the-art postal depot at Qormi. This project was one of the centre points of the Labour Party’s election campaign of 1996, which Labour won (albeit for a short sojourn). Now, this particular minister had been the one who pushed most to clinch this deal, Qormi being his electoral district and the new project due to generate some new employment. But when he felt the heat of the Labour campaign, he suddenly became “politically sensitive”. This minister has since moved on to higher ground.

My reply to his unwarranted comment was twofold: One, why are you suddenly getting the creeps when you urged me on and with haste? Two, I am not a politician but the chairman of a commercial entity, which I was entrusted to run on commercial lines. I got no answer to my reply to the stab in the back, which I have now become accustomed to receive from government ministers.

But, where is all this getting me? Dr Borg Olivier has been extremely “politically insensitive” in going on this trip following the reaction to that of his predecessor, whether the latter was right or wrong to do so. When will we learn?

The recent (and, fortunately, occasional) rescue of boat people off Malta has created a lot to think about. What with a Maltese and Libyan boat arriving to their rescue at more or less the same time, these poor people seem to have been sort of divided between one boat and the other, apparently separating members of the same family. Criteria? God knows.

Without going into international law or the surrounding legalities, I would think that it should be one boat or the other. The Prime Minister has said that an inquiry is unnecessary. I say that if there was ever the need for an inquiry or, at least, an explanation, then this is the case. We need to know why A went on the Libyan boat and B on the Maltese one. We must not forget that this is a matter not only of human rights but of humanity itself. As we say in Maltese: “Ma nfarfrux” (“let’s not shirk responsibility”). And, for goodness sake, let’s get the seven-month pregnant lady back to her husband in Malta. Is compassion still running around?

But now I need to salute a very special friend one month after his demise tomorrow. George Micallef, known to us as Ġorġ il-Gass, was very special to me, having “adopted” me as a boy at Neptunes pitch some 30 to 35 years ago at least, and even before. He was also a mentor to me. When he said “isma’ minni”, I knew a good bit of advice was coming (and this went on until I was well into my 20s and even when we met in recent years).

Gass was perfect at pranks. We would play football in the Balluta square (which at home we called “under the trees”). I was definitely the youngest participant (aged about eight) but I owned the ball! Gass would take up the goal post, which was a bench at the end of the square, and would then slip off to Nena, the stationer, to ring the police and report us. That was his sense of humour. It was second to none.

I could write a book about him. This is just one incident out of hundreds. At Neptunes he organised the fortnightly (I believe) dances – first The Boys and then a disco – and as a group of avid young boys we would help him (together with a boisterous Jimmy Platz, also departed) to decorate the pitch with streamers and silver remnants of milk bottle caps. Then I went on to work with him for a couple of summers on a pleasure boat to Comino, together with Pawl Profs Carbonaro”. A tremendous experience; those who know us can imagine! There is too much to write in the space I have. I would never end.

Gass, till we meet again!