On the dawn of Monday, I thought we'd had our fill of the hagiographic idolising of the late Dom Mintoff, but lo and behold, we had yet another dose of pretty odd folk telling us all about their memories of the man.

One that caused remark was that Polish woman, who told us Mintoff could be sensitive, because he had mumbled something about being sorry her tree had died (wow, my lip trembled and my eyes watered) although in an earlier paragraph he had let her know that she was fat and couldn't get fatter. Such sensitivity, such consideration for human feelings.

This was the tenor of most of the reminiscences I chanced on - according to most of them, Mintoff was a bullying oik who used to get his way by shouting, insulting and generally intimidating, which is a peculiar concoction with which to gain the undying adulation of the populace at large. According to some commenters on this blog, the outpouring of grief and admiration for the man is evidence of the nation as a whole's love for him, ergo of the fact that he was generally a good bloke who did us nothing but good.

I beg to differ, for many reasons but today I'm mentioning only this. From the manner in which most people seem to recall the man, his main characteristic was loutish boorishness or boorish loutishness, doesn't matter which way you slice it, but because he fondled them behind the ears in the condescending manner of an ill-treater of dogs, they fawn on him, presumably in gratitude that he stopped berating them or worse.

So they love him.

We got a truer picture from the foreign press, and some local sources, and when you see the reaction towards this side of the picture being spewed out, you get an even truer picture of the type of person who loved Mintoff, generally the type who resort to invective and threat towards anyone who doesn't toe the line.

With admirers like these, the feet of clay are starkly defined.