One of the most irritating phenomena small communities have to endure is the (un)pleasantly accented sound of a returned emigrant's voice telling us poor country-bumpkins how to do things because back in the States/Melbourne/Canada (delete as applicable) we do it this way or that way or whichever way from Sunday.

Sometimes, the emigrant has only returned for a holiday, when you tend to come across him or her (generally him) holding court at some "Family Restaurant" where the whole extended family has repaired to meet Johnny from Ustralyer or wherever. Sometimes, the table is graced by a brace or so of second-generation emigrants, whose accent grates even more than their parents' and who tend to bask in the admiration of their cousins, who are clearly dazzled by their cosmopolitan relatives.

On other occasions, the return is more permanent, so the returnee spends his time bitchin' and moanin' about how you just can't get anything done properly in Malta, how these things don't happen in Ontario or Adelaide or Twin Creeks and so on and so forth.

If our hero is feeling particularly witty, he will intone "only in Malta.com" in a voice dripping with ennui.

This rant was brought on by the report on various intellectuals' opinions on the Piano project last Wednesday. Well, two intellectuals and an environmentalist candidate for beatification, anyway. The snag is, I was a bit mis-directed by a journalistic error that attributed certain comments to Mr Mario Philip Azzopardi, an "international film director", who is in fact blameless. Perhaps it was because the expat MPA had stuck his oar in on the opera house debate before that he was fingered mistakenly.

In fact, it was the local version of the Mario of the Azzopardi clan who was supposed to have been reported to have said that "perhaps, Malta was getting what it deserved because the Maltese tended to have a particular appetite for fetch-and-carry solutions", not the other one. Leaving aside the incomprehensible nature of the last phrase in the learned one's dictum, am I the only one who finds his attitude insufferably patronising?

What are we supposed to do, prostrate ourselves in awe at the magnitude of his genius, begging for a few more pearls of wisdom to drop from his lips?

While we're about it, we can tug our peasant-like forelocks in the general direction of the priest philosopher, Fr Peter Serracino Inglott, who has concluded "that arguments to rationalise the project were rubbish (his word, not mine) and risked ruining the reputation of Mr Piano".

Again, am I the only to detect a note of intellectual snobbishness that borders on the insufferably patronising? I'm sure that Mr Renzo Piano yields to no man in his respect for the philosopher priest's inter-cranial capacities and that he (Piano) has taken to his bed in a blind funk now that it has become clear that a stellar career is about to come crashing down because 128 luvvies and assorted theatre folk want a roof over their heads and there's an end to it.

Sometimes I wonder why the Prime Minister doesn't just shrug and cancel the whole thing - clean up the ruin, stick a plaque on it commemorating the war dead and leave the neo-Fascist City Gate in place, so the intellectuals can enjoy themselves looking at it.

Parliament can fend for itself too and, anyway, if it was moved to Freedom Square (revolting name) the assorted shrieking harridans who trundle themselves into the City built for Gentlemen by what's its face as soon as they're summoned to chant "Gonzi Assassin" and other choice anthems of the 1970s and 1980s wouldn't have anywhere to go, would they?

Actually, that in itself is a darn fine reason for moving Parliament out towards the bus terminus. I'm all for going back to 1984 and all that but the sights and sounds to which we were subjected last Monday were not the stuff of which delicious nostalgia is made, and no mistake. I wonder what the Leader of the Opposition's public affairs adviser felt about her work being washed down the toilet.

While on the subject of 1984, I'm sure Mr George Orwell is proud of his worthy successors at Super One, who after quite blatantly, unabashedly and unequivocally harassing Mrs Daphne Caruana Galizia and her sister last week in Republic Street, Valletta, promptly scurried to the cops 'cusing the two of harassing them because a handbag was put in front of a lens and a pointed question asked of them.

With such standards of make-believe in evidence, the Institute of Maltese Journalists should mint a special award for Super One: they can ask the Commissioner of Police to present it, since the police appear to have become quite the heroes of a certain genre of journalist.

I'll close this week by saluting two hostelries in Gozo for providing us with an extremely enjoyable Friday evening. We kicked off at Maldonado with some wholesome food and really good music (the male half of that excellent duo Chasing Pandora and a drummer) and then we scooted off to DVenue for more really good live music and sustenance, which was nice.

An honourable mention to anyone who can identify the allusion in the last part of the preceding sentence.

imbocca@gmail.com

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