Isuppose everyone and her sister is talking about the Cabinet reshuffle that the PM carried out last week, after John Dalli's resignation to take up his EU post.

I wrote "I suppose" because, frankly, I didn't bother to check out the commentariat's outpourings and the only social intercourse I had on Wednesday was at a rather pleasant tea-time do to celebrate St Paul's, where the conversation wasn't really focused on who would be sitting where at Castille.

I am morally convinced (remember him?) that most of the published comments either ranted on about how weak Lawrence Gonzi is and how this is yet another sign of a government that is about to collapse or made silly remarks about how you don't change a winning team and such like guff.

To be sure, the moves that were made weren't actually so bad: one that caught my eye, for instance, was the serious vote of confidence in Dolores Cristina, who got re-lumbered with not exactly the most exciting, but certainly one of the most important departments, Social Security, along with her already pretty large portfolio.

There were some other moves but really it was a question of continuing to keep it lean. It is clear that the newbies are to remain confined to the (very slightly) lower rank of parliamentary secretary, which is perfectly reasonable, when you think about it. It is equally clear, for all the chuntering and posturing, that the PM has decided that there are limits on the number of ministerial and quasi-ministerial posts and there's an end to it.

I have this suspicion that aforesaid chuntering and posturing was more in the minds of the hopeful than real.

All the motives and intentions attributed to every cough and sneeze perpetrated by this backbencher or that might have been more in the order of works of fiction confected by agenda-driven commentators.

Because, really, are we to believe that the allegedly malcontent backbenchers are so full of themselves that they really think the PM will bend to their every whim? Surely not, these are grown men we're talking about here, with successful and fulfilling lives and careers of their own and, while achieving office is one of the main aspirations of all politicians, they're not about to grant Labour's wish for them.

They have a duty to keep the government honest, to be sure, but come on, people, they're not about to bring said government down; they're not megalomaniacs quarrelling about yacht marinas with an inept PM.

In the meantime, Labour has been having its own little shuffle, with the Kings and Queens, Knaves and Numbers and Jokers and Aces being slotted here there and thither at the pleasure of the Leader.

Now I don't want this to be taken the wrong way, I count Dr Lydia Abela, who is surely not one of the Jokers, as a friend and respected colleague and opponent, with whom it is always a pleasure to cross swords in my real life, and she is a good professional who will be an asset to the Labour Party.

But, really, did her appointment have to be accompanied with such a patronising introduction? I mean, she's a young, professional woman who happens to be married. The fact that she has a career along with being part of a (very small) family is really no achievement at all: you might as well be told that her husband, also a young, professional man who happens to be married (duh) deserves special mention for managing to do that little thing.

If Labour think they're being Progressive and Modern and Inclusive and Apple Pie and Mommy by making such naff remarks, someone needs to tell them we've gone a bit beyond anyone being surprised that women actually go out to work.

I can't bring this week's effort at annoying everyone to a close without remarking that we probably won't be going to the Nadur carnival this year. I don't want to risk some flat-footed copper thinking that I might have considered having impure thoughts about dressing up like the Rector Magnificus and arresting me preventively in order to please the Bishop of Gozo.

Seriously, the whole thing about the Nadur carnival was its macabre spontaneity and this heavy-handedness is going to kill it. I'm starting to get annoyed with all this mind-control, it's almost as if Dom Mintoff were back at the helm.

A closing recommendation for you: go to It-Tirx in Tarxien and try their DOC wine. It is seriously good stuff and three bottles between four of us, with a few lethal acquavitae afterwards, didn't even produce a hangover. Their nosh ain't bad either.

Sorry if my deathless prose was a bit jerky this week, incidentally, but I'm switching between the ManU - Villa and the Chelsea - Everton games. Nani has just been sent off, which is nice.

imbocca@gmail.com, www.timesofmalta.com/blogs