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I do hope that if the elections do take place at the end of October and November, I will keep my word, deposit my vote with my budgerigar, and skip over to mainland Sicily.
I am looking forward to settling in that old railway station cum restaurant on the old Roman road to Gangi. There I will dive into their antipasti of nature’s delight and devour their homemade pasta with fresh porcini from the wet meadows, followed by some local tripe with red peppers accompanied by some very dry Sicilian white wine.
It will cost half what I pay in a very good St Julian’s restaurant, and instead of looking out at cement blocks I will be looking up at Holm oak forests, rolling hills and idyllic green and brown pastures.
When I return I should not expect much of a change.
Approaching the island, the white bastions of modern housing and flats will still greet me. Caqnu will still be a hero, as will be the Zaren Vassallos and the Penzas of this world.
The sea passage will not carry the scent of Maltese wildflowers but of the processed food from the fish farms, and over Maltese towns and villages the distinct layer of smog will hang like a black curtain, the fruits of Enemalta’s successful energy policy.
Arriving by ferry, the honking of horns – not the peel of the church bells – will be heard. It will take some time before I realise who the victor and vanquished are .
The best way of finding out would be to tune in on to Radio 101, to hear the voice of my very great friend and admirer John Zammit traditionally always roped in on such unforgettable occasions. The Louis Galea acolyte and who strangely enough, was once also an Alternattiva Demokratika member back in its days of infancy.
I am sure that his booming voice will reveal whether the election has had a blue or red outcome.
If the PN is re-elected, secretary general Joe Saliba will have good reason to turn round to his minions and ask them to erect a statue of himself, preferably next to the abominable petrol station on the way to Rabat. When they ask him, who will build the statue? he will inevitably answer, “Zaren of course”.
The words at the foot of the statue will read: “from stonemason to control-freak, to champion of the Nationalist party”.
Lawrence Gonzi will be asking himself what does one do when you are government for quarter of a century. Robert Arrigo, having swept Sliema with a landslide victory, will be all smiles, conscious of the fact that he got elected not thanks to his vision but his talent to woo voters in the traditional Latin method. Giovanna Debono, also very content with herself, will have proved beyond any doubt that Gozitan fiefdom politics is the best policy.
Louis Galea, now only contesting from Qormi and Siggiewi, will be re-elected and appointed minister once again and settle for some Serracino Inglott induced reports about how to talk, talk and never get things done. And fresh-faced David Agius, also re-elected, will be appointed junior minister for the useless, pubescent and pimply portfolio of youth.
For so many long-suffering political appointees, the PN victory will be their consolation.
If on the other hand Zammit’s voice sounds more like a cackling Jackdaw, then it would mean that the MLP has won.
Notary and businessman Charles Mangion will be waving adieu to all his rich clients and simply asking them to simply use his services through his offices run by his partners. Business is business, you see, and politics… well, politics.
Looking to the future as an architect and entrepreneur Charles Buhagiar “il-Perit” will look to his ministerial responsibility for roads with some gusto. And so will Carmelo Penza I guess.
Alfred Sant will have a good look round him and ask, now where are my men? And Labourites will be claiming their pound of flesh for having been left out in the cold for so long.
Stefan Buontempo will expect the ministry responsible for housing, but then Alfred Sant is kind enough to appreciate the limitations of some his foot soldiers. The good looking and fashion conscious New Labour man, Chris Cardona, will be looking for a post; so will Josè Herrera, or will it be Micallef Stafrace, or – you never know – the popular Toni Abela?
The ministry of magic – the finance ministry – will definitely have to go to the new Prime Minister who will need more than voodoo to help him implement a political programme that says a lot, then says nothing, costs little and then anything.
The inauguration day for the PM will be dedicated to open promises: hand on heart declarations that Malta will be a better place. Daphne Caruana Galizia will not fire off at Alfred Sant and ask him why he did not kiss the crucifix, but rather ask whether the fact that she no longer comments about him or Labour will make her more endearing.
Indeed the only thing that will bring me back home is my desire to report the election result and the faces of people.
As I drink that homemade grappa at the end of a pleasant meal in that little railway station, my head will be swirling. Not from the alcohol, but from the nauseating feeling that nothing will really ever change.
Even Where’s Everybody will be there to stay, seeking means of how to build bridges with the Labour party. The head of delegation at the EU will meet the new foreign minister. My guess is that it would be a Leo Brincat. Who else? Definitely not gel-drenched Silvio Parnis or po-faced Joe Cuschieri.
Chairmen, board members and political appointees will resign and wait for their consolation cheque – guaranteed kindly by their former masters through parachute clauses. And waiting to take their place, we will encounter a new breed of chairmen.
Just wait for it: could it be Joe Borg as chairman of the resources authority; Martin Debono as MEPA chairman; or Lorna Vassallo as chairman of the housing authority?
As ambassador to France, the eloquent and suave Frans Sammut; as chairman of PBS, we will have the able Joe Mizzi who would have lost his seat; and replacing Richard Cachia Caruana as permanent rep in Brussels, the ever ambitious MEP Joseph Muscat.
And for President? Well, I guess it has got to be George Vella.
I’m so looking forward to that grappa on the road to Gangi.
You would have thought that after thousands of years, the inhabitants of these islands would have valued their most precious resource – land.
Land, unlike birds, bees, illness, envy and love, can never be exhumed and reconstituted once destroyed. Balluta Bay, the valley at Santa Marija, Tigné point, the hotel at San Lawrenz, the Excelsior hotel, and the sprawling ugliness of our villages from Xghajra to Swieqi, to Victoria to Qala, have taken over precious acres of land that will never hold green pastures again.
There is a craze to develop everything.
That we have a glut in property remains a fact that cannot be denied. But it has not led any government or political party to declare that the solution is to be found in the simple application of the rule found in all western countries.
That rule is simple: every home, occupied or vacant, must have a habitation tax. It works to stabilise prices, to raise money for councils and more importantly to slow down speculation.
If there was ever an administration that confirmed its intent in destroying the countryside, then look no further. To continue blaming someone else for this absolute anarchy and cancerous development is futile. All our politicians with the singular exception of one or two individuals, consider the preservation of land as a minor consideration.
Every business ends up branching into speculation. Every notary and lawyer will tell you that it is the easiest way to make undeclared profits. Building flats and apartments is not the best kind of business you can waste your good time in. It is soulless but profitable. Damn right it is.
The recent outburst, albeit about property prices, from one of the Church’s diocesan commissions, has led the GRTU to hit out at the commission. I too have had qualms about the Church stance on environmental issues. But in recent years the Church has started to distance itself from its past mistakes.
Because for the GRTU to listen to the likes of Sandro Chetcuti, now that is surely not understandable. I first met this building speculator at Dom Mintoff’s Tarxien home, posing as a Labourite in Mintoff’s anti-European faction, Front Maltin Inqumu. Next thing he was showing off his red Ferrari and then appearing in all kinds of TV programmes including an undercover agent in Eileen Montesin’s becky.
Now he has landed at the GRTU, representing that section of people interested in taking land to screw it up to make bags of money. So far so good!
But to hit out at the Church on this point is futile. The GRTU talks about building affordable units for young couples. And that is when it starts getting all dodgy. The GRTU should work to forge a good business climate for its members and stop acting like a political party.
The Church should voice its opinion and direction about its flock. And the State should be acting in the interest of its citizens, not bloody-minded speculators who couldn’t give a toss if Buskett became a Disney theme park or Ta’ Lambert turned into some aerodrome.
To get to grips with the quality of our television, one should have watched Malta’s most favourite TV host Alfred Zammit on One TV, blunder his way memorably when introducing a play by Agatha Christie.
He was supposed to say that the play was called “Alibi”, but he somehow thought it was “Aliba”. As he was being corrected by a gesticulating floor manager, Zammit (a man whose talents have included jumping up on stage chanting, “viva l-Lejber, viva l-Lejber, hey, hey, hey”), he mispronounced the word again as “aleebee”.
Which is when the able presenter turned to his guest to actually ask him what alibi meant!
And finally, a positive note about the Naxxar council. Not only have they decided to irritate most of the retail outlets in Naxxar, they have now cut down a row of trees next to the playing field. Is there no end to their intelligent policy of making themselves more unpopular?
Take a look at the back issues of In-Nazzjon, when John Zammit was still a minor and Joe Saliba a stone mason. Back then In-Nazzjon had rightly launched salvos of verbal diarrohoea for the development sanctioned by Lorry Sant on the Rabat road. The buildings had spread over the valley and landed right in front of the Mount Carmel hospital.
Today, the little read Nazzjon has no words for the petrol station that has sprouted out of the blues at this very same spot. Well, times change and so do people and their newspapers.
Thumbs down to Frans Agius, for having effectively proved right the indescribable stories on the conditions at the abattoir. He did this by keeping his mouth entirely and fully shut. Well done Frans, I wish you a long life in politics.
sbalzan@mediatoday.com.mt
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