Marinara politics

Just returned from Marsaxlokk,  The best restaurants were closed, so we settled for a tourist place.  Expecting the worst I guess.

Pasta marinara it was, and in fact it was pasta under a layer of mussels that had not been cleaned.  Yes the marine algae was hanging on and for some unknown reason I had a head of a king prawn on the plate.  The spaghetti was cut into small bits (6 cm long) and there was nothing else(You know pasta sliced into smallish bits just like when you cut up pasta for a four year old).  I was asked if I needed a spoon by a Slavic waitress, I said no thank you.  I really needed pincers.

As we devoured the food presented to us - because we were famished, a posse of youngsters dressed in blue T-shirts jumped and danced past us and in front of happy looking policemen.  It was the feast at Marsaxlokk but there was nothing religious about their demeanor. Bottles of lager in the hands of the boys and young girls dressed to kill.  Good for them but I could not understand where the fun was.

Tourists looked on, curious but not amused.

We are at the height of summer and the last thing on anyone’s minds is politics.  Though we tend to expect politics anyway,which is why I cannot  understand why the Labour party decides to take a holiday and allow Gonzi to say his bit on Sunday.

I get the feeling that Labour or rather Muscat is planning to have a dash in the last six months.  What a miscalculation!  Muscat still needs to convince.

He needs to convince people and at age 35, he should be working his butt off and doing triple the things Gonzi does.  The impression I have is that there is a general malaise in the opposition, characterised by the belief that politics is a part-time job.  It is not.

And more importantly politics is not all about emblems.

But as a friend who once militated in the PL told me rather succinctly the other day:  the Labour party will win when the five big business families feel they can still make money under Labour.  That is what Muscat is working for he told me.

Great I thought.  Really, Pasta Marinara from a sad chef in Marsaxlokk sounds infinitely better.