My Role Models

When I was an up-and-coming Maltese politician my role models and main references were:

1) The Leader of the Malta Centrist Party, Dr. Albert Santucci

2) The Deputy Leader of the Malta Centrist Party, Dr. Terrence Gonzaga

3) The Head of News at Super Central Radio and TV, Mr. Ferdinand Abela Medici (Il-Ferdie) 

Now that I’ve matured into an independent-minded and reform-oriented politician in my own right, I model myself on:

1) Nelson Mandela (his battle against apartheid is inspirational to me) 

2) Jose-Luis Rodriguez Zapatero (you’ve got to have balls to allow gays to get married in a Catholic heartland) 

3) Hussein Barack Obama (when I saw that You Tube video in which those singers and Scarlett Johansson repeat Barack’s ‘Yes We Can’, I got goosebumps all over my arm).

I feel that I can unite the Maltese nation behind a banner of Hope, Togetherness and Vibrancy. It might happen soon. Just watch this space.

Meet Veronique

Are you aware that every MEP has one or more parliamentary assistants? And thank God for them too. Let me let you in on a little secret. We guys at the Parliament are envied by everyone else in the EU world for having access to so many beautiful people on a daily basis. And to be honest, ma ntihomx tort. This place is truly exceptional. Altro che Cordina insomma.

I’ve got three assistants. Peter and Janice who do the hard work and Veronique who manages my PR. She’s very talented. Qabdet malajr, as we say in Malta.  

Veronique did some journalism for the party back home, was in a stable relationship but jumped ship as soon as Malta got into the EU. At 25 she’s a truly modern woman. And she’s looking sexier and sexier with every passing European day. This place has done her a world of good. I recall our days at Tal-Qroqq when I look at her in her tight Miss Sixty jeans, smart grey jacket and black fishnets (worn casually to work). Ah, Tal-Qroqq: what an observatory of feminine decline as the soul-destroying exams, limited options and a future of pushchairs took their toll by age 23. At 18, in their first year, the good-looking girls looked great, so full of promise. Six years later they looked haggard, tired and dull and cruel colleagues would ask:

- Rajtu sormha daqshiex sar, Madonna?   

Veronique escaped it all just in time. Her nickname round here is Veronique nique nique.

That was the lovely Veronique Bugeja.

We’re off to a cocktail do tonight.

See you soon

Sig’s Theories (I) Blissful ignorance

My diary will feature a regular section called Sig’s Theories. This is where I get to share my meditations about the world with my loyal readers. Remember, To Always Think Out Of The Box.

The Times of Malta tells us today that:

“A Eurobarometer Survey carried out between February and March 2007 showed that 54 per cent of Maltese respondents did not read a book in the preceding 12 months – the highest percentage in the EU, where the average is 28 percent”.

Malta: the country where everyone’s got a strong opinion but noboby reads books.

But remember, Think Out-Of-The-Box. So here goes: few people have noticed that the two, much-publicized, surveys on reading habits and happiness show that once a country has reached a certain level of wealth, an almost perfect correlation exists between excess reading and sadness. The more you read, the sadder you are. Malta, the happiest nation in Europe, is also the country where people read least. Nations like Hungary and Iceland, where people devour books like pastizzi, are among the most morose nations on earth, registering shockingly high suicide rates. Reading too much kills.

You can see why. Reading too much exposes you to hundreds of versions of how life can be lived, leaving you baffled by the possibilities. Reading, say, only one or two key books (say, The Old and The New Testament) give you the certainty you need to bludgeon your way through life with your head held high.  

That was Sigmund on reading and happiness. Tell Sig what you think by leaving him a message.

 

Coffee mornings and house visits

By no stretch of the imagination can I be described as a seasoned politician. I despise house visits and coffee mornings in equal measure, viewing them with hypocritically concealed disdain and a profound feeling of disgust. I mean, how can a man wake up in the morning and say ‘I would really love to spend my morning talking to middle-aged women in a hall adorned with those awful curtains’? Boqq. 

Thank God for radio, television and the internet which allow me to reach the masses without actually having to listen to their mundane stories. But boy, I concede that there is something profoundly democratic about the house visit and the coffee morning. They are endurance tests which distinguish the real politicians from the people with ‘opinions’. I will trade in my afternoon for your vote, says the politician. I prefer the comfort of my penthouse and the smooth, crisp design of my Mac, say the peddlars of opinions.  

I was prepared to learn the hard way. Some of my critics – her in particular – wouldn’t even survive one afternoon of house visits. I get the big prize, she gets her overrated column. Fair enough, sweetheart.

The Secret of My Success

You’ll probably recall that I triumphed at the polls.

But what you probably don’t know is that the stategists at the party commissioned the consultant firm Grima & Grima to analyse my victory. They came up with the following three winning ingredients and estimated the number of votes which each factor reeled in:

1) Igieghluk Tisthi, my talkshow on Super Central Radio (25 000 votes)

2) What one journalist has dubbed my ‘altar boy’ smile (10 000 votes) and 

3) The photo which immortalised my handshake with Pope John Paul II at the Vatican (30 000 votes).  

Easy, no? Plenty of partisan bite to show the lads whose side you’re on, a charming smile for the middle classes and the winning faith ticket.  

Welcome to Brussels

Welcome to Brussels, limits of Valletta. Brussels, capital of Europe. Brussels, centre of secularism and Godlessness. Brussels, the biggest dating agency in the world. Brussels, land of two types of blondes: Leffe beer and Eastern European parliamentary assistants. Brussels, the place to be young, unsettled and single.

I love it here but I miss Malta. I’m one in a million here. In Malta, I get the recognition I deserve. That’s the best thing about our beloved island. Everyone can afford to have a big ego. That’s an unbeatable feeling. I’m just honest enough to admit it. And why not admit it? Remember, this is the age of transparency. Call me if you want to chat about it.

Il-Jien u Lil Hinn Minnu

Or Me, Myself, Moi et Les Autres as they say in these parts.

I am your elected representative. I am your caring Maltese MEP. Take this diary and cherish it for this is my life and these are my frank meditations that I am offering to you, the Maltese people. Read it and you will enter the promised land.