Teatrin tal-Puliti

« Humour exists because it’s sort of funny. Most of the time… »

Sigmund was in the Motherland for a short, incognito visit and plodded along to the city built by gentlemen for gentlemen for a night at the theatre…

We were looking forward to seeing where things stand on the local satirical front – in our book, there’s loads of material to lampoon in a thought-provoking manner. We were bitterly disappointed. Seriously unfunny skits gave way to passé numbers followed by pieces lifted from British comedy circa 1970. The general impression was that this was a haphazard cut-and-paste job: Basil Fawlty meets Pierino in a tal-pepe-hamallu interface with a bit of ABBA thrown in as an excuse to dress up in shiny costumes. And fuck me, it’s depressing to see that linguistic hang-ups still provide us with endless barrels of laughs. The mere mention of the word LIBA sent the entire audience into fits of hysterical laughter. Hilarious, innit? One above-average sketch prevented us from asking for our money back but to be fair, the audience seemed to love every minute (“How talented they are, ay?”) and so did the critics who described this uninspiring hodgepodge as “a brilliant collection of comedy sketches (which) proved that (contrary to popular misconception) the Maltese not only know how to laugh at themselves, but they do have a sense of irony after all”.

I guess that in situations like these, one must bow to the principle of supply and demand. As a politician, I know what I’m talking about…

 

Contenti loro, contenti tutti.

 

 

Stejjer tan-Nejk 1

Għadkom ma xbajtux ittuhom daqshekk importanza? Ħlief b’politikanti ma tismax.

Xi pjaċir. Il-ġinġer daħaklu daħka ċinika, l-ieħor ittrattah ta’ tifel zgħir, u l-ġgajta ċċapċap.

Ikolli ngħid, aħjar tinżel sax-xatt - forsi ssib siegħa mistrieħ…

All that Jazz

C’eravamo tanto amati…

Your favourite maverick politician has been doing some existential thinking lately. Why do people do what they do? Is there any wisdom in their chosen path? Who, in other words, has best understood the Meaning of Life? Or, to put it in other terms, if you had a son or daughter, what would you encourage them to invest their time in? Would you point out the benefits of a life in politics, in business, in journalism, in academia, in the film industry? The priesthood perhaps? You might even suggest that if things get a little claustrophobic in the land where watching TV shows gives you stomach cramps, the easiest escape route from it all would be a one-way ticket to Luxembourg where you can invest your time translating European Union documents into the mother tongue. (If you’re a really honest dad, you’ll admit that – thanks to a quirk of history - the latter option opens up a veritable Rebbiegha Gdida, a winning Stagun Politiku Gdid on the sexual front).

Sigmund has come to the conclusion that jazz musicians are the wisest people on earth, for it appears to us that the jazz musician spends his life making pleasant sounds which have no meaning at all.  In other words, these jammy fuckers give and receive pleasure without ever having to go through the bother of convincing you that their point of view is worthy of your attention. While everyone else is at it (the novice politician, the controversial journalist, the priest, the wannabe intellectual), desperately trying to impress you with their arguments and making a host of enemies along the way, the jazz musician in his quirky Paris bistrot strums away happily with the ultimate air of self-satisfaction written all over his charming face.  

He is a man who doesn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

Ghaliex rega’ bdieli?

Nammetti b’wicci minn quddiem u bla ebda tlaqliq ta’ xejn li d-decizjoni tista’ tidher stramba. Li wiehed johrog ghal elezzjoni, jigi elett, imbaghad xahar wara jerga’ jibdielu mhuwiex process li tista’ ssejjahlu ‘normali’ jew ‘mainstream’. Naqbel. Pero’ tifhmuni, gheziez qarrejja u votanti, li l-hajja mhi xejn hlief sensiela ta’ cirkostanzi. Irabbuna nahsbu li hemm xi konsistenza bejn l-avvenimenti li nghixu. Izda din hi biss illuzjoni.  Ha natikom erba’ ezempji kif ghamel l-Arcisqof ta’ Malta fil-BondiPlus, sabiex nispjega ruhi ahjar. Mela. Jitwieldu tewmin: wiehed johrog sabih imma tuba u l-iehor ikrah daghwa izda fl-iskola stilla. Cirkostanzi. Tkun ghaddej ghal ghonq it-triq u f’kemm ili nghidlek itajjrek vann. Cirkostanzi sfortunati. Imbaghad ic-cirkostanzi ghandhom habtha jinbidlu ukoll. Bhal, per ezempju, meta giex namrati jinhabbu, jixtru l-flatt bl-gharaq ta’ gbinhom, jizzewwgu, ikollhom it-tfal. Sena wara, bla ma taf il-ghala hi stess, Clinton jibda jtellaghhomlha lil Janice. Sentejn wara tghidlu ‘no sex’ u mat-tielet sena, waqt business trip mal-Ministeru tal-Kultura, Mrs. Dimech tiltaqa’ ma’ Norvegiz ghajnejh celesti, twil u atletiku. Ikunu nbidlu c-cirkostanzi, non c’e molto da fare.    

L-importanti hu li wiehed jaccetta li c-cirkostanzi jinbidlu l-hin kollu. U li l-opportunitajiet qeghdin imkien iehor.

Il-politika hekk ukoll, ghaziez qarrejja, thallux lil min jghidilkom li ghandha tkun mod iehor. Ikun qed iqarraq bikom. Ara jien, nghidilkom il-verita’ kollha bi trasparenza kbira.

Ic-cirkostanzi tieghi inbidlu. B’konsegwenza t’hekk, iddecidejt li nibqa’ naghmel hilti ghall-partit kbir taghna u ghal pajjizna lilhinn minn xtutna. Nitlobkom tifhmuni.

Tat-taxi

The Spanish tapas joint down town was great, the conversation with a long-lost friend was better. But the highlight of the evening was Yassin, the Moroccan taxi driver who confessed to us that more or less once a week girls who hitch rides in his taxi invite him to have sex with them.

- Il y a eu une irlandaise canon, très chic, très classe qui m’a invitée chez elle. Super classe quoi.

- Et une autre, j’ai oublié son nom. Moitiée norvegienne (ou suedeoise), moitiée libanaise. Canon quoi. C’était la folie.  

I tried to convince him to write down his experiences and publish a book on the lines of Diary of a London Call Girl but he didn’t seem too interested…

- Et l’autre, italienne, regarde, j’ai meme une photo d’elle sur mon iPhone…elle était folle celle-là, une vraie saloppe.