It seems that half my life at least is spent on maintenance duties. One of the worst is the VRT which my 20-year-old Fiat has to undertake every two years. My mechanic should be at least beatified but I understand this can only be done if one is dead and I want him to remain very much alive. He is forever helpful and kind and long-suffering and drops everything to come to my aid. And yes, sometimes he performs minor miracles as well.

My windscreen had to be changed this time round. It had a small crack which, ironically enough, was not inflicted by me but by another mechanic’s shop years ago. I did not realise that they had dropped a spanner or whatever on it and cracked it until days later. I am hardly the sort to spit and polish my car and look at it with love every morning. As long as it functions I am happy. So, I went to one of those car people down from the office and he said that it would cost me Lm35 for the windscreen to be fixed. I would have to purchase a windscreen as well. Now my old Fiat has an old-type windscreen and not the new and apparently more complicated variety. To my alarm, he added that if the newly purchased windscreen broke, the anonymous windscreen fixer could not be held responsible. I would have to pay for a new one. What could I say? I commented that it must be exhilarating to be paid so much money for a job which had no risks and which took about 10 minutes to finish. The young man told me that he gets nothing out of it; that his father would go and buy a secondhand windscreen for me out of kindness and that LM35 has been the price of fixing a windscreen for ages. Anyway, it was done and the car passed the VRT too. I shall have to purchase a new car one of these days because the thought of summer without air-conditioning in it is already giving me palpitations.



I also have a new washing machine which is such a relief as the old one was moving all over the place in my washroom and goodness knows what the neighbour who lives beneath must think. Perhaps that I am having some sort of fun in that washroom. So, a new machine is now fixed and the old one swished away too. At first the shop from which I buy all my white goods said they no longer take away the old machines and that I would have to get Bulky Refuse to come and collect it. So, it took three months of negotiations which came to nought as I would have had to make three different arrangements: one day for someone to be available to receive the machine; then for the men to come and fix it and for Bulky Refuse to take away the old machine the following day. It was impossible to co-ordinate. But when I insisted with the shop from where I bought the machine that I simply had to have the machine, which had been sitting at their shop for three months awaiting delivery, as my daughters were arriving soon and moreover, my laundry bills were becoming impossible. The kind lady on the other side said she would try to arrange for the old machine to be swished away. She came back to tell me that all was fixed. What a relief. If only it had been done three months earlier.

Still, the men came and fixed the machine. I told them that I did not want 10, or 20 programmes: hot, hotter, hottest; for silk, for satin, for woollens. I wanted the machine to be set for one single programme. All I wanted to do was switch it on and push a button. Nothing more complicated than that. And I am now carrying the key to my washroom everywhere with me as I don’t want this ‘switch on and press’ programme to be changed by one of my technology savvy daughters.

Once the men left and I whooshed upstairs to the washroom to admire my new acquisition I noticed that they had left behind all sorts of bits and pieces of steel and rubber and plastic. I was totally alarmed. What are they for? Should I have been told but in the rush of things wasn’t? This is the problem with being a woman. All this is Greek to me. Are they important or are they not; Does the nut and bolt I found in the lift belong to the bowels of my new machine or to one of the residents in the block? Is it important or not? I put it into my purse in case, just in case. I find all this very stressful. Ignorance is certainly not bliss when it comes to these domestic matters.

The radio is another matter which can be a source of stress. I have two: one in the kitchen and my new one given to me by my 1975 girl and her delicious husband, on my bedside table. They are both on Campus FM. I listen to nothing else. I enjoy the BBC World news and of course the FM music. No one is allowed to touch them. I want them there and nowhere else and there is no time to fluff around with finding this radio station if it has been ‘mislaid’. When Harry is older he is going to have to learn not to touch my radios. I intend being a very stern grandmother.



This election campaign is proving to be fun and some of us have resolved that we are going to enjoy it as much as possible.

I mean, how can one keep up with all this? There are the blogs to start off with…some of them are truly hilarious and clever and that is where you really get to know what people are thinking as there is no censorship there.

Then there are the columnists most of whom are rooting for one of the parties. When you consider the PN campaign you can see the dirty fingerprints and mean mind of one particular hackette: from the billboards, to the adverts in the newspapers to the actual column itself. The eleventh circle of hell…and so on. You know what I want to say.



I had a look at the Smart clip on U Tube, you know Smart City which is going to happen in 2015. But the beginning of this clip is hilarious. There’s a woman on her roof hanging up clothes and then suddenly she sits down (there is a chair on her roof but do you know of anyone who keeps a chair in the middle of the roof?). Then she picks up a laptop and starts tapping away. Now how many housewives do you know who, in the middle of hanging up their clothes, suddenly start using a laptop on the roof? I mean, Dr Austin Gatt lives in a completely different world to mine in which women have no laptops on their roofs. Just clothes pegs.

We had a good laugh when Larry Loo produced the ‘scoop’ letter sent by Jo Said to the Prime Minister. We all want to know whether it is ethical to pass on to Loo an email – which Mr Said sent the Prim in a private capacity – to be read on Loo’s programme. Can you begin to imagine the outcry and the columns which would have been written had Dr Sant as Prime Minister passed on an email to a programme presenter – say to Charlon Gouder to be read on Vice Versa? Can you not imagine the headlines, the fuss, the phone-ins and the ink which would have been spilt if this had happened? But of course Dr Sant would never do such a thing.



The heros of this week are Malcolm Naudi, who has now left the other paper after the shoddy way in which he was treated, and Karl Schembri (again) both chairmen: Malcolm of the Institute of Maltese journalists and Karl of the Journalists’ Committee.

They presented a letter of protest to the Chairman of Go against the newly declared corporate policy to ban all political coverage on di-ve.com particularly at a time when the country is facing a general election and Maltese citizens need all the unbiased information they can get hold of before they vote.

This after on the di-ve.com website itself the following appeared: ‘As a result of new corporate policy, di-ve.com will not, for the foreseeable future, cover political activities and statements as part of its day-to-day operations.”

In a press conference given in front of the GO head office in Marsa, Journalists’ Committee Chairman Karl Schembri called on the secretaries general of all parties and the Office of the Prime Minister to take a clear stand against this repressive measure which goes against their own party interests but above all against the interest of the public.

I though Karl was being particularly optimist when he remarked that he hoped there had not been any political interference behind this bizarre and mistaken decision. Well, let us hope that everyone will take a clear stand in favour of freedom of information and against this measure.



I went down to Marsascala to meet Mrs Gonzi and to wrap up an interview with her which will appear in First next Sunday. It is impossible not to like her and she is an enormous asset to her husband, more than the cabinet put together…at least she is not corrupt. She loves her garden and has a good heart. She told me that Dr Gonzi was very sensitive to the fact that Dr Sant was ill and that is why he did not announce a date for the election earlier and so on. I had to tell her that although Dr Gonzi is sensitive but not so some of the people who are writing on behalf of the Nationalists. Some of them are disgusting and heartless. I mentioned a couple but of course she kept silent. What could she say? The interview is about bringing up children. I did not think it was a good idea to talk politics since we have such divergent views.



Another piece of arrogance also baptized ‘Settle down and read this’ has been doing the rounds on email. Just listen to this bit of snobbery in true Slimizi style. The writer, no doubt panic stricken at the success Dr Sant has been having during interviews and also during the Labour Rally, wrote: “Take some minutes off and read this! I hope everyone gets the message and no one cuts off their nose to spite their face as that would be really foolish! No one will be teaching anybody any “lessons” and you will only be gambling with your children’s futures! Allura PN mhux perfetti but the alternative is unthinkable. At worst think of choosing the lesser evil. Huma kollha se johorgu rest assured! Some of us ha jamluha tal helwin u ma jatux kaz u jpaxxu lil daw is salt slavag. Ga qed juru ax ga amluha tahom u andhom arja nobis. Their smug faces are already turning my stomach ahseb u ara.....maaa kem se nibki ek jirbhu.”

The gist of this email: “Go out and vote because if ‘they’ – a bunch of savages who will all go out and vote – will be voted in I am going to cry so much!”I take great exception to being labelled ‘a savage’ just because I am going to vote Labour…I bet the person who is circulating this will be sitting in the front pews of some church next Sunday. I really feel like crying out, as I wave my read handkerchief: ‘Viva il-Labour’ at this point. They think their party can remain there forever…and ever ... and ever without an Amen in sight.