I’ve just returned from a delicious meal at Spezzo, within the Civil Service Sports Club in Valletta. It was the yearly Vodafone lunch and since essential deadlines are over I was able to sip a couple of glasses of Merlot without my conscience pricking me. Regrettably I missed the Go Mobile lunch earlier this week as I was immersed in deadlines. That, appropriately took place at The Tabloid, within The Palace hotel in Sliema.

I now know my way around the Yellow Garage and find it convenient to park there rather than in Valletta which is full of traps for the unwary motorist.

As I emerged from the nether regions of the garage and into the sunlight, there was one of the City cabs coming in, and friends to whom I was chatting told me to grab it and I immediately obeyed and saved myself the trouble of walking through a crowded Republic Street.

So I arrived at Spezzo fresh and ready for a glass of Spumante. I have been to Spezzo once before with the family, to celebrate Harry’s baptism in June and had been very impressed with the new décor. I did not need to be reminded by my sisters that many Mango seasons ago we used to go there for Carnival dances. My mother loved dressing us up and Carnival was a much livelier affair in those days. There wasn’t much to do and so it was one of the highlights of our year, much to my father’s disgust who considered such occasions as occasions of sin, at a time in our lives when we thought that not saying your morning and night prayers was a sin.

We ate well at Spezzo starting with nicely presented and bountiful dishes of chacuterie followed by a light pumpkin soup and fish as entrée accompanied with cabbage and nicely cooked potatoes. For dessert there were profiteroles – very light ones and one of them covered in yummy chocolate.

I was sitting on Joe Muscat’s table. He carries around with him two super modern phones. I perspire at the thought of one modern phone which does everything it seems, and will not leave you a moment’s peace, let alone two. He is obviously a technological whiz kid and experiments with them. On my right there was a handsome young man who turned out to be Kurt Bugeja, Ray Bugeja’s son who is now 19…I remember him as a nine-year-old and coming to the Independent.

The CEO of Vodafone is Basque and called Inaaki Berroeta. I shall have to write it at least 10 times first and then perhaps I shall remember it. Miriam Dalli was there, too, and we were able to kiss her and congratulate her for doing so well at the recent TV Awards. I half smiled at the thought of Larry Lou, accompanied by his enormous ego, poised to rush up the stairs with Rachel ready to grab an award for Bondiplus. But his stars were not good that day, or perhaps the programme isn’t and I hear that he was very miffed that he was by passed and imagine that a programme from One TV beat him to it. The infamous Silvana Cristina was there. I told her that to me she is not infamous at all but a Freedom Fighter.

A most enjoyable and fun lunch and an occasion to renew friendships.

I had to spend some time watching the Xarabank programme on which the Leader of the Opposition refused to go. And how right he was not to participate in such a graceless curmudgeon of a programme. Xarabank lost its crispiness ages ago. It was a very hot-drink intensive session this last one for me and once again I had to resort to Harry’s rice cakes as my goodies cupboard yielded nothing better. I gave up purchasing jars of Nutella ages ago fearing I would be the first victim of some new disease whereby the pipes to my heart would be blocked by nothing but Nutella.

The only redeeming feature in this Xarabank was Dr Gonzi’s shoes which were impeccable, clean and shiny. I do wish men who go on TV would, like Dr Gonzi, appear with clean, spit and polished shoes. And why doesn’t anyone wear brogues here? I love them. And while I’m at it why don’t men wear black socks with black shoes instead of light socks which are so Non U; and why do they wear light coloured shoes with a dark suit or horrible grey shoes which shouldn’t even exist? Look at the foreign channels and learn from them I say. In fact there should be someone with a shoe brush to clean all men’s shoes before they appear on TV.

But back to Xarabank. Their slick and aggressive marketing works of course so there are many who must have seen that programme. But it was such a fake production; all set up and yet another public relations job for the Nationalist Party and nothing balanced about it at all. I mean, Where’s Everybody are paid Lm5,000 for that show.

The dramatis personae in the audience in it were handpicked for their political allegiance. There was the woman in an orange jacket with orange hair to match who must have rehearsed her speech in front of a mirror for days on end and who was totally unconvincing. Hardly the stuff for gripping dramatic interest. Then a vacuous looking young man who kept on about that non issue in Malta – abortion and who asked the Prime Minister for assurances that abortion will not be legalised. Frankly he didn’t look the sort to me who is about to make babies and should take up some other campaign like the protection of archaeological sites and leave the making of babies to other men.

Malta is covered inches thick in bogus morality and this abortion business is all part of it. His intervention had all the glittering resonance of a plastic euro. He, too must have been practicing all week in front of his mirrors hoping to make an impact.

This was clearly a programme by committee and negotiation…more artifice than art or even good television.

The two decent questions which were not rehearsed and were sensible came from our Josanne Cassar who should have been given more time.

You'd have to have been born yesterday to think that that edition of Xarabank was anything but yet another occasion to bolster the popularity of the government. I almost expected an apologetic voiceover to tell us, that of course, this was part of the nationalist election propaganda. But the handwringing never came. As I squirmed in my armchair I said to myself that it was nothing but a dog’s dinner of propaganda disguised as a discussion programme. For goodness sake let Xarabank stick to bad sex and fortune tellers. Otherwise get it off our screens. And the leader of the opposition is right to ask that rules as rigid as anything laid down by Aristotle should be worked out before political discussion programmes take place outside the confines of Where’s Everybody’s massive and no longer hidden agenda.

Thank goodness for music which sustains us and touches the emotional texture of our lives. The concert at the chapel on the Valletta Waterfront was most enjoyable. I had never been to this delightful chapel before and it was also an occasion to meet Miriam Agius who keeps me supplied with emails regarding the cultural events which take place there. She has four children she told me. This was essentially a concert organized by three of Juliette Bisazza’s pupils. The tenor that evening was Joseph Aquilina. He sang Parigi O Cara with soprano Marita Bezzina and I never tire of La Traviata. I hadn’t heard Marita sing for a long time and was astonished how Maestra Bisazza had turned her voice around. This was also the debut concert in Malta of the young and talented baritone, Ali Rieger. You may have read his interview in the November issue of First. Ali must have been in the first row when God was giving out his gifts. He is lovely to look at, with dusky looks and a warm baritone voice which is going to take him to places. He has been studying voice with Juliette in Milan for some time now and his potential was very much appreciated by the audience. He sang with unquestionable vitality in spite of having been laid down with flu for several days. I appreciated the simple sincerity and also the undertone of angst when this was necessary. The concert with its choice of arias from Bizet, Mozart, Verdi, Puccini, Donizetti and other greats was a crosscurrent of mood, speed, tone, texture; from the profoundest tranquility to riotous gaiety with Ramona Zammit Formosa accompanying.

Personally I treasured every note and felt very privileged to be part of a select audience, thanks to the size of the chapel; the smug feeling of being part of that hardly significant section of humanity who can truly appreciate what things are of worth. It made for a very fulfilling evening. Call me shallow if you like but when Joseph and Marita burst into Non Discordar di Me I revelled in it and also when the three singers wrapped up the programme with La Montanara. I have little doubt that it will not be long before we hear that Ali Rieger is doing very well on the international scene. He is still young and full of promise. (Turn to First for some photos of this concert.)