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This article and accompanying Bertoon appeared in yesterday’s edition of The Malta Independent on Sunday. (06.09.2009)

It’s the remedy that works wherever it hurts. I carry tubs of it wherever I go and can vouch for its efficacy to soothe sore muscles, loosen blocked noses and bring back fresh air to a heavy chest. Rubbing a small amount of it on your temple can do miracles for that persistent migraine. It’s the MacGyver of herbal remedies, the Mr Fixit of Oriental solutions, the Holy Grail of non-prescription ailments and the ultimate placebo for the persistent misdemeanours of a body succumbing to fatigue. It’s all that and more – the famous Tiger Balm that began it’s long journey in the halls of Imperial China until it was transformed into an entrepreneurial success story by Mr Aw Chu Kin (May the Lord Shower Him With Eternal Blessings) as he set up shop in what was then Burma.

Since those heady days around a hundred odd years ago, the product that can be scientifically described as a topical analgesic has travelled a long way in order to become “the legend in a jar” that it is nowadays. The basic herbal formula remained mostly untouched only to develop different subvarieties for an ever more demanding market that required the marketing and wrapping that goes beyond the one-jar-fits-all-ailments formula.

Personally I favour the little red tub varieties – the White Essential Balm is always at my bedside and on nights that threaten to become a snore infested orchestral symphony a quick sniff of the white balm banishes the evil demons to neverland. The uncanny versatility of these balms is such that they promise to unblock your blocked nose while contemporaneously (and without any extra added effort) winning a battle against stomach flatulence. Yes, go grab your dose of this addictive herbal wonder now.

Of course it doesn’t take a genius to know that there is no tiger in Tiger Balm. The analgesic might contain a weird concoction of unknown herbaceous elements glued together with the saliva of termites for all I know but no ferocious, striped members of the larger end of the feline family were harmed in the manufacture of these products. Which is good. Because much as I am enamoured with the magical herb and its balmiferous format I would immediately cancel all subscriptions to Mr Chu Kin’s product were I to know that a tiger had suffered, in any moral or physical way, for me to obtain any form of pain or gaseous relief.

There’s Tigers in the news. Remember Karl Schembri’s “Il-Manifest tal-Killer”? Was it a tiger or a lion that escaped the travelling circus in that book? Apparently it’s not circuses we have to look out for but geniuses who keep tigers in the attic. As China introduces new regulation on the trade of tiger related products the outlook for the cats in stripes does not look good. Soon the only tiger you’ll be able to speak of is the one looking out of your box of Frosties.Here’s today’s Times (UK) editorial:

The world’s dwindling tiger colonies are facing yet another threat, this time from China’s plan to sanction the use of lawfully sourced tiger pelts.  The fear is that, by loosening its ban on the trading of any tiger parts, China will spur poaching in India, which is home to the largest remaining wild tiger population. China argues that while it may be host to only 30 or 40 tigers living in the wild, it has 5,000 more that have been reared on farms. Such farms were created as tourist attractions, but few doubt that their owners hope to use the cats to produce health tonics. Tiger bone wine is especially prized as a pick-me-up. Though pricey, it grows ever more affordable the richer the Chinese get.

Who knows? Maybe the tiger-keeper in Malta is just following his conservationist instinct and this is his very own personal bid to save the species (or part thereof).

Or maybe it’s just an idiot who thinks it’s cool to keep a Bengal tiger under lock and key.

For personal reasons (not political nor censorship) this blog is in limbo until further notice. Apologies for any inconvenience caused.  We’ll be back when the smile returns.

picture:  Giotto. Descent to limbo.

This article and accompanying Bertoon appear in today’s Malta Independent on Sunday.

The clouds descended on the archipelago as the cut-with-a-knife humidity morphed into a stickiness that was pregnant with electric anticipation; meanwhile the millions of servants of Beelzebub set about tormenting the inhabitants in every cafe with their irrequietous presence. The sun vanished temporarily from the aestival horizon as sundecks and sunglasses were relegated to the position of superfluous accessories. The first droplets of water fell upon dust-encrusted vehicles and thirsty fields alike in a premonitory warning of the wet pleasures to come as the new season sent its early heralds on this reconnoitring mission.

It was not really a storm, more like a quick rendezvous with the autumnal elements – a Hollywood teaser for the Fall. It always happens around this time – while the citizens of the suburb of Paceville prepare for the Belgian saint who shares the same name with 39 other saints (as mentioned in the Roman Martyrology) and we gear up for the feast of Il-Vitorja (the victory) on the 8th of September.

It’s an annual appointment and test for the Road Works Department – the alluvion that hits the islands on or around the eighth day of the ninth month. It has been known to flood valleys and incapacitate traffic flows in a manner reminiscent of a latter day epochal event that should, for all intents and purposes, culminate in a Technicolor covenant spanning across the sky – a deistic affirmation of the more mundane “Lest we forget”. Incredibly, all temporal powers manage to inevitably screw up the preparation for the inundation and before you know it, the end of the silly season is being proclaimed live on TV by a Minister who is baffled by the lack of preparedness in the battle of Man versus Elements. Plus ça change…

A cartoonist’s take on the breakaway party that never was.

Only the dedicated, the avid readers and those who have nothing better to do at 13.00 today will probably turn up. Which probably means that it will be me and Bertu. In any case here are the details of the very spontaneous J’accuse meet (and pow-wow over the toon) that should have been announced yesterday night but are being announced today because I was pigging out at Avenue last night.

We will meet at an unnamed bar in Naxxar which Bertu describes as such: with your back to Naxxar Churchstart walking down the road and when you come to the road that turns into the Local Council road do not turn into it. Instead the bar in the corner opposite the entrance to the Local Council road is where we will be chatting over Kinnie and Twistees.

Time is 1300 hours. Today.

If you get lost, want to come or just want to phone in an idea for the toon in order to keep your treasured anonimity call me on 7975-1111 (jew ibaghtu SMS – standard rates apply).

Also, persons wishing to attend but maintain their pseudonymal anonimity are advised to either wear Burkas or sit at a separate table and raise their glasses in a collective toast at 1345.