In which J’accuse provides the commentary on the annual charade of Christmas donations to the Nationalist and Labour parties.
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Christmas Party Hampers (declared)
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J'accuse: Worth
My iPhone weather app predicted a bit of snow for Saturday. Due to my inability to break the laws of the space-time continuum, I am unable to tell you whether it did snow on Saturday or not because although by the time you read this article, Saturday will already have passed, it is still in the future for me at the time of writing. All I can say for now is that when I went to the shopping centre to allow myself to be conned by the con artist that is the framer of paintings, the weather still did not feel sufficiently crisp enough as to warrant any enthusiastic hope for the first falling of the flocons de neige.
The cosy, cuddly Yuletide feeling is already rather tangible for both pagans and believers alike and the snow would be the cherry on the cake (probably icing would be a more fitting vehicle for this metaphor) and a wonderful accompaniment to all the decorations that have sprung up around the Grand Duchy. The problem is though that the snow does not appear at our beck and call and it is highly likely that it will make its sudden grand appearance not over a weekend, when it can be most thoroughly enjoyed, but on a Monday morning – probably next Monday when most EU fonctionnaires will be striking away in order to get their additional 3.7 per cent.
EU employees will strike because of plans to derail the raise they were promised. They are striking because they believe that the worth of their salary is no longer what it was since life – and the cost of living it -– has increased and the fonctionnaires believe that they deserve a commensurate compensation. Be that as it may, such questions of worth tend to cause much discord at the discussion table, which is probably why the fonctionnaires have reached the point where they have to grasp the bull by its horns.
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Chicken & Egg Dilemma
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J'accuse on search engines
- Cosa grida Moratti quando vuole mangiare altri scudetti? …”A tavolino”
Not that this should really be something to gloat about but I have just discovered a sweet little bit of info. One of the most popular searches that has directed readers to this site over the past week is the following “anti + inter”.
Neat.
Chi non salta…nerazzuro….
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Umiliazione
Non si scrive solo quando si vince. C’é modo e modo di perdere pero e questo definitivamente non é un modo di perdere. Se non si azzecca la formazione e se la squadra non dimostra abbastanza carattare per gestire una partita che basterebbe pareggiarem allora i conti non tornano per l’allenatore. Dispiace per Ferrara, un giocatore professionaista DOC e molto stimato, ma e ovvio che il suo modo di allenare non entra nella categoria necessaria per gestire una squadra con le ambizioni tale quelle della Juve. Ieri la scelta del rombo ha segnato il disastro e crollo della squadra che tre giorni prima se la giocava e vinceva coll’Inter. Un Bayern senza Ribery e con mezzo Robben a segnato quattro gol all’Olimpico. Ben venga la pausa natalizia allora per scuotere un po l’ambiente. Stasera conterebbe tifare Inter – almeno per sperare che un eliminazione tardiva della squadra con quindici scudetti possa distrarre un po dalla corsa per lo scudetto. Oppure tifare Rubin, cosi ce la vedremo coi quindicenni nella famigerata Europa Ligg.
Per il resto ieri la squadra risulta non pervenuta.
Bocciati.
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It's a square with new tiles
In which J’accuse marvels at the mind-numbing effect that the retiling and relighting of a square has on “the people”.
Every now and then a bit of news comes along that serves to remind us that we are after all a very tiny island with a small population that is the size of a medium town in most European countries. The fanfare around the inauguration of the re-looked (I know the verb exists in Frog so it must exist in Rosbif) Saint George’s Square is a definite case in point.
J’accuse has often poked fun at the manner in which governmental achievements that would occur without so much as a bat of an eyelid in any other country are somehow portrayed and treated in a manner deserving of a new Renaissance complete with patrons and cultural savants. It is thus that a ribbon cutting exercise in some obscure alley in Hal Bubaqra by nothing less than a Minister and a set of VIPs (Malta standard) is never a tongue in cheek exercise but a very serious manner – often completed with commemorative bronze plaque.
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