Thankfully, you have no authority to enforce the law at present so I can blow any number of raspberries at you and expect only a weak retort as reaction.

Remember the times however, when you wore a Halloween costume at work and, back then, anyone guilty of an affront to the grandaddy of all bullies, the billy-goat himself, risked being metaphorically run over by the full speeding might of The Force. That is what I meant by “men like you” – I was obviously referring to the past as otherwise I’d have said “weathercocks like you”.

Tyrell is answering me too but his replies are like yours, flatter than the muddy fields of Antrim.

Men like me cannot be much bothered with half ounces like you, especially so when they have no authority to enforce any laws, but I see what you mean for that’s precisely why I take my numerous breaks here. As to “that Tyrell fellow”, I don’t think you are ruffling any feathers there for he’s clearly choosing to ignore the lady, let alone her noisy chorus.

[Daphne – Actually, he’s not. He’s posting all over the hate site and timesofmalta.com, dodging questions about his role in the No to EU campaign. But then, you have that in common.]

I don’t respond to Francesca (and you) out of chivalry or because it’s necessary but because I enjoy bully-baiting; a delizzju that has sometimes got me into trouble especially when the law was enforced by men like you.

Incidentally, another one whose feathers I like to ruffle is that Tyrell fellow, but unfortunately he never ventures into this blog and the Times website is a minefield for baiters. Only this morning my post was censored because I had told the spiteful little leprechaun to cut his blarney and go hide behind a pot of gold. I should protest and start a petition against this outrage.

By any chance did the directors of the Dom underground museum reject your learned opinions about whateveritisyoubangonabout?

What with all the commuting between London, Paris and Washington it’s a wonder that you deign to take an interest in the sewers and tunnels of the fishpond.

[Daphne – The only category that springs to mind is Bloody Stupid Bitch, but we’re not going down that road. All I can say is: you can take the girl out of Malta, but you can’t take Malta out of the girl. Boy, would this one be happy playing doubles at the Marsa Club and ‘soshil climink.’]

[Daphne – Yes, I know. From now on, I’ll start having my picture taken at lunch and supper, and make sure it’s in the social pages of First magazine and Sunday Circle, to impress Francesca Meilaq as she gets dragged from Washington to Paris to London courtesy of her ‘husband’, while learning how to spell ‘weirdo’s’ and chatting to random engineers about air-conditioning in Egyptian tombs. I’ve had it up to here with brainless Maltese women. For some reason, I find them so much more offensive than brainless Maltese men – perhaps because they think that ‘intuition’ and ‘native wisdom’ are an adequate substitute for a strong, logical argument. Small wonder I find the company of men so very much more amusing, unless they’re Vince Farrugia with all his bossy, humourless shouting. The average Maltese woman NEVER leaves the schoolyard: “Astrid sat next to Barroso and you didn’t”. Unbelievable. I wouldn’t even be remotely moved if Astrid had shagged Barroso or married him. It’s not like he’s George Clooney, for God’s sake. If I had to hand Ms Meilaq a list of everything (as distinct from everyone) I’ve ever done and everyone I’ve sat next to, she would be on Valium for a year – if she isn’t already.]

I mean the nerve of the lady taking the limelight away from Daphne! I can remember when José Manuel Barroso, President of the European Commission was in Malta there were photographs published of him having lunch with some members of Maltese society. Were you there Daphne? No of course not but I’m sure the photographs really got your back up. Sitting on Mr. Barroso’s right hand side was Astrid Vella and just to rub salt in the wound beside her was Malta Independent columnist Marisa Micallef. Poor Daphne wasn’t invited! I do miss Marisa’s column, as it was always interesting.

We haven’t always lived in the UK as you say but move around quite a bit because of my husband’s job. We spent some time in Washington DC before moving to Paris and now we are in London. We tend to prefer the slower pace of life as in Paris and London so we are now based in London but retain the apartment in Paris as well as a holiday home in Malta. So I’m afraid I have to disappoint you again Daphne but we don’t move amongst the ‘dorks and street-side weirdo’s’ as you call them. Note that the word weirdo’s does have an apostrophe dear.

PS Although I left years ago, you should note that I still have very good contacts there which allow me to keep my ear to the ground.

[Daphne – Fabulous. Another cyber-stalker. You are quite, quite unbalanced, and still riven with envy and resentment, for whatever reason I have yet to discover. Perhaps it’s because you’re forced to move around as an appendage to your husband. The next ‘fact’ you’re going to pop out – and I can feeling it coming – is that you clap and sing at prayer groups.

If you did spend a lot of time in England, as you claim, then it must have been at the market, given that you use the infamous grocer’s apostrophe: apple’s, pear’s and weirdo’s, all wrapped up in some Gobelins tapestries made in Flanders. Hilarious.]