The article was written by a spin doctor.

It is designed to appeal to the emotions in favour of Mr. Muscat.

Mario Vella?

Was there a proper police investigation after the incident (a man had half the palm of his hand blown off) and if not, why not?

Where and how did the boy come across a petard?

Who was responsible for the safe-keeping and distribution of those petards? Who was expected to keep a log of what petards actually ignited and which did not go off? If there was no police investigation why was the incident swept under the carpet?

[Daphne – You know what? I don’t believe him. And the clue is that he referred to the boy as ‘unknown’. Picture the scene: a boy bangs a petard against a wall. A man yells at him to drop it and then takes it off him. A commotion ensues. The petard explodes. And nobody witnesses this and identifies the child? I don’t think so. Another reason I don’t believe him: if a petard goes off in your hand, you don’t lose a bit of your palm. You die. Or you lose your face, your stomach and half your body.]

That is until I read Joey’s lament.

This must be more pathetic than “hobbuha ghax thobbkom” amongst others, apart from being utterly nonsensical.

[Daphne – Because last Monday, while he was off cruising with Michelle, I decided it was high time I told our so-called national media reporters that, far from being the son of a labourer as he likes to make out, he’s the son of a rich merchant who freights in roughly half of Malta’s requirements in fireworks chemicals and sells them to those who make fireworks. That’s why Joseph Muscat has the air of the spoiled rich kid about him – because he is one. Then when he got back last Wednesday he thought he had better do something about it.

And I’m guessing that the dwarf jester at the court of King Joseph, Kurt Farrugia, hasn’t a clue where Bidnija is despite issuing instructions to the Labour media to refer to me as the Bidnija witch. If he did, he would know that Bidnija sits just above Burmurrad, and that if I walk down the lane behind my house I’m in San Pawl Milqi in five minutes. So to me, the Labour leader is a local boy, it-tifel tad-Doggy. And that’s how I know that he’s working-class all right, but working-class with pots of money from the family fireworks business.]

My guess is that some form of ad hoc emergency meeting was held and the article was drafted and vetted, everyone putting in his suggestions. Although there are personal details in the article, it gives out the feeling of being very impersonal.

One thing is certain. there would have been no article in The Sunday Times if Daphne had not written about Joseph Muscat’s father.