That convict bit was a low blow. You were supposed to keep that between us.

Very good description of little Joey’s attire. However, how does one actually ‘fit out’ a short, fat, thick-necked, bow-legged dwarf, who’s head is too large for his body although totally empty.

Ah, my hair! I thought I’d try a different barber last week, and asked for the usual short back and sides. He started out by carving a No. 1 furrow all round my left side. So he had to do the other side to balance it out. Since it was rather high up, he had to clip it short round the ears too, and then to cut the top short to avoid a Skrillex. In the end, I came out looking like a convict.

But yes, how did you know I was being fitted for a suit? Gieves and Hawkes, as it happens.

When my fans ask, I deliver, so without further ado:

“Casual” is a word that was invented during the collapse of Western Civilisation (which started, according to your field of expertise, somewhere around 1945, somewhere in the 1950s, when Gavrilo Princip fired his first shot, when James Dean posed for his first photoshoot, when Elvis first took up a guitar, when the Beatles were given MBEs, or when we retreated from East of Suez). Whichever the date, “casual” is what men who cannot dress like gentlemen use as an excuse for their abysmal council estate fashion.

Joseph Muscat appears to have gone for the Jeremy Clarkson jacket ‘n’ jeans look. With Hammond to prop him up, he might have pulled it off, but then Hammond is not that short by Maltese standards, if you get my drift.

And drift is what I’m doing. So, to the details.

The shirt collar! Egad! Like a floating voter, you can’t tell if it’s in or out. Seeing it twinned with a pullover takes me right back to my schoolboy days, when I fought back bitter tears as I was hit over the shins with a cricket bat. Me, you say? No. I was wearing a tie, as per school regulations. It was our prefects who dressed that way. Right down to the jacket and the paunch.

Joseph Muscat looks so much like Mr Average it’s uncanny. In that sense, he dresses for the part. He wants us to think he’s one of us. Even though he’s a millionaire who’s always had his jobs handed to him. He could have fooled me, and he’ll fool us all on 9th March.

Not fair. Kenneth Zammit Tabona has changed his profile pic, and his crocodile is now bigger than Joseph’s pony.

Baxxter is occupied, having his copious hair trimmed, then about to be fitted with a Saville Row suit, immaculately tailored and precisely to his specification. A work of art.

No. He takes his clothes to the laundry room. Michelle told us so – http://www.timesofmalta.com/articles/view/20130217/local/michelle-muscat.457860

A man’s pony is inversely proportional to the size of his ego.