For the record, I am told that my wife did not post that photo on Natius’ FB, nor did she send him any. Moreover, that photo was NOT taken by her.

[Daphne – It definitely was either your wife or her brother, Kevin. They were the only people in a position to take it, the only people with an interest in taking it, and the only people who spent the entire day – except for the couple of hours of peace we had when they were upstairs at lunch – craning their necks and walking around with phones angled in our direction. Your wife was actually blatantly staring at me fixedly when I turned round – still with her phone in her hand. She now has a problem because if the same thing happens again, there will be a report to the management. Not only photos, but also any staring, nudging, gossiping, bed-turning and neck-craning. I get enough of that in the street (as do others), but then you expect that. At a private beach club, different codes of behaviour apply. Everybody is there under the same terms, as equals, and the unwritten rule is that nobody pesters anybody else, in whatever way. Your wife did not post the picture on Farrugia’s Facebook. He did. And no, I don’t think she sent it to him. She would have sent it to her best friend Jeffrey Pullicino Orlando, who would in turn have sent it to Farrugia so as to be seen to be publishing it himself. You spend too much time supping with the devil, Kevin, and I don’t believe you have a sufficiently long spoon.]

Pulling legs is not flirting, Daphne.

[Daphne – It is. The classic form.]

‘Sphinxy’ is our black dog’s nickname, Daphne. Like you, you’d never guess what’s going on through his mind. But he’s so cute.

[Daphne – No flirting, please, Kevin. That’s another thing I don’t do (“kemm hi kiesha”, “min tahseb li hi”, “lesbjana” blah blah blah).]

I would have thought otherwise, given that you get so flustered whenever that genetic heap disparages your name.

[Daphne – Practically nothing gets me flustered, Kevin, believe me, except for the obvious like accidents requiring immediate attention. In my younger days my nickname was ‘the sphinx’, and it wasn’t only because I looked like the ancient Egyptians of popular imagination. It was because I was totally sphinx-like and inscrutable. Nobody ever knew what I was thinking, and in real life, I’m still very much like that. I do, however, enjoy rattling their cage. This is vastly different from being flustered.]

See, I told you she is a secret admirer. Who would go through all that trouble, risking life and limb, to prove to the Natius nation that you’re just a normal down-to-earth, homely mother and wife?

[Daphne – If she were an admirer, secret or otherwise, she would have worked out by now that I don’t give a flying monkey’s what a bunch of people at the bottom of the genetic heap think of me. But I do mind being pestered in person.]

She might be a closet admirer, you never really know these days, but don’t be alarmed if it boils down to a figment of your imagination as many celebs suffer from the fixation that they’re continually being stalked.

[Daphne – Bit difficult for it to be a figment of my imagination when I actually saw the neck-craning, the bed-turning and the perky ‘waving from a distance’. Also, the most unsensational photograph she took was uploaded this afternoon on Natius Farrugia’s Facebook profile. ‘Here’s a photo of Daphne Caruana Galizia. Oh look, she’s normal.’]

Ara Brimmer, dak nazzjonalist qal. Qed tara Daphne, kemm ghandna meritokrazija.

Li twerwirni hi kif kienu ilhom hames snin itambru fuq futur u protagonisti u x’naf jien, mbaghad hadu giopp mal-gvern.

X’vizjoni eh?

Hudilha isimha wkoll, surgent. Dawn il-paparazzi m’hemmx li nehilsu minnhom. Sus wara kemm halsuha. Celebrita bhal Lady Deafley taf iggib qliegh kbir… M’hemmx li nsib xoghol iehor jien ukoll…

[Daphne – There is a stronger case for staring at your wife and trying to get her picture, Kevin, because she is a politician and I am not. But nobody was doing that, including me, because we’re civilised. Beach clubs, like private houses, demand respect for the privacy of others. The correct code of behaviour is to pretend that you haven’t seen the person, unless you know them and wish to have a conversation. Even if Joseph Muscat had turned up on a sunbed next to mine, I would have pretended I hadn’t seen him – not to be rude or hostile, but to acknowledge the privacy we had both paid to have. The bottom line is that you might know what civilised behaviour is, but your wife, her family and their fellow-travellers do not.]