Did he really say that?
So now The Economist is a sex toy for the Prime Minister and Mrs Muscat, and is “beloved” by a couple of seven-year-olds. You couldn’t make it up.
From The Malta Independent’s report of The Economist round table meeting in Malta, one of those paid events in which an organisation screws a vulnerable third-world/ish government for cash in exchange for its name. The next The Economist round table meeting is in Baku, Azerbaijan, which puts things in context just in case you don’t know the industry and were unduly impressed:
This time, the event was organised by The Economist (to which Prime Minister Muscat paid a fulsome tribute in his pre-dinner speech, even saying the magazine shares in his and his wife’s intimacy and is beloved by his two children).
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Incidentally, the Crans Montana forum mentioned here was in October 1995, not 1997. In other words, before the 1996 election and not after it. And in 1997, Eddie Fenech Adami wasn’t the prime minister. Alfred Sant was.
http://www.independent.com.mt/mobile/2014-03-09/news/investment-and-growth-mainly-from-government-4190601220/
Yes, you are right. I definitely remember it being in October 1995.
I also thought I remembered Lilic being there, and confirmed it on reading this http://www.m2.com/m2/web/story.php/1995852568440080DDE88025683B002CB488, which also confrms the forum as having been held here in October 1995 – between the 12th and the 15th, to be exact.
When the Muse knocks, you open your flies — er, the door.
THE EROTIC ECONOMIST – Chapter One
It had been a long, tiring day at the office. Meeting with his political strategist first thing in the morning, Cabinet meeting at 11, soup and salad gobbled down before rushing off to meet the Qatari Emir, then a TV interview, then a photoshoot at the gym, then constituency surgery.
By the time he got home, he was exhausted.
Thank god for his wife.
She was waiting for him tonight. She’d even left the front door ajar.
He strode up the drive, briefcase in hand, the moon reflected in the massive pool and the bars of the gilded cage with the falcons and leopards. He paused briefly to look at this – his empire.
He put the briefcase down on the hall table.
Then he noticed it – a copy of The Economist. A shiver ran down his spine, and he felt the familiar salty tang in the back of his throat. He moistened his lips as he ran his fingers along the edge, stopping briefly to caress the smooth, shiny staples.
He lay his sweaty palm atop the red rectangle with the magazine title and felt the cool, inviting texture of glossy paper. Slowly, he reached down, letting his fingers trail across the front page, and gently lifted the lower edge.
The page yielded to him with a slight whisper. Emboldened by the response, he flung the page open and there it lay: the leading article.
He ran his eyes lustfully across the title, then up and down, at the inset, at the photos illustrating the text. God, it was more than he could bear. His heart was beating like a locomotive, he brow was covered in beads of sweat, and his hands were trembling as he went deeper and deeper into the article. Such clarity! Such brilliance! Such up-to-date analysis!
He caught his breath as he flipped to the next page. The paper had warmed up now, and he could see moist patches where he had laid his sweaty palm. Like a lion devouring his prey, he hungrily lapped up every word of the article, going back to the first page to look at the graph in more detail, then flipping to the last page.
He needed release now. His hands were everywhere on the page, along the edge of the paper, on the spine, on the two paper clips rising up like pointy metal things on the fold.
Yes! Yes! Last paragraph now. He was breathing through his mouth, bathed in the beauty of the last sentence, that last pithy thought.
He came to the fullstop, releasing his pent-up ardour.
He looked at his beloved magazine, lying there slightly crumpled, the pages curling with the moisture of his handling.
It had been a great article. He would do it all again tomorrow.
His wife need never know. His wife! He was suddenly brought back to reality with a jolt. So he quickly rearranged the magazine on the hall table and walked through to the lounge.
“Darling, what’s for dinner?”
I hope his children don’t “belove” the magazine just after it has shared the intimacy between him and his wife.
Has Joey gone nuts ? Where are his advisors or are they not fit for purpose too.
Yes, it’s right there on the internet:
‘In October 1995 the first-ever Mediterranean Crans-Montana Forum, organized by the Swiss-based Foundation du Forum Universale, was held in Malta. Over a four-day period, more than 500 delegates, including heads of state and prime ministers, discussed the formation of a Euro-Mediterranean area to bring about a systematic development of mechanisms of cooperation in all fields.’
It’s that simple.
As for Fenech Adami being prime minister in 1997, if that’s not a brain format, I don’t know what is.
What the…? It’s true, you couldn’t make this stuff up.
Roll up The Economist and there you go, your new sex toy.
Did someone ask how much it cost the government to host the event here?
Well it’s a given really, wife can’t speak English to save her life, husband can’t either and they both don’t know what the f..k they’re saying. It is beyond ridiculous – SOS.
Maybe he was thinking of the “send in the clowns” issue of The Economist.
The Economist? His daily read, his inseparable companion even at the office.
http://daphnecaruanagalizia.com/2013/03/its-noon-so-pour-yourself-a-nice-big-g-t-before-you-read-this-one-or-some-black-coffee-if-youre-at-work/
Remind you of anyone?
http://www.bbc.com/news/blogs-china-blog-26556476
Yes Daphne, I was there and on hearing the PM’s speech wanted to crawl under the table in shame.
He did not, in front of about 600 delegates, promote Malta one iota.
‘I don’t have to speak to you about Malta as Malta can speak for itself.’
Muscat, as PM, should promote Malta on any occasion, more so during a conference to ‘invigorate growth’.
All he spoke about was The Economist and how it now seems to have become part of his and his wife’s intimacy.
Muscat knows zilch about economics. He only held that conference so that he could appear in the programme as a top flight speaker, along with the man who blew BP’s reputation out of the water with his stupid remark about getting his life back after several employees died in a disaster that ruined even more lives.
I have tried all the possible combinations into which a copy of The Economist can be contorted.
I can very well imagine how Joseph and Michelle can use it intimately.
How very sad and very pathetic.
But the children?
The mind boggles.
My conclusion is that this guy’s English is so poor that he does not even have a clue of what he is talking about.
A word of advice: stick to Maltese and let the simultaneous translators do the rest.
Stop making a fool of yourself. For Malta’s sake.
Der Kommissar should be our special envoy to help locate the missing Malaysian Airlines plane. He knows how things can disappear without a trace.
Daphne do realize there is always a complicated strategy behind our beloved PM’s actions where A leads to B and C and so forth.
Our visionary PM knew that by saying what he did The Economist will quote his words of wisdom and praise in their next issue, which in turn will increase their sales tenfold.
And our PM gets to give our country massive free publicity. Moreover he is establishing himself and his family as serious academic beings, far away from the soddy low-middle class citizens some people so unjustly picture him as.
I’m still trying to figure out what he meant by ‘sharing in his and his wife’s intimacy’. I think he meant something else, or did he?
And I would be very surprised if his children are able to read books for older children such as Roald Dahl, let alone The Economist.
Yes Daphne, I was there and on hearing the PM’s speech wanted to crawl under the table in shame. He did not, in front of about 600 delegates, promote Malta one iota.
‘I don’t have to speak to you about Malta as Malta can speak for itself.’
Muscat, as PM, should promote Malta on any occasion, more so during a conference to ‘invigorate growth’.
All he spoke about was The Economist and how now even his wife who used to read Vogue is now reading The Economist.
It now seems to have become part of his and his wife’s intimacy. Even his twin 6-year-old daughters are interested in The Economist, he said. This was a prepared speech, which was even worse.
This was last October . The FSU Gemini was in a drydock since that time maybe for repairs.
Are they fitting a re-gassification unit?
http://www.timesofmalta.com/articles/view/20131014/local/sicily-malta-gas-pipeline-included-in-eu-projects-funding-list.490328
“The European Union has included the proposed gas pipeline between Malta and Sicily in a list of 250 energy projects which may qualify from a total of €5.85 billion in funding.
The project description says that this would be a 150 km pipeline from Gela in Sicily to an offshore Floating Storage and Regasification Unit unit some 12 miles off Malta, and the Delimara power station.”
Did he really say that, to the EU? Funds from a stash of €5.85 elf miljun?
May I have your email address please?
[Daphne – [email protected]]
Malta International Fireworks Festival li kien isir fil-bajja ta’ marsaxlokk se jibqa jsir issa, habba t-tanker?
Ta’ min jistaqsi
I think what he really meant was ‘an economy of sex’
Clown
And did Toni Abela manage to make an ass of himself today.
Didn’t mind being called an incompetent idiot but took umbrage at clown. Go figure.
What others do, Labour manages to destroy. No different to Australia Hall.
Bureacracy and bad weather in Marsaxlokk sank this one.
http://www.independent.com.mt/articles/2014-03-14/news/too-late-charlotte-louise-sinks-before-taken-on-land-4260921344/
Imagine this one then, omelette du Konrad.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cT6qbrA7PnE
Last Friday, Dr. Muscat was the key speaker at The Economist Business Roundtable. Messrs. John Peet and John Andrews introduced the morning session. When Dr. Muscat arrived, one of the editors asked the audience to wait for a few minutes until the Honourable Prime Minister caught his breath having had to climb a strenuous flight of stairs. Enough said, methinks.