These characters should have never left the boundary borders of their home village.

I often have business involvement in the UK, of the tightly regulated and highly reputable sort. Prior to the self-destructive initiative in Malta called “Elect Labour to Government”, whenever I was asked where I came from, and said I was Maltese, it was usually a muttered murmur of approval. It somehow meant that it was better than the PIIGS lot (Portugal, Italy, Ireland, Greece or bloomin’ Spain).

Then the “sale of passports” disaster came along. That was closely followed by a new set of regulations in the UK that required full disclosure of assets and liabilities, in my line of business, on a more regular basis. Followed, naturally, by the inevitable ‘joke’ at the accountant’s: “You’ve missed out on putting in £500K for your Malta passport, har, har, har, har…”

It was then followed by Dalligate. “You lot sure know how to mix business with pleasure, what was he up to?” My reply was precise and clear: “I have no idea what he was up to and based on his past record in government, and the skeletons in his closet, I’d have shoved him off into a retirement home rather than Brussels.”