Adrian Delia to interviewer: “One million euros may be a lot for you, but it isn’t a lot for me.”

I watched David Thake’s interview with Adrian Delia on Facebook yesterday, and wondered how Mr Thake could stand Mr Delia for five seconds longer.

What a c&%t, I thought. Really, what a jerk. What a real piece of work. If all men were like that, I thought, I would have become a lesbian or a nun. No wonder his biggest fans are thugs, bullies, chauvinists and chicken-brained women. He is a textbook gaslighter, and if you don’t know what gaslighting is, then I strongly recommend this brief definition. It is a form of psychological abuse which men use on those closest to them and which they then take out into the wider world as necessary when they see that it has been successful at subjugating others to their will.

I did tell you that Mr Delia tried the same kind of gaslighting and circular, bullying talk with me in our very first and last conversation, but then found out that I can shout louder and am not averse to telling people where to stuff it when they overstep the mark. What an a%&hole.

He was particularly pissed off when I said to him, as he came at me with a wall of gaslighting circular talk in that bullying, harassing, I’ll-talk-you-down voice: “If this is how you treat your wife, no wonder you managed to bully her into doing something as crazy and stupid as giving you her full power of attorney.”

“I’m going to end this conversation now,” he said. “Like hell you will,” I responded.

I wouldn’t have done that on camera, of course, but I would certainly have put the man in his place. I have been dealing with jerks most of my adult life – you tend to, in this profession – and another jerk just keeps things fresh.

For me, the most aggravating moment in that interview yesterday came when Mr Thake asked Mr Delia about the one million euros in his Barclays International account in Jersey – the money that ‘disappeared’ – and Mr Delia said that he doesn’t recall anything about them.

How can you not remember, Mr Thake asked. I would remember.

And Mr Delia replied, sneering: “Maybe one million euros are a lot for you, but they are not a lot to me. I deal with millions of euros all the time.”

“Bniedem baxx,” I said to my laptop screen. “Turi kemm trabbejt fl-għaks. Il-vera ħamallu u injorant. Mhux ta’ b’xejn tħossok komdu ma’ Censu L-Iswed u Jesmond il-Hajta.”

And as somebody who didn’t grow up in għaks and therefore understands these things, Mr Delia, I have a pertinent question for you: if you are routinely dealing in hundreds of millions, why do you own nothing but a house in Siggiewi while owing the banks three quarters of a million euros at the age of 48?

Ma tantx int ‘avukat ta’ suċċess’ mela, għax djun biss għandek.

He boasts about how successful he is, how many millions he handles routinely, and then at the grand old age of 48, he owns one house hypothecated to the bank and owes the banks three quarters of a million euros for his personal needs not his business. So questions have to be asked about where his money is going, to have run up colossal personal debts like that and with nothing to show for it.