The polls are truly apart and Joseph and his smugness are on track to win again by a staggering majority. The mind, the soul, the very essence of anything that boggles does exactly that. I’m numb and feeling dumb.

It’s not only that I don’t like the man and his ways. Let’s truly analyse the situation and be as truthful, objective and insightful as possible.

Let’s get one fact right immediately. If what is predicted by the Times poll (see Sunday’s Times of Malta to be staggered) is right then Labour are going to win the MEP election by over 20K. This is not an election proper, men and women usually don’t take it too seriously so a protest vote should be easier.

I thought people would clip his wings a bit just to wipe off that grin. Grim hope for all us worriers of the world about politics and politicians needing a good licking and beating.

If the electorate is still in mad love with Labour not even god and his minnows could stop Joseph Muscat from winning an eventual election with another whopping majority.

The PN is poor—poor not just in their empty coffers but also in thought, expression and execution. It’s their head and their smile that needs to roll if the results as predicted do happen and are rightly analysed.

What is strange in all this is how Labour, especially Joseph Muscat, is acting all along. You would imagine—even if you lacked any imagination—that anyone doing a fraction of what Joseph and Co are doing would scare most people’s pants off. But it seems the more our Joseph puffs and huffs and pulls down edifices the more he is loved.

Again I believe the opposition is lukewarm, wrong on most counts and rather—in fact very much—in disarray. Like an old boxer knocked out of his senses in the last bout the PN still seems to be reeling and more akin to hiding below the ring rather than ready to spar with the formidable Joe on top. And Simon Busuttil seems more intent on being seen as a goody goody than a boxer out for a fight.

Joseph Muscat seems to be endowed with magic powder. No magical PR or economic miracles, quite the contrary. In fact, in the year he has ruled over the manor he—and some of his ministers and other assorted lot—have been walking working disasters. But no one cares, no one thinks he does anything wrong.

In which country—or wonderland—would a prime minister hug, embrace and glorify a criminal without being severely condemned? On the contrary, Joseph Muscat’s appeal seems to grow.

Just as men dressed as women with a beard win accolades while buxom lasses churning milk go completely unnoticed, our world is slowly but sorely turning the old known world upside-down. Deep down people love going against what is right and normal.

So hurrah to Joseph and his amazing team and array of tricks and silken voice that turns treachery into traits to be cherished. Long may the Prime Minister be our prime yardstick for all that is seen and known to be right and commendable.

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