The Prime Minister may not be so good at comebacks. He plays to great audiences, stringing slogans and inspirational platitudes together effortlessly, begetting cheer and euphoria and other essential emotions required of one’s participation in the democratic system. But his reply to Alfred Sant’s budget reaction on Wednesday evening floundered, his speech sounding a bit like stew – a boring, bubbling pot of yesterday’s meat and potatoes simmering away.
The budgetary face-off revealed the telling difference between Sant and Gonzi. Sant needs controlled environs. Gonzi excels in mass rallies. Sant’s timbre makes for an 11.00am economics double lecture. Gonzi’s for… erm, mass rallies.
The Labour leader’s oratory was woven by a skilful storyteller, cleverly interspersed with humour and direct hits at raw nerves. An image-conscious party official had obviously passed a copy of Sant’s speech to the PBS crew beforehand, which regaled us with TV gold every time Sant singled out a minister. And the general display of annoyance was sheer entertainment: Ninu Zammit’s pneumatic kisser silently uttering unhappy retorts; Tony Abela, whom he ridiculed as “a part-time notary in Castille”, expressionless, looking like a severed limb; Austin Gatt too was silently fuming away.
But the prime minister’s speech two days later could have been discussing the merits of formica over mahogany – it seemed the man who had just achieved one of the best budgets and lowest deficits ever wanted to dip his success into a bucket of tepid boredom. He started off with a meandering piece on the thrifty, prudent Maltese family – a mix of old wives’ tale meets kids TV. Then he turned to discredit Sant’s track record, instantly giving the game away that his opponent had upset the party machinery on Monday.
At one point, Gonzi suggested that the entire Cabinet would deserve a right smack in the face (“ikun haqqna daqqa ta’ harta”) had this budget truly been an opportunistic, electoral budget. A bit harsh for the PM to be so willing to take such punishment, but still, one relishes in the fantasy.
He humoured his MPs when, after reiterating Sant’s claim that “the public’s general verdict of the budget was ‘too little, too late’,” he instantly turned to Sant and mockingly asked: “Min qalilek din?” (Whoever told you this?). General hand-slamming, hear-hearing, and throaty guffaws ensued, but the weak punchline couldn’t mask the clumsiness of a speech that didn’t seem to follow a straight line. Even his feigned ignorance of the full title of Labour's 'Pjan Ghal Bidu Gdid' sounded contrived.
Gonzi certainly did his best in making Sant look like he was seriously considering taking dad’s car and drive it to the edge of Dingli cliffs in a game of chicken – but he came across like daddy himself, driving his immaculate Ford Anglia at an infuriating 35mph on the bypass. Maybe it was a trying day. It’s a tough job, prime-ministering, but someone’s got to do it.

Sedes sapientiae, Ora Pro Nobis. No, this sudden entreaty to divine reason is not the sound I made at 15 when I was straight-jacketed by the education division into taking Physics O-level, in the hope that I too might one day defy the laws of gravity and, like Silvio Parnis, ascend to the House of Representatives.
‘Throne of Wisdom, pray for us’ was in fact the Latin supplication softly intoned by Jason Azzopardi MP, chairman of the parliamentary foreign affairs committee, before a Q&A with the French ambassador by the committee last week. A pointless observation, but I thought it would be reassuring to know that some MPs seriously underestimate their mental capacities to the extent of petitioning some highly qualified sources for enlightenment before attempting anything politically relevant. A Christian Outlook will surely be thrilled.