The first gem of the week came last Sunday on Illum, in what transpired to be a pricey dispensation of ecclesiastical indulgences for the four-legged friends of a Nationalist candidate – another ruse in which the forces of good and evil seem to find common ground just prior to an election.

Imagine the brainwave that sent 1,000 volts tearing through the collective grey matter of “the friends of” (as the organising committee styles itself to prevent any direct reference to the politician) architect Philip Mifsud in a bid to raise the man’s political profile to high heaven.

With the help of a local priest, Mifsud’s canvassers planned on dispensing blessings and the remission of punishment for animals, against a fee – Lm2 for any domestic pet, and a slightly higher Lm3 for horses (granted, you can bless them all you like but horses will take a dump even if St Francis himself is doing the honours).

Tickets for the blessing were to be paid for at the PN’s Rabat club; owners would go back home with a memento in the form of a certificate (a receipt, one assumes, proving eligibility for eternal life once the animal dies).

As it happened, heaven’s floodgates opened up on the Sunday the event was to take place, putting a stop to this act of political shamanism, and leaving Mr Mifsud and his sycophants grinding their teeth as yet more members of the equine, canine and feline sub-kingdoms were left living in sin.

On its part, the Curia frowned upon both the political nature of the activity and the payment requested, having learnt its lesson well since Martin Luther first upset the Catholic hegemony a handful of centuries ago.

With his almost cosmic affinity with the animal kingdom, Mifsud should be given the parliamentary secretariat for rural affairs. Carry on campaigning. Pat on the back, three cheers, hurrah and woof-woof.

Things are looking up. This week I got picked by the earlobes and dipped back into society when I received a birthday party invitation – and it was from none other than the Minister of Tourism and ‘ulture (that’s “culture” with such a small “c” it has ceased to be visible) Francis Zammit Dimech, inviting me and hundreds of his admirers to celebrate his 53rd year of existence at Axis Discotheque.

Always a notch above the rest, his annoyingly trendy invitation came shaped in the form of an iPod. Truth be told, there is nothing more infuriating than when the discernibly un-young attempt to ply the young using their own tools. And this attempt by Francis at looking hip is just that – because the only hip thing about Francis is his ample femur and generous girth. And that may as well be the source of his greatness. For with little politically substantial left to say after 20 years of government, he can always whip up a great party to remind us of his loveliness, and of a job well done at the factory of smiles that is the tourism ministry.

And this he will be doing with performances by Ira Losco and DJ Ruby; the free giveaway of 10 iPods; and a 10% per cent discount off Apple products redeemable with his fancy invitation (which I will be using with impunity, of course). Politician, trendsetter, impresario, roaming Apple retailer – what a super guy. All this talk by Lawrence Gonzi that he’s putting his ministers “on notice” has clearly sent his top men in a frenzy.

And check out Francis’s covering letter, where he boasts of Malta having made it “on the map of Europe’s hottest destinations”. Hottest? All this buttering up to the youth vote has enfeebled his control of the language. Is this what the young 53-year-old tells Dr Gonzi at Cabinet meetings: “Prime Minister, that’s a hot vision you have for 2015. Surely, if it’s not excellence we’ll achieve, we can always be a centre of hotness.”

Next slogan – Familji F***ing Cool u Fis-Sod.