On his Facebook page, Frank Portelli is on one of his mad rants. His latest obsession is the idea that he “knows” Daphne Caruana Galizia got paid — he says something about a million euro though it is not entirely clear who paid the million to whom — to write about someone. Or something. Or not to. Again it is not entirely clear which.

He then goes on with misogynistic rhetoric worthy of the filth this man has become.

He does not have an axe to grind. The metal has long been eaten up by his obsessive and pointless grinding at the wheel.

He has a pathology made worse only by the fact that not only he does not recognise it in himself but neither do others who go on his page to egg him on.

He is nuts. Not in the way Kurt Farrugia is a coconut (though my children insist a coconut is not a nut) or his replacement is a walnut.

He is nuts in that the man has lost his marbles, he’s gone bonkers, he’s flown off the handle, he’s hit the roof, he’s gone off the deep end, he’s popped his cork, he’s gone bananas, he’s flown over the cuckoo’s nest, he’s away with the fairies, he has bats in the belfry, the lights are on but he’s not home, he’s not playing with a full deck, he’s nutty as a fruitcake. Frank Portelli is stark raving mad.

For legal purposes I’m obligated to inform you I’m not licensed to make psychiatric diagnoses and these fourteen claims of fact are strictly a matter of opinion and a comment I deem fair in the circumstances.

If I ever speak of anyone the way Frank Portelli speaks about his obsessions, I pray someone shoots me.