I’ve brushed shoulders with Anton Rea Cutajar once before. It was last Easter when Repubblika dared complain that acts by the government that Repubblika argued were illegal had, amongst their consequences, the death of 12 people at sea.
That’s when I had coined the moniker Tiger King, or, more properly, Tiger Kink. I had borrowed from Malcolm Tucker and politely suggested to Mr Anton Rea Cutajar to ‘kiss my sweaty balls’ just because I half guessed he was the type to be annoyed by that sort of thing.
He was. And he made a threatening phone call which I had to report to the police. The police took it seriously enough to send regular patrols outside my house for a while. The man is armed with semi-automatic weapons and wild cats for crying out loud. Not to mention his proximity to the Labour Party which continues to protect him. He’s a Raubritter that has stumbled through a time-warping wormhole, a self-employed Sherrif of Nottingham for our times.
Right now he has in his telescope crosshairs Alison Bezzina, the new animal rights czar, appointed to the post after years of campaigning. I cheered at the choice but not without mixed feelings. Appointments on the basis of merit have been very few and far between in this country in the last 8 years. I haven’t been in touch with Alison Bezzina for years but what I know of her does not suggest to me that she would let this appointment compromise her willingness to take strong stands when she has a mind to.
But that says nothing for the intentions of the government that appointed her. I would hate to see her high hopes frustrated, though I would not be surprised.
It’s not just that Anton Rea Cutajar is a crass bully and an inexplicably wealthy, dangerous man who has so far promised violence and given us no reason not to believe he can deliver it. It’s that he is in a better position to intimidate government ministers than Alison Bezzina.
We would call this a better country if people like Alison Bezzina were put in a position to take decisions. I rather suspect she hasn’t been. I rather suspect this country is just what we think it is: a place where Anton Rea Cutajar is Kink.
He certainly thinks it is. And with good reason. He continues to exist at a level untouched by conditions that limit the rest of us, such as the law or even the basic code of conduct to live a social life that distinguishes us from a herd of baboons on the rampage.
It’s sad to think that because of her new official position Alison Bezzina must be chewing the corner of her pillow, restraining herself from telling the Tiger Kink to kiss her sweaty balls too.
And Anton Rea Cutajar, if you’ve read so far, don’t phone me.