The bob woman

I clean forgot. Today while TV zapping at my mum's, my hand took a break as the picture on the plasma rested on the bob woman preaching about alcohol and driving. So far so good, but I really could have thrown my shoes (Nike ones this time) at the screen, though my guess is that my dad wouldn't have been too pleased about his daughter hurling a size 41 pair of Nike's at his plasma screen. Although dad is a very understanding person. But then maybe he wouldn't be very understanding if that had to happen. But this woman who always has the same prim and proper hairstyle, only now she's upgraded or downgraded it to a wispy bob gets under my skin. Her hairstyle could be straight out of an s & M shop in London's Soho. Especially when she's run out of words to say and decides to open telephone lines. And then she suddenly gets even more prim and proper and oh so clever. She even smiles the knowing smile which stands for oh-I'm-so-good-at-this. But she's not. She cannot very well string enough decent Maltese words to make a sentence, that's one thing she sucks at. Secondly, smiling as if there were no tomorrow when talking about serious things like alcoholism, drug abuse and any other kind of abuse is not on. Then comes that false head laugh at some really silly joke she's trying to share with herself. And people like these are put in charge of delicate posts, while their paycheck comes out of my taxes. That's sad. And I understand that it is difficult for hosts having a magazine midday programme to find actual people who will come and talk on their show. But perhaps they should try and get real people, like the man who sells peanuts at Valletta's City Gate. Oh he'll look grubby and shabby, but he'll be for real. And that would be a breath of fresh air.