Part the first

Let me begin with a parry, before the thrust. Authorial responsibility for the creation of this weblog is only secondary; credit - of course it can only be credit where I am concerned - should primarily accrue to the proddings of a Maltese grand dame des lettres (hello, Sharon) of not inconsiderable charm, talent and conviction, though even these pale when juxtaposed to my incurable vanity.

The purpose of this first post - sorry, I haven't yet accepted that 'blog' is a dual-usage noun - will be none other than a public service announcement concerning the nature of your dear author, and more interestingly, perhaps, his proclivities. First, though, some words on names and titles.

This weblog's title should, in and of itself, be enough to qualify me as a member of that same liberal elite which has been deemed the bane of every straight-jawed, non-incarcerated flag-waving patriot. After all, it is supplied in a language foreign to most Maltese, with antennae the surfeit of every individual not equipped with a knowledge of Parisian architecture and late, late French Romantic poetry. Yet - for reasons unbenknownst to me - eliding the opprobrium of the 'neither borrower nor lender' crowd is not among my most immediate concerns, if only because I happen to find straight-jawed people inveterately dull and, well, as an older, wiser soul once put it, 'takes one to know one.' To demystify it [the title] completely, let me also admit that yes, I am aware of the poem by Apollinaire, of the bridge in Paris that is its inspiration, as well as the French revoluntionary of the same name. Why Mirabeau? Cherchez le femme, allied to the fact that at the age of twenty-six I have two trips to Paris that will remain seared into my memory for some time.

The more perspicacious amongst you will quickly realise that the persona of Troilus has been substituted by 'the Jacobin' - which, to anyone with an inclination as to my political bearings would seem to denote a hint of schizophrenia. To allay any fears I must explain that historical figures - especially those from the early Communist Left - have always captured my sympathy. Their aims - in particular, the desire for liberty and its cousin, equality before the law, still remain part of the understanding of what an inclusionary politics should include. (My decision to subsume French Jacobins under the Early Communist banner could, upon request, be the subject of another post) The name should also serve to inoculate me against some charges of fascist hysteria whenever I propogate ideas which are inimical to the European Left in its contemporary incarnation.

In the main, my chosen subjects shall be found from amongst the politics-sex-poetry triad. Yes, really. Politics (international, with the occasional Maltese dollop) certainly. Sex (that is, the fairer) unavoidably. Poetry because...it must be worth something as an art if its mastery escaped even Nabokov. Mercifully for readers my contributions in this vein shall be limited to the odd suggestion.

Enfin, Miranda. Or, more appositely, Miranda. Miranda v. Arizona appeared before the U.S. Supreme Court in 1966. The gist of the Supreme Court's ruling involved the determination that if and when arrested individuals were not informed of their rights prior to interrogation, any evidence that the police gathered during their communication with the arrested - in the case of Miranda, a confession - could not be used during trial. For the purposes of this and every subsequent entry, then, the following will be deemed to serve as your warning: I make no guarantees as to the quality or quantity of the words to follow, the coherence of the thought process buffering them, or my membership in any category of decent-hearted folk.

Topics to follow in the next few days: vestiges of my romantic past, and profligacy in that regard; the girdings of my admiration for the leader of the "free" world - with a challenge to those who would use those quotation marks ironically, and ("I am shocked, shocked, to find that gambling is going on here!") the moral perfidy presented by many distingushed members of the Guardian's opinion page.