My Malta

There are many things on this island that always seem to jump out at me and tell me I am living in Malta. I have decided to upload some of the pictures of certain things that have found a place in my heart over the last year or so.

1. Bavarian Beer. Well it's not a bad lager and it's half the price of Maltese Cisk!

Talenti Lokali

You don’t have to look far in Malta during summer to find a lamp post somewhere that has a gross amount of posters haphazardly stuck to it. I know in my adopted hometown of Fgura, lamp posts and in fact anything that stays still long enough for it to have something stuck to it, wears a poster.
These posters are usually (but not always) advertising a night of entertainment for the people of the town. To give a detailed description, posters are usually white in colour, and are written in black permanent marker. They usually display the usual delights that such a night has to offer; xorba, ikel, talenti lokali, bbq kbira and tombla! All of these are usually displayed on the posters within zigzagged edging.
Having seen these posters many times I had never ventured along to one of these events. I had always held it in my mind that they would tend to be very exclusive events. Although being one for integration, I feared I might stick out like a weight watchers meal in a pastizzi shop if I were to attend such an event.
So a few weeks ago my chance to attend such a night arrived. A friend of mine invited me along to Naxxar. There were a couple hundred of people. There were tables all lined up in front of a stage, where 2 local celebrities hosted the show. In turn they invited on abundance of young people. Some sang well, some sang not so well and some well.....erm! From what I remember there was a Maltese version of the Pussy Cat Dolls and a child duo straight from drama class who managed to destroy “love shine a light”. As all this was playing out it was comforting to see the BBQ smoking away at the side of the stage.
The highlight for most seemed to be the appearance of Maltese superstar Ira Losco, not too big and famous to support the event. Children and adults alike thronged around the stage and camcorders were out on parade.
On the surface it is easy to make fun of such an event, the quality of the singing etc, but when we scratch beneath we can see a real community at work, a community coming together for one night to watch the children and teenagers play and perform as best they can. I can barely imagine such an event taking place in the UK. I think the last time such a thing occurred was on Princess Diana’s wedding day in 1981. After that the UK seems to have packed away their community spirit.
What is even more heart-warming about this event was that it was all produced and managed by children and teenagers. In this respect they did a great job and created a fantastic positive image of themselves in the minds of the local community.
Well done to the youth of Naxxar!

The Curiosity of Evening Classes

Evening classes are a great way for people to meet new friends, to discover new interests and hobbies and they can open up our minds and enrich us. However, for some of us evening classes may prevent us from watching quality television like “Identita” and “Simpatici”
Knowing that I wanted to study Maltese for foreigners I quickly filled in my application form at the local college. I have joined up for the preliminary course. Whether the preliminary course is suitable for me, remains to be seen. It’s true I can’t say the basics like “I am from the UK” or “I am 28 years old” in Maltese, but will the other preliminary students know how to say “mutu muto qrunu f’butu” (you have to watch the quiet ones) and “jekk ma joghobnix” (what if I don’t like it) or be able to swear and curse with great facility. Will the other preliminaries also be able to greet the tutor with “hares sirrrrrrr” and ask “nista mmur il loki?” My answer is.......Ma nisipx ( I don’t think so, (I couldn’t ask the Pagun for any other translations due to some rising tension due to my incessant questioning, so the word here is written purely phonetically))
In the many hours of free-time I have had this week, I flicked through the evening classes prospectus on numerous occasions. Doubting whether the Maltese for foreigners course will run due to the lack of preliminaries applying I wondered whether I should opt for a back-up course. At first there were two other courses that grabbed my attention; the first being “design of stairs”, the second being “rabbit breeding”. It was a few days later when I noticed that “Fancy Poultry Grooming” was right up my street.
The whole concept of this course opens up a magnitude of questions that hopefully others might be able to answer. Who goes for such a class like Fancy Poultry Breeding? Which chicken keeper likes his or her chickens to always be looking their best? How are the classes structured? Do I need my own ungroomed chicken or are they supplied? Does an ungroomed chicken really want to be paraded in front of a whole class? Are these chicken keepers like these pushy parents of child-actors? Do they force their chickens to look good? Or rather is it the chickens who feel they need a new makeover? Are there hundreds of Maltese chickens who lack self-esteem, who feel depressed, sad and lonely because of their looks? Are they unable to attract the cock that they really really want?
I guess these questions could only be answered if I were to join up for the course, and to coin a well known Maltese expression.....ux eeeeeeee!!!

Rain in August???

Rain in August???
Being British I feel compelled to comment on yesterday’s weather. Every day I check the Times weather forecast (even though for last 3 months the weather has been virtually the same every day, old habits die hard) but there was no mention of rain yesterday. Was it a day in May the last time it rained in Malta? I don’t remember. After endless days of sun filled skies, unbearable humidity and happy days at the beach, rain is locked somewhere in the doldrums of my mind.
Yesterday I planned the perfect morning in Sliema. It had been a while since the Pagun and I had been. I thought a morning of window shopping, drinking ice tea in a cafe at Ferries and feeling Sliemaish in my new green pumps was the perfect way to pass the morning. By the time Simpatici had finished, the laptop was closed and I had picked a t shirt to wear that hid my summer of non-stop eating, the perfect morning however, had turned into the perfect afternoon. But nobody was clock watching.
Amazingly enough parking was a piece of cake, close to Burger King. Incidentally I noticed outside Burger King there is a parking space reserved for the Archbishop (is he so keen on the fries there?). I think we had taken a maximum of two steps when we felt the first drop of rain. What followed was a moment of mixed emotions; confusion, joy, disbelief and shit I am wearing my new pumps!!
We stopped to enjoy this free spectacle from the comfort of Giorgio’s where we each downed a soft drink and a pie. We smiled as we watched tourists running in their bikinis and flip flops. I saw the minds of the British tourists ticking, I imagined their phone calls back home that evening to their families (that is once they have worked out how to correctly insert the phone card and dial the correct number) “It rained, It rained, yeah it did, it rained”.
During a brief break, we quickly darted in the direction of some commercial outlets. After the Pagun had made some life changing decisions, like deciding whether to buy a pair jeans for €16 from Topman or not (in the end they were purchased), we were ready to leave. What greeted us when we reached the doorway of Topman could have easily have been a scene from a Reuters news video. The water was flowing faster than Niagara Falls and in equal volumes, asphalt was being torn from the road, cars were swimming in the deluge along with oxen and precious belongings were being carried on the heads of the population of Sliema who were making a desperate attempt to salvage anything they could.
Okay I exaggerate but it was bad! Thinking I was Rambo I dashed to the car, after a few acts of bravery I arrived close to the car. There it was, about 4 inches deep in water. I stood there for a split second, realising my new green pumps were on the verge of ruin, then off my pumps and socks came and I dashed across to the car bare footed (this bit is true). Then the car door was closed and I realised I had made it and off I went to collect the Pagun who was waiting in the comfortable shelter of Topman.
When I returned home, I had to check the Times website. Yep! ..... I was right, they had reported the rainfall. It seems my obsession with the weather is not so British after all.