Malta Here I Come!
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Me and the wifey went to Malta many many moons ago. We went with two friends and their teenage kids. At the time we hadn’t had our daughter. Our friends were ten years older than us and we were really close. We shared an apartment and, one day, to give them a ‘day to themselves’ we took the kids to a water theme park.
The kids were well chuffed as, because we were ten years younger than their parents and I was particularly ‘laid back’ or, if you prefer, immature – it’s fine, I’m cool with that description. I haven’t changed a bit in that respect – they both knew they would get to smoke and drink alcohol.
It was a great day and a great holiday. I’m told that regarding Malta you either love it or hate it – apparently there’s no middle ground here. I’ve no idea but I loved it!
My mate Malcolm – an ex-Royal Marine – took it upon himself to do all the cooking. He would make breakfast and a stray cat would come into the kitchen. He would look away and I’d nick some bacon from the pan and give it to the cat. Malcolm would then look back and say “Hang about! I’m sure I put 10 rashers in the pan!” and add another.
This would go on for the duration of making breakfast and, by the time Malcolm dished it out he’d cooked about 20 rashers to get 10. He knew damn well what I was doing but we were, and are, pals.
Sadly his wife, my daughters Godmother, died in her early 50’s. Malcolm eventually met someone – well he was far too young to remain alone : “She gave me a blow job!” he told me in amazement shortly after I met her. They’ve been happily retired for many years on the British coast.
I’ve never forgotten Malta and have always wanted to go back and now, this summer, I am.
The chap who trained me to put death on the roads or, if you prefer, become a driving instructor is Maltese. His marriage broke up last year and he chose to go home to Malta. We chat on Facebook and he knows the shit I’ve been going through with the wifeys poor health and her parents dying and me getting lumbered with doing everything at the same time as working – and no, I’m not saying ‘oh poor me’ it’s just a phase in life and it will end and get better. You just crack on and enjoy it when it does get better.
Anyway. He’s invited me to Malta this summer and I’m going.
It will, knowing him and me, be an extremely drunken week or so and it would not be entirely a surprise if we don’t end up in the odd Maltese police cell – it may be a worry that we have so many things in common, particularly our love of consuming alcohol in ludicrous amounts and behaving like 15 year old’s on speed.
My last time in Malta was marvellous.
On one occasion we went by boat to The Blue Lagoon – a very popular tourist attraction. You have to go by boat. We went to the dock and saw all these splendid cabin cruisers with holiday makers already aboard. We checked our ticket and moved along the dock looking for our boat.
It wasn’t so much a boat as a floating dustbin.
Once all the holiday makers had boarded the sides of the boat were no more than 6 inches from the sea. This, actually, made for a far more enjoyable voyage than they had on the super cruiser things.
Flying fish leapt from the clear blue water literally within touching distance. The ‘mate’ made rounds of sandwiches with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and supplied spirits from a couple of bottles. Once you removed the cigarette ash the sandwiches tasted beautiful!
Our Captain was the longest serving Captain so whilst the ‘fancy’ boats had to anchor near rocks we anchored near a gloriously sandy beach.
I almost died riding a horse in Malta. Malcolm and his family went home two days before us – he was a British Airways employee so his flights were different to ours – and the wifey, a lover of horse riding, arranged for us to go on a ride.
The only thing I’d ever ridden was a donkey on Blackpool Beach aged about 6 – that was my age not the Donkey’s.
As the wifey was an experienced rider the Maltese chap holding my ‘lead reign’ said “Go have a gallop” and she did. Unfortunately the wifey’s beautiful grey mare was the stable mate of the huge black brute I was on. It had red eyes and kept snorting steam from it’s nostrils.
It saw the wifey go and decided it was going too. The lead reign slipped and off we went. My feet came out of the stirrups and I started to slide around the horses neck eventually hanging onto it’s mane as I dangled upside down legs desperately glued around it’s neck and we galloped along like the wind.
Eventually my Maltese chappy caught us up. He and the wifey couldn’t stop laughing. Excuse me?? I nearly died!!!
To make up for the cock up he decided I should get a good picture of The Popeye Village – the village built for the Robin Williams ‘Popeye’ movie. The picture of the village would have been spectacular if not for the fact it had to be taken from the top of a cliff looking down on it. My horses front hooves were no more than inches from the cliff edge and my camera shook so badly my Popeye Village pictures look more like some abstract painting.
Anyway, come the summer, I’m off to Malta where I may well go and see The Blue Lagoon again but, unless I am so drunk I really don’t care if I die I will NOT go anywhere near a horse.
Besides, the Maltese really like the Brits – which will make quite a pleasant change 😉 and, being a Freemason (now that’s another story) I could even go see their version of what the wifey refers to as The Secret Squirrel Club. Mind you, having said that to you, I may be found shortly hanging under Blackfriars Bridge 😉
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