Tally Ho And Away we go on that Big Silver Bird
Right now, I am writing this sat on a balcony. It is now dark, but enough light pollution to see the shadowy outlines of swaying palm trees. I am listening to Acrobat by U2 on the iPod. A song I love and certain lyrics I try to live by, but that is by the by.
The palm trees mean I am not at home. Not even close. Probably closer to north Africa than home. Maybe the furtherst south I have been. Sat on a sun bleached rock set within the med. Malta, here I am. 2000 yrs after St Peter was shipwrecked. I have arrived, by big silver bird.
My initial impression is that Malta feels a good place to be. How it has survived I do not know. It is not a place that you feel is self sustaining and the modern age, like most southern Mediterranean countries varies between cutting edge modern life, and on the other hand almost medieval, labour intensive farming and that particular southern med craziness, you cannot help but love.
Driving through the island was an experience as a passenger, crazy potholed roads and smooth western two lane motorways. They do not have our congestion but they also lack our lane discipline! I have an affinity with mediterranean folk, a reason I love Italy so much Is that they have a complete streak of bonkers that even the most upstanding and disciplined Italian can have. It reminds me that I too possess that love of anarchy at times. Loving the world and the experience and not wanting nor needing to understand it. Just going where the wave takes me. In the right circumstances of course I am a bred englishman too. I often think that if you had a German parent and an Italian Parent you would end up seven kinds of special. But I digress.
The journey was eventful. At least from arriving at Malta and barring Mr Bubbles flirting with the passport control girl, which ended with her kneeling over and waving at Joshua through the plexi glass box while others behind him waited. Amazing that mr bubbles is so much more comfortable with women than I have ever been, and remain. I don't know where he gets his confidence from, but it is welcome to see, and he'll never be lonely. I dread to think how many broken hearts he'll leave behind him in Malta. Maybe one day they'll have a statue to him by the airport saying 'Mr Bubbles. Arrived and enslaved the hearts of a thousand women. His like will never be seen again.' then again, they may not.
The palm trees mean I am not at home. Not even close. Probably closer to north Africa than home. Maybe the furtherst south I have been. Sat on a sun bleached rock set within the med. Malta, here I am. 2000 yrs after St Peter was shipwrecked. I have arrived, by big silver bird.
My initial impression is that Malta feels a good place to be. How it has survived I do not know. It is not a place that you feel is self sustaining and the modern age, like most southern Mediterranean countries varies between cutting edge modern life, and on the other hand almost medieval, labour intensive farming and that particular southern med craziness, you cannot help but love.
Driving through the island was an experience as a passenger, crazy potholed roads and smooth western two lane motorways. They do not have our congestion but they also lack our lane discipline! I have an affinity with mediterranean folk, a reason I love Italy so much Is that they have a complete streak of bonkers that even the most upstanding and disciplined Italian can have. It reminds me that I too possess that love of anarchy at times. Loving the world and the experience and not wanting nor needing to understand it. Just going where the wave takes me. In the right circumstances of course I am a bred englishman too. I often think that if you had a German parent and an Italian Parent you would end up seven kinds of special. But I digress.
The journey was eventful. At least from arriving at Malta and barring Mr Bubbles flirting with the passport control girl, which ended with her kneeling over and waving at Joshua through the plexi glass box while others behind him waited. Amazing that mr bubbles is so much more comfortable with women than I have ever been, and remain. I don't know where he gets his confidence from, but it is welcome to see, and he'll never be lonely. I dread to think how many broken hearts he'll leave behind him in Malta. Maybe one day they'll have a statue to him by the airport saying 'Mr Bubbles. Arrived and enslaved the hearts of a thousand women. His like will never be seen again.' then again, they may not.
Comments