Why not?

Greetings, Earthling.

Seeing that the internet gets one hooked, and seeing also the fact that I have my Sunday obligation to fulfill, I will actually be blogging once more.

The reason for this explanation is simple; I'm away.

As in, not in my bed.


not in my house


not in my village


not in malta.


I'm actually in another version of Malta: It's called Gibraltar.

If you thought Malta was small, this place will make you rethink it.

In short, the reason why I'm actually writing about this little tax-free haven is that, a country with a similar background (endless colonisations and invasions, and a British colony) yet much smaller and no university of its own, is much better presented than Malta is.

First of all, Gibs are proud of what they have. Even if it's just a rock full of tunnels someone else did for them. Even if their bastions are only colonial. Even if also Malta has a 100 ton gun. And reckless drivers, for that matter. And their main attraction, well, is a rock, which um, rocks...

Now we have the oldest temples in the world.

which we vandalise.

We (had/ve) some of the best architecture in the med.

which we demolish.

We had some good coastline, and lovely sea.

which we filled up with sand, fish farms and sub standard 5 star hotels.


Second of all, you can actually see living seagulls. Malta, an island so close to the sea, should be teeming with these gliding, squawking beauties, and their souvenirs should be deposited all along our coastlines.

But no. We shot them all.

Now I don't want people to think I'm some monarchical fiend, however, I do think that colonial artefacts such as letterboxes and telephone boxes and biscuit boxes have their own charm, and we should benefit more if we left more of those and less of the more, for want of a better word, boxy specimens. And to give more character and emphasize our independence, we could paint them a nice shade of royal blue, a' la windows xp, or the MTA website.

but no. We want to be modern, and our attempt at that is hiring some demibrained perit or a self proclaimed designer, and voila', product Malta. big hotels. very big. you don't need to go out ta madam, just stay in the hotel, unless you want to have a look at other hotels, which is basically all you'll see.

One thing Gibraltar seems to have a lot is apes. Apparently they've infested the whole rock and run it.

We're better than the Gibs at that; our apes run a thing called parliament.


Cheerio

finally cracked

noooo ooooooneeee reeeeeaaddsss myyyyyy bloggg!!!!

miao

Blogligation

When I sat down and started this blog of sorts, I vowed that I would not be updating it daily, but rather leave it to vent my frustrations online. Therefore, today, in yet another bout of helpless boredom, I will be fulfilling my Sunday obligation and attending to my duties as a Maltese Blogger.

What can I write about today?

Got it.

The festa, the twice yearly event where the pjazza has to be closed off, so that these devout Catholics may gently whisper their beautiful poetry at a kartapesta statue outside the church building, while the fidili inside are trying to listen to the qari. So that they can erect their strange, fire spitting contraptions while we poor people have to walk even further to a bus stage that is already in the Kingdom of Far, Far Away.


To top it all up, the driver will still want to frequent the bar that's near the venda, which means that we poor injuranti who can't drive a bus will have to wait.


















And then some more waiting.




























I love waiting.































Do you?

























The highlight of the festa was definitely the pjancier, where the musical programme had to stop for half an hour while we were treated to the ramblings of a presenter who had to finish all, yes all of his eloquent, hollow, sentences with "Socjeta Muzikali Karmelitana Banda Queen Victoria taz-Zurrieq", or something of the sort.

The best bit was when Nejxis, the sindku, said that he had been a pilastru of the youth committee.

Yes, dear Ignatius, you may have been instrumental in the sorry history of a sorry band club, but pillars, I'm afraid, don't say they're pillars.

Pillars, dear Natius, do not speak. And I'm afraid mayors shouldn't go bouncing up and down in the Marc ta' Filghodu.

Can I go now?

why...

I mean, what d'you have in your head? Maggots?

Idiots.

why?

Yesterday I heard that Hasting's Gardens, fresh from a spending spree of 300 000 liri, was vandalized. I cannot help but admire the people who did that; the subtleness, the wit, the sarcasm they've shown is beyond anything my imagination could fathom.

Dearest Vandals,

Yes, the system may suck.

Down with the system! you may say. (You could also use coarser words, but this blog has it's dignity, even though no one reads it...)

Stick it up to The Man!

But when the system and its Man give you somewhere where to sit and snog, you could at least say thank you. Or better still, shut up.

But no, you spray red paint all over something new.

And if you're another disappointed contractor; find a job. The market for professional assholes is already saturated, with most people having one just as an excuse to be one themselves.

This takes me back to the rape of Mnajdra. And of Bieb il-Bombi. And that lovely pjazza the Zurrieq local council has kindly messed up. And the Wied Iz-Zurrieq Belvedere.

The Belvedere must be the contractor's desk, with cash flowing in, courtesy of the taxpayer's money. And you can't see a damn thing but the pavement and the rails, unless you're as tall as I am, and I know for a fact that many are not.

When will we learn?

Better still, when will we start dipping these people in acid and leaving them there?


Good night.

A Blog

Greetings Earthling,

Seeing most of your civilized population seems to be indulging in this kind of online activity, I decided to join in and see what the blogging phenomenon is about.

To be Frank (or anyone else who says things as they are), "blogging" always reminds me of clogged drainage systems, rather than pretty rock chics typing voraciously at their beaten up iBooks. Clogging could also be good, as some blogs are really nothing more than shite in the online puddle.

What is this blog gonna be? I hope it'd be something I'd like to read myself. If not, I won't read it.

dejv