Friday 15 January 2010

Friday 15th I wake at six need the loo, get back into bed can’t settle so straight back up, make an early start I think to myself, down to reception ask the guy on the desk for the gym key, he gives me an odd look, not sure it will be open he says, the key is electronic, I’ll give it a try, I get to the pool area where the gym is also situated, It is pitch black there are no lights, let’s hope I don’t fall in I think, make my way round the outside of the pool, insert key into the gym door fantastic it’s opens.

Sixty arm curls done, I decide to remove my tee shirt before getting onto the stepper, I wont perspire on it and I wont have to wash it so often, how clever is that, I set the stepper for my ten minuets then just as I start, mirrors there are bloody mirrors on the walls, I get a sideways view what the hell is that, what I thought used to be a fairly trim midriff now has an alien being attached to the front of it, it’s that thing from that early Steve McQueen film the Blob, I close my eyes and carry on stepping, sit ups then out the way, plus further arm curls, my Mp3 starts playing Stranger in paradise by the Opera Babes I see this as a sign so jump back on the stepper and do a further three minutes, then change into my trunks and into the pool, the light is just starting to break through and it’s raining.

Breakfast out of the way, I decide Mdina is not a good idea, so I will do something indoors, and that something will be a trip into Valletta to visit St. John’s Co Cathedral , I catch the bus by now the rain is torrential if I thought it was bad a few day’s ago this is of Biblical proportions, I think well at least I shall be on the bus for the next fifty minutes maybe it will ease off, what soon become apparent to me is the bus is no more than a quarter full normally by this stage in the journey it’s standing room only, the rain must have driven everyone indoors.
As I look out of the bus window, something that puzzled me on my first day is made clear to me, I wondered why houses half way up very steep hills had flood defences across the front door, those boards that slot in and are about three foot high, there is no way on Gods earth that this area could ever get flooded I had thought, half the island would have to be under water for it to get this high the death toll would be beyond belief.
With my own eyes I see the reason the rain water is running down the streets in a torrent, in fact you could go white water rafting, but that’s not the reason, the reason is when the cars and more importantly heavy lorries or buses drive through the water they shoot a spray about three foot high! If you are unlucky enough to be on the footpath you would end up looking like Brigit Jones from diary fame in one of the films the name of which escapes me, I have never seen anything like it, this goes on street after street for a few miles.

Into Valletta I get my feet soaked in the few minuets it takes me to walk to St. John’s wearing crocs again, I pay my six Euros surely it should be cheaper I’m over bloody sixty don’t you know, but on the admission board it gives no indication of a concession for duffers, the first thing I do is find a toilet so I can dry my feet and crocs under the hot air blower, toilet found not blower so I make do with paper.

Now for a serious butchers at this masterpiece, now I’ve seen some works of splendour in my time, but this takes the biscuit, are you listening Cyril? It drips with opulence almost to the point of being vulgar for a religious place, but you can’t help but admire it as a work of true majesty, it has been done in a high baroque style, this must be the Jewel in the crown that is Malta.

One of my favourite artists is Caravaggio I learn some fascinating facts about this enigma, firstly that he’d even been to Malta, I knew he had been on the run from Rome after being involved in a fight that lead to his opponent being killed, turns out he fled to Malta became a novice Knight in the order of St. John, painted the spellbinding beheading of John the Baptist the patron saint of the order of St. John.
After his one year as a novice he was made a full Knight of the Order and allowed to leave the confines’ of the Cathedral, but he was soon back to his old ways, a wild child of his age by all accounts, he ended up in a fight with another Knight who was badly injured, Caravaggio real name Michelangelo Merisi was imprisoned, he managed to escape fled Malta and was stripped of his Knighthood by the grand master, but he left behind a legacy of paintings marvelled over by generations since.

As for the cathedral I am unable to find the words in my vocabulary to be able to do full justice to this wonderful building, if you should ever find yourself in Malta dip your hand in your pocket and take some time to visit this stupendous work of art.

As I leave Valletta I have that warm glow of having learnt something worth learning, the weather is still very iffy, air shelter would be good on a day like this if it saved people from bombs, rain should be no problem I look at my watch it closes at 3.30pm it’s one o’clock so plenty of time, I jump off in bus in Melliena and make my way to the shelter, I don’t believe ( yes I almost say it Victor Meldrew style) it’s bloody closed, no reason given just closed.

So I hang around waiting for the next bus, I’ll try the Red Tower that stated it would be open until 16.00, bus arrive, off we go again, four stops and I’m off again, now for that long walk up the incline, no jogging this time, I get to the entrance but find myself contorting into Victor again twice in twenty minutes need to be careful, yes you guessed it, it wasn’t so much closed as not open!
I stand at the top of the steps thinking what to do next, decide to take a drink I get my camelbak flask out flip the drinking nozzle up, the thing goes off like a fire extinguisher due to a build up of pressure spraying cherry juice over me, now I’m colour coordinated with the Red Tower!

Now I decide to be really stupid, all I have to do is walk back down the path to the bus stop, but no I think could I cut across the open country side, remembering I’m on top of a very high hill, so I set off down the slope, the terrain to say the least is torturous under foot rocks every where and muddy areas that I manage to step in straight away, and I’m wearing crocs, from where I am I can not see any road but I have to be going in the right direction after all I can see the Gozo Ferry far out at sea, on I go stumping from time to time, I start to hear dogs barking, where the hell are they, then under foot I start to notice spent shotgun cartridges, what if I get shot for trespassing I think, what if I’m attacked by dogs, you bloody fool d’Abreu then it happens I loose my footing and fall to my knees against the rocks, luckily there’s no damage, just a scratch, worrying about being attacked by dogs or being shot, now it crosses my mind what if I fall? no one would find me up here for Christ knows how long, I really am concerned now even thou it crosses my mind to turn back I’m far too stubborn for a start I’ve invested too much fear in this to turn back now, I still hear the dogs.

Soon I start to come across what I can only describe as out buildings surely people don’t live up here! A few more yards and in the distance off to my right I noticed a man with a dog on a sort of allotment, now I feel at least a little easier, soon I see the road, I still have some climbing over stone walls and stumbling to do before I make the road, but make it I do, far from saving time I could have been back at the hotel, showered and having a nice drink, instead I’m still a good ten minute walk from base, and now it’s raining again!

Back in my room I’m forced to wash the bottoms of my jeans they are covered in mud, the good thing about crocs is the rain has washed the mud off them some consolation.

Get myself showered changed and settle down for a quite night enough excitement for one day.

I arrive at the restaurant and for the first time since I’ve been here I get asked am I on my own, yes is the reply, come this way Sir, I’m shown to a table up the corner, maybe I’m being punished for something, we have had a large influx of Maltese here for the week end maybe that’s the reason, still not to worry lamb curry with rice is tonight’s choice it’s reasonable.

The hotel is really buzzing with noise, a Maltese woman is stood next to the table I’m now sharing again with Sandy, are we turning into a double act? If so I want top billing, a conversation starts up she is just here for the week end apparently the Maltese stay over at hotels just for a short break, she asks us where we come from Sandy is quite proud to say Scotland, she is waiting for her husband tells us she was in London last month liked it but not the pace of life, then her husband named Mario joins us he works in the building industry, he tells us how things have changed in Malta since the introduction of the Euro, property price are 33% up on what they were three years ago he says, he goes on to say he and his wife have not long returned to Malta after a holiday in London once he realises we are British, tells us all about Russell Square, and how expensive he had found London to be, I agree with him have recently paid £12 just to go to the cinema, the guy shakes our hands and makes his excuses to leave wondering where his wife has wandered off to, maybe she has run off says Sandy that comment may be coloured by the fact Sandy has been married and
divorced twice! Having had another three or four gin and tonics Sandy tells me he needs an early night he appears in some pain, earlier he showed me a small pill box he carries nine pills he has to take every day just to stay alive at a cost of £770 per month, again I’m lost for the right words, I babble something about how lucky we are not to live in Haiti with the earthquake disaster there, while I’m taking to Sandy he drops off to sleep before my very eyes god I must be boring.

I leave for a few minutes then tap him on the arm to wake him, saying he might be better in his room as if I leave him asleep here in the lounge he may not be able to get off to sleep later he thanks me gathers up his book on Winston Churchill the war years I think it was called gets another gin and tonic and takes himself off to his room.

I hear Glenn Millers moonlight serenade drifting in from the restaurant where they are holding a dance and instantly think of my dear uncle Bert my late Mothers brother and my hero, how I would have loved to share my thoughts with him what laughs we used to have those many years ago now.