– a quickie of no consequence

So here’s a ‘quick’ funny story which really happened to me just a few days ago and which I would like to share purely for everyone’s amusement. I again strongly insist with all our readers that absolutely no message on class, snobbery or anything else is being alluded to here. These are satirical, tongue-in-cheek pieces which should be taken literary and not literally (although admittedly they are true tongue emoticon )

Upon the very sad demise of my parents, I had the massive fortune of inheriting an enormous estate transforming me into the hefty property mogul I have become today. This fortune consists entirely of a tiny pidgeonhole – not to use the more vulgar faeceshole, totally lost in a tiny backalley, off an alley, leading from another alley, off a small lane, off a small side street in Rabat. As the originally American saying goes Disorientation, Disorientation, Disorientation! Or something like that…

And as our family has always been into stability and financial soundness, this illustrious mansion has been successfully rented out on a long-eternal basis to the last 75 generations of the same family since 1918 or something… However over the years and more so in recent times, with the glorious revision of related regulations, we have managed to astoundingly increase the rent to a whooping € 32! Yes €32, although admittedly this sum is not payable every day. Nor is it payable every week. And nor is it payable every month! But stability is what we are after, of course.

So once a year I go specifically to Rabat, spend about € 6 in fuel to get there and back and hey, as my wife who normally accompanies me usually says, we don’t come to Rabat that often any more, so let me check out that shoe shop while we’re here and yes I’ll take that pair please for € 80 and oh look across the street that’s a nice top and it’s only € 45. And somehow, for us at least, no trip to Rabat seems complete without a stroll into the enchanting Mdina, by which time we are always mighty hungry and thirsty. And having just picked up such a massive amount of money, we never fail on choosing one of the better restaurants there to treat ourselves to a sumptuous meal.

After this eventful rent collection day, I am only left with two problems. Firstly how do I go about seeking the most lucrative investment for my -€220 (that’s not a dash or a hyphen, it’s a minus sign) negative capital. And secondly, and I’ll have to share a secret here… in reality this property is not only mine but also belongs to my sister… so how do I go about not forking out an additional €16 to my sister on top!

But that is only the financial suffering I have to endure, then of course there is the psychological torture part of it, which is much, much worse. These are extremely good folk in their late sixties and of a very simple, humble, traditional, respectful nature, in an old school sort of way. So it all starts a few weeks before the daunting day, with several phone calls and reminders from their side, the first seven or eight of which I totally disregard, in full knowledge that there will ensure many more. Then as the days and weeks go by, well after the expiry date of their contract, which always leaves them totally perplexed as to why I haven’t even bothered collecting my awaiting fortune, they normally start to panic. So with Sur Bonello’s here and Sur Bonello’s there – something I hate with a passion especially from people who are going to cost me over €200, I finally make the effort, go to the closest ATM to withdraw enough money to cover our rent collecting outing expenses, and make my sad way to Rabat.

We finally get there and naturally have absolutely no choice whatsoever, other than to crouch down to enter through the tiny front door, descend a few steps, turn right, go up a few steps, turn left, crouch even lower, descend a few steps again and to sit at a formica table on plastic clad purple velvet chairs, secretly hoping that these items of furniture are not part of my inheritance.

And there in front of us, no matter what time of day or night it may be, every single year, will be waiting a bottle of White Label whisky and a transparent glass plate covered with Morning Coffee biscuits. Pure joy! Only once did we venture there at 8:30 in the morning, resulting in cancelling all my hick, appointments for the hick, day.

As you can imagine, there is simply no way on earth that you can say no. If you brought out a doctor’s certificate testifying that three or four large glasses of whisky first thing in the morning will most definitely kill you and that you don’t particularly crave for such biscuits, their eyes and ears will simply shut, and with shaking heads they will totally ignore you and politely ask you to shut up and happily drink and eat. And in their minds this is all done for your entire pleasure!!!

But the irony of such situations always seems to know no bounds. Only last week when we faced the last of these annual episodes, following my wife’s suggestion, we planned to visit them just before lunch time so as to proceed to lunch immediately afterwards. And just to make sure that I return home with an even more enormous hole in my pocket, we somehow decided to dine at the De Mondion Restaurant at the Xara Palace in Mdina. Not only because it is probably the most expensive restaurant in the entire central Mediterranean region, but also because we haven’t been for many years and because I have been wanting to write a review on it in my restaurant page.

Very luckily for me, this establishment is only open for dinner, so I managed to get away with something less than €250 a head! But it was with the De Mondion firmly in mind that somehow as I guzzled my third or fourth whisky and attacked my second Morning Coffee, that the conversation somehow turned to eating out. Naturally we mentioned that we love wining and dining, without even thinking of making any allusion of reviews, haute cuisine and De Mondion’s. They firmly insisted that they too occasionally eat out but that however their last meal was quite a let down. And I kid you not, I had to listen for the next ten minutes or so how on the last Saturday night they decided to make their monthly outing a culinary one and proceed to the McDonalds outlet at the airport to satisfy their wildest dreams.

I am the first to advise that my writing should not be taken literally, but the facts and the details I recount are virtually always true. It is more the seemingly harsh and judgemental opinions that are only there to adorn the story. So this too is very true that they went on and on about how their burger and fries was a let down, although the Coke was quite large and how they had to make a sandwich when they got back home. Their moral to the story was that restaurants these days do not satisfy your entire hunger and that more should be offered in such meals either in the form of a much larger burger or whatever they had in mind.

And this is what I have to go through every year to collect, or should I say to spend, my money. Now if anyone is asking, yes I did check with my legal advisors what could be done to increase the rent while firmly maintaining the same doses of White Label and Morning Coffee. I was distinctly told that at most I could hope to one day double the rent, but only after forking out around €300 in legal expenses to do so. So with calculator in hand and keeping my poor sister in mind, I worked out that by the age of 465 I would not only have covered these legal expenses but also start making a profit. Well no actually, taking in consideration the clothes and the meals you’d have to add on a couple of thousands years I’m afraid.