Queen Elisabeth, Prince Philip, Prince Charles and Camilla recently visited Malta on the occasion of CHOGM. British royalty in all its pomp and ceremony. The peak of sophistication, polish and refinement. Everything about them exudes class and poise, their posture, their etiquette, their manner of speaking.

Everything British at its very best. Then there’s Bugibba.

I am not at all classist. I pride myself in getting on perfectly with everyone, no matter their background and even have close friends of all types. However I am not a great fan of ignorance and stupidity. The unenlightened and the uncouth, the uncivil and the crass, are for me at least, a waste of time and space. This is not a matter of class, you can come from very humble origins and still be bright, interesting and mannered and behave like a human being.

Another common notion I do not associate myself with is patriotism. I am diametrically opposed to it in every way, being a citoyen du monde through and through.

So I feel that I really look at individuals for what they are – some are despicable morons, and some are not, entirely irrespective of class, nationality, race or creed.

So I find myself doing some work in a garage in Qawra, what is supposedly the slightly better neighbour of Bugibba. The immediate area of this garage however, would really benefit a lot if a massive bomb was dropped on it and raised the entire area to the ground. The scruffiness is mindblowing, with every building being totally incongruous with all the others, air conditioning compressors everywhere, the majority of doors being garages at different levels, broken, uneven pavements, weeds growing everywhere – in summary, a total disgusting mess reminiscent of a third world country slum, and that’s if you’re not really looking.

So what, you might be asking, have British royalty, classism, patriotism and the Bugibba/Qawra area have in common. Well the answer is – not much really, outside of this narrative, where they all come together to take centre stage.

As mentioned, we have all sorts of friends, including a fair share of English nationals living in Malta. Even our English friends are quite varied, however I must admit that in their majority they happen to be pretty smart and elegant individuals, definitely falling on the posh side of things.

It is very obvious that many of them have an evidently patronising attitude towards Malta and the Maltese in general and many of their comments and remarks are steeped in discriminatory innuendo. You can just feel their old colonial ways whereby the British are supposed to be superior and dominate over others.

As I am not at all patriotic, I do not take offence, however this in no manner means that I do not at times find them annoying, in their shortsighted view of things. I try to explain to them that as in any nation, there are Maltese and Maltese, the clever and the dull, the efficient and the lazy, but usually to no avail. In there minds the British are miles ahead, and so indisputably superior to the Maltese in every way.

Perhaps they too should take a quick trip to Qawra and attempt to have a quick snack in any of the local establishments and judge for themselves the level of many of their compatriots.

This was my fate these last few days. Being confined in a dark, cold garage with no water or electricity for several hours, it is to be expected that after some time we would crave for a hot drink and a bite to eat. So without wanting to wander far afield, at lunchtime we popped into a couple of the countless nondescript establishments which litter the streets every few metres from each other.

And if they looked totally devoid of taste and style from the outside, when we walked in it only got significantly worse. Their shabbiness hits you in the face the moment you walk in, as it becomes immediately evident that they were whipped up in the most ramshackle of ways and that every expense was spared in their every aspect.

Every one we tried out was run by English people and frequented by English people, who were in their totality, very unroyalike in poise, fashion and style and especially not in their manner of speech.

In every occasion we were welcomed with long stern and unfriendly faces, a far cry from the notion of English manners, so much overstated by our English friends, especially when perhaps rightly putting down Maltese customer care. This was the same, but five times worse.

Every time we asked for coffee we were snapped at that we could only have instant, because naturally fancy snobbish stuff like an espresso or a capuccino are only for loathsome, snobbish Maltese individuals. It was obvious that the only reason we were clearly warned, was because this was exactly what they were thinking.

The menus were exclusively anything fried under the sun, invariably accompanied by sausages, beans, fried eggs and chips. Yes it is so extraordinary, but us admittedly crap eating Maltese, can only be beaten by the even bigger crap eating British. The menus looked like Butlins canteen in the 1960’s, absolutely nothing at all has evolved.

Even the bottles in the bars and the condiments on the tables, were in their vast majority unheard of brands. A Gordons gin and a Heinz ketchup is far to expensive for these English upper crust.

In one crumby joint, reeking of cheap burnt oil, we had four bog standard sausage sandwiches and four instant coffees for €14, when having the same in a humble Maltese workers’ bar, inclusive of infinitely better and more wholesome sandwiches with ten times the ingredients, would have cost half the price.

We were served by an obese, grubby young English girl, bordering on the rude and had to listen to two drunk Englishmen belching every couple of minutes, as they downed their morning beers, wearing only a flimsy tee-shirt and shorts, in spite of it being only 10 degrees outside. Do these people even own clothes?

The day after, following our utter disgust at this joint, we tried another one, seemingly more elaborate from the outside. Sadly once inside, it was exactly the same story. The Northern sounding English woman with few teeth, first glared at us in a most unfriendly way, then gave us the stern warning that they didn’t do fancy coffee, then the disaster of a menu, which was nothing short of surreal. Not only were the contents just as horrendous, but these wise guys even charge more for their crappy sandwiches in the afternoon than they do I the morning!! Yes, I even had to take a photo of this because I am sure that nobody would ever believe me otherwise. Do you laugh or cry?

And their sandwiches are about the sorriest specimens I have every encountered. Not a sign of lettuce, or a slice of tomato, or a few chips on the side. Nope! Or should I say nawt, as per their harsh regional accent!

The place was a massive dump, their toilets were shocking and falling to bits, all doors were used as signposts for all sorts of messages and all staff was gruff and unwelcoming.

The place was rather busy with large and loud English people scoffing beans and chips in what could have been deemed as a mini freak show of sorts. They also came complete with a few screaming kids, a horrific incidence we so often associate with the Maltese.

Upon arrival I went to the bar to order our food and drinks. I waited patiently for my turn after two other British customers. When I placed my order, unlike my predecessors I was asked to pay immediately! For once I chose to shut it and play it cool, there are certain types you can tell just by looking at and hearing them speak that the chances of having a reasonable conversation with and making some sense, are about as slim as Prince Charles himself walking into this hellhole and ordering a chip butty.

Many might disagree, but for me all nationalities and races are the same. There are great people and idiots of all nationalities. But the next time any of our English friends put down the Maltese in any way, be it customer care, style, efficiency, professionalism, general personal development, smartness, anything… I will personally drag them by their posh colonial whiskers to meet their lesser counterparts who infest Bugibba like slimy cockroaches, and that includes Kora too. Yes because they aren’t even capable of pronouncing the word Qawra, then they correct our ‘th’.

Perhaps CHOGM or no CHOGM next time the royals come to Malta they should spend a weekend at the Fish & Chips Hotel in one of the ghastly backstreets of lovely Kora.