The security has probably become more thorough than the airport. Then you go straight to the monitors, desperately hoping that the judge or magistrate decided to come in to work. Yes yes I know you can also check online before you go, but you know, shit happens, and sometimes even at the last minute….

So the next stage is desperately searching down the list of cases in the stylish gold aluminium showcases, outside each hall, hoping that your case is listed. Stranger things have happened you know, and that’s an understatement.

But that of course is only the tip of the iceberg. You then hope your lawyer turns up, that the opposing party’s lawyer does too, that the ‘gods that be’ are in the mood of hearing your case and don’t simply wave you away before you are given the date for the next sitting, about ten years after you die.

And as the time you are given is just a very wild approximation, it is best to take along with you an enormous dose of patience and what better than to sit there and people-watch? This, at least, is about as good as it gets right here and very hard to beat anywhere else.

I also find Mater Dei Hospital quite fascinating in this department, but I’ll leave that for another day, when I am equally bored and sitting there alone, as I am doing here right now.

But really, what an unlikely mix of characters, if there ever was one.

Unlike Mater Dei, where the vast majority seem to have crawled out of the Pleistocene period, here you have a fantastic mix of extremes. So here goes…

Men wearing black everywhere. The more adventurous wearing dark grey. These are mainly the commercial you-owe-me-money-no-I-don’t cases, I presume. They walk around smartly holding on to that stiff upper lip, psychologically preparing themselves for their professional and serious persona on the stand.

Women wearing trouser suits in neutral colours, obviously the close equivalent to the business men above. When a woman wants to look like a person and not like a woman, then society dictates that she has to dress like a man.

Women horribly overdressed, with more layers of makeup then a homemade mega lasagne. Enough jewellery hanging off most parts of their body to open a small shop round the corner, in Santa Lucia Street. These are the women who have deemed it more strategic to be viewed as women, rather than as plain people.

Then there are the first timers, who wander around like lost souls and headless chickens, not knowing what to expect. They fumble around with their notes and their mobiles in nervous anticipation and pounce upon their lawyers as soon as they see them approaching from afar, their only perceived salvation.

Then there are the thugs. They borrowed their grandfather’s widest, shortest and most colourful tie, chucked it over a thick denim shirt, party hidden by an old anorak which they wore in guise of a jacket, all above dirty jeans and sneakers. “It says jacket and tie doesn’t it!”, they seem to snarl at anyone who looks at them. “So fuck you that’s exactly what I’m wearing!” – you can virtually hear then say.

The old ladies who just simply have to sit right next to you, soon turning you totally suicidal. They simply insist on relating what a bastard their neighbour is for having touched their garden wall and that they even suspect he might have stolen a lemon, which was only partially hanging over his garden. So technically they should have shared it between them. And although the case has been going on for the last 35 years, it was still worth the time and hassle to see justice being dealt one fine day in the distant future.

Grown men wearing black flowing dresses proudly hovering around like divas feeling important. Many also have the heavy rimmed specs, barely holding onto the tip of their nose, just for added effect, as they seem to play a game of tag, highfiving dozens of people they obviously know as they walk determinedly through the corridor. Important people know many people you know.

Then there are what is possibly the scariest form of human being alive today. Young female lawyers! Brrrrrr. They are masters, no sorry, mistresses of power dressing, power walking, power glaring, power posing and power talking. They stride around with a marked air of untouchable arrogance, an invincible aura which screams out “I’m hot, I’m desirable, I’m in infinite demand, but I’m also smart, I’m indestructible and above all I’m also a lawyer, so try and ever make one single move against me and I’ll have you hanging upside down by the balls before they call your name three times.

Oops, speak of the devil, there you go it’s my turn, fingers crossed….

And here I am back out in 30 seconds flat. An hour and a half to get ready + one hour to drive to Valletta, well Floriana actually + 30 minutes to park and walk in + one hour and 15 minutes waiting on the bench, then of course 15 minutes walk + an hour to drive back = 5 hours, and all for 30 seconds.

“Case number 25.35 billion. X versus Y. Lawyer A? Present. Lawyer B? Present. Any representatives of parties here? Yes but only one idiot wasted 5 hours of his life to come here. Ok just stand there and shut up idiot! Lawyer A you had to present an affidavit? Yes here it is. And yours Lawyer B? I didn’t bring it with me today. Ok present it during next sitting, errrr emmm end of May ok? (Like we have an effing choice!) Now get the f out of here! Oh thank you your majesty, thank you.”

Oh how I look forward to Mater Dei…