Sometimes all it takes is one quick look. A brief fleeting glance when your eyes touch and meet. And instead of pulling them away instantly, they linger on for that short moment longer.

It could happen anywhere. In a room full of people, in a bus, a train, or in a plane. In a shop or a queue. In a waiting room. Your eyes had already crossed with so many others, yet somehow this time feels entirely different.

So our trip to Russia culminated in Maria’s “Big” (as in very round figure) birthday party, where she was happily surrounded by her parents and closest relatives and friends. Admittedly when we arrived I was a bit taken aback, as previously I had simply been informed that there will be a party and therefore obviously assumed that all was already arranged. However this was anything but the case and I was left to make all the arrangements starting from finding a venue, discussing menus, pricing, table setups and other matters with them, organising all the drinks separately – as is done here, birthday cake, entertainment, etc. etc. and all in a couple of days and obviously without having the faintest idea of how things are done here – not easy! But luckily, having owned a restaurant for several years, plus having professionally organised events for even longer, and probably more so being the intrepid and pragmatic bastard that I am, I just went for it along with Maria’s assistance of course, and between us we pulled it off magnificently.

Some guests drove for 3 hours here and 3 hours back just to be with us! Yes, 6 hours of driving for a birthday party… Normal stuff here it seems. All went very well and all was celebrated in lovely typical Russian style. As is customary here, we had carefully selected the four separate courses expected at a Russian banquet, ie. cold starters, then various types of salads, followed by hot mains with potatoes and vegetables and finally desserts. But then in even more typical Russian manner when we arrived virtually everything was already placed on the table, the lot! Even some of the desserts lol. I nearly shat myself and smelt a forthcoming disaster and was just about to go for the manager’s throat, which incidentally I would have loved to for any reason whatsoever, being a lovely graceful fine example of edible Russian fare herself… but that’s another story. But luckily Maria’s better judgement and infinitely greater patience and tolerance to most things in life stopped me in my tracks, as Maria pulled me back onto my chair and assured me that everything will be ok. And you know what, actually it was all very ok.

The food was excellent, the service was great, naturally everything was more than stone cold when it was finally eaten, but hey, when in Rome… and the champagne and white wine was virtually warm – again not only to be expected but actually preferred here! Yes but before you scream heresy don’t forgot that in most circumstances when in Malta the temperature is around 35C it is usually roughly the same here – just add a minus before the number that’s all!! So ice cold drinks aren’t exactly a priority here if you see what I mean.

Talking of priorities our first and foremost one here was naturally that the meal would be accompanied by flowing Russian ‘champagne’, red wine, white wine, cognac and of course vodka. Or rather that all this alcohol would be accompanied by some food… So we made sure that we would definitely not run out of anything. With group functions here, restaurants allow you to bring in your own booze, which works out to about a third of the price. So we were carting in boxes of everything which made even the Russian staff raise their eyebrows and reconfirm the exact number of guests, mistakenly thinking that we might have added another 25 to our list. You know, my Maltese side came in when we really seem we have to overcompensate for our otherwise tininess by providing unlimited and ridiculously over the top amounts of food and drink as if we were about to feed an entire army. In any case, after the party we spent the day after running trips between the restaurant and home returning all the extra booze, so now I am really a happy bunny as there is no way on Earth I can run out of the good stuff before I leave and believe me I’m trying…

So at the party, also as is done in such occasions here, every few minutes someone stands up, makes a clever, sober, deep and insightful speech and a toast. Many had even written intricate poems specifically for Maria and for this event, usually covering the more serious things in life such as family values, health and happiness. And as I occasionally caught the glance of the odd guest looking in my direction, I then imagined that they might be contemplating whether I would actually attempt at making a little speech myself. Although this, I was later told, was never the case and nobody ever expected me to say anything after all, not being Russian myself. However well, errr this is me we’re talking about, right? So as I have always been a true sucker for a challenge and as everyone knows I simply cannot ever keep my big mouth shut, after as much as a split second of hesitation I decided to really go for it. But to go for what I personally do best! You know that feeling of an initial moment of hesitation when you actually asked yourself whether you should follow suit and fit in and and then suddenly you say ‘oh feck it’ I’m just going to do my own thing, especially as I do it much much better.

So while they were doing their boring elegies I snapped into my best and slickest Western style satirical stand up comedy haha with a marked focus on the satirical word there! And I made several speeches (surprise!!) partly in my broken Russian and partly in my best eloquent drunken English, which Maria duly translated.

So I treated everyone present to a barrage of dark and dirty humour as only I know how to pull off. I mildly insulted the in-laws, revealed many an intimate secret of our marital sexual exploits, mocked their sacred motherland by touching sizzling subjects such as alcoholism, lack of hospitality and social skills, their apparent inability to smile at others when sober. In summary, about every subject you’re definitely not meant to mention as such a pleasant social occasion.

And with each successive speech I became more outspoken and audacious. However thankfully I also had the sense of adding a little moral ending to each and every one of them, aptly disguising my acid humour as some sort of clever message. So I would hope to imagine that they might have been thinking – ah stupid white man perhaps not so stupid, hahaha! And you know what, in spite of the odds everyone laughed at my jokes or at least pretended to, which is also fine with me. I got thunderous applause after each speech as well as several dance proposals once the whole affair had degenerated into a disco of sorts, so I must have been doing something right! Also something tells me that many there even admired me for doing my own thing in my own way. Although frankly I imagine that they all assumed that this is exactly the name of the game where I come from and that in my own world I was simply following normal procedure by being a dumb cunt in public and offending and hurling insults at everyone around me… And you know what, in short, who gives a fuck! It was our party and as always I did it my way and personally had a great time doing it, so that’s what really matters! And of course more so that my gorgeous wife before anyone else also loved it, which she did, and naturally her greatest weakness of loving me ensured that she too found my antics most entertaining!

Yet another point for possible – if admittedly dubious admiration, is the fact that in spite of me being surrounded by some 25 thirsty Russians, not only did I proudly hold my own from an alcoholic consumption point of view, but I was also undoubtedly amongst the very top drinkers there! And for all those who know the Russians well, you will truly appreciate the enormity of this task. But to top it all up, unlike all the other great abusers there, I was about the only one to talk semi coherently and walk relatively straight until the very end. So my many years of hard practice do come in handy once in a while you know.

Now considering that I was the first, and in all probability the very last, Maltese person all these people will ever meet in their entire lives, I will definitely be firmly considered by them all as being very much the most typical and average Maltese person on Earth. So I really hope that you fully approve of my behaviour and confirm my credentials as your worthy ambassador, cause in any case it’s a done deal now and a tad too late!

Thunder suddenly strikes with a massive explosion. Rain pelting down all around me and howling winds screaming above. The heavens opened and released their terrible and uncontrollable fury. Huge blinding flashes of lightening tear up the blackened sky.

Nature had decided to let out all of its anger and fury. Visions of epic end of the world scenarios came to mind. The earth trembled and shook beneath my feet. Terror instantly shot into my soul.

For those of you who haven’t been closely following my far off adventures and haven’t had the time to look up exactly where I am, as they are far too busy reading and writing even more unnecessary, uninteresting and useless rubbish elsewhere on FB, I have actually attached a map. Look for the red circle on the right!

It is a small town called Birobidzhan in the Far East of Russia, even further East than Seoul and ‘relatively’ close to the Pacific Ocean. And to get here you first fly to Moscow, then get a 9 hour flight to the closest city called Khabarovsk and then you take a 3 to 4 hour road trip. But believe it or not the story doesn’t end there. Maria’s actual birth place is a small village even more remote and isolated, exactly on the River Amur, which marks the border between Russian and China, called Amurzet.

Now in spite of my rather brash and gritty exterior, I am really and truly a big romantic at heart, really I am. And for me such stories hold a certain irresistible magic and charm. Imagine my dear wife, the person I love most on Earth, coming from a tiny place at the end of the world, lying right on the banks of what is the world’s 10th longest river, on the border to two great countries Russia and China. I mean how cool and wild and unimaginable is that. I realise that many have foreign spouses from say Catania, London and Rome. But mine is from Amurzet! Where? Amurzet. Eh? Now where did I put that world map…

The last time I came here was in the month of January, when temperatures hovered between an astounding -30C to -37C, which according to them was the mildest Winter they had in about 40 years! Oh yippee, lucky me! As expected the entire place was a frozen wilderness with the only colour available anywhere being white. You really never saw anything else except for white, white and white. So besides not wanting to spend over an hour to find my willie again each time I need a pee, I also wanted to experience the place in Summer, when an entirely difference perspective to the place may be had. And lo and behold now all the white has been astoundingly turned into green. That’s all you see everywhere green, green and more green, making the whole experience virtually as monotone as before, but now all in different shades of green. But keeping in mind that in a couple of days we will be flying to Tokyo, followed by Dubai and then back to Malta, I really don’t think I should be complaining about green!

During our previous Winter visit I was asked whether I was interested in going to Amurzet, which is the true origin of Maria’s family and naturally I had jumped to the occasion of such an intriguing trip. So five of us including Maria’s brother had huddled up into a tiny car and journeyed for hours on end until we finally got there, when we happily jumped out of the car into the deep freeze outside to stretch our legs. Now let me try to find the right words for this next part as Maria will obviously be reading this… Her mother is errr, let us just say not at all the easiest person on Earth! And I mean not at all as in NOT AT ALL!! Ok let me stop there as who knows, I might be wanting some nooky later on tonight and really don’t want to spoil my chances!

I cannot remember the exact number of uncomfortable hours we sat cramped up in that damn car, but it was half an entire day sort of jobbie and now believe me when I tell you that we were there in Amurzet for no more than 15 minutes – yes 15 minutes, before the mum snapped at all of us to get back into the car and drive home. I am not kidding you my friends and while I was looking desperately at the others to come to an agreement on the best and easiest way of slaughtering my gorgeous and lovely wife’s mum, they just put their head down and stumbled back into the car. I admit that our options might have been rather limited. Death by drowning wasn’t an option as every bit of water was frozen solid for many metres in depth and the landscape being rather flat there is a marked absence of cliffs, but hey there was so much motivation there that believe me I would have come up with something! But no, everyone rightly understood that getting back into the freaky car and regaling ourselves to another half day journey after 15 minutes of totally pointless nothingness and why on Earth did we bloody bother in the first placiness, was infinitely better than having a fire breathing terrifying dragon at our throats for perhaps the 3, 4 or even 5 days to come. Naturally I had no other choice than to get back into the car and spend the rest of the day secretly planning all the painful deaths I could one day bestow upon my perfect and luscious wife’s mum. And just in case you’re asking why on Earth she insisted on returning after 15 minutes flat, we simply don’t know and never will. It falls amongst those unfathomable female mysteries shrouded in bitchiness, bitterness and all round bloody badness.

Ok. Now that was last time! Wanna hear about this time hahaha! Having been through such a harrowing experience, which I must admit has somehow over the years still remained stuck right up there amongst my top ten or so pet hates, it was something I felt I must one day find closure to. So as we are here in Summer this time and the scenery is very different and the majesty of such a splendid river is more akin to its liquid form rather than a solid block of ice and lastly as there is absolutely fuck all else to do – yes, I asked for another effing day of full punishment! Now as you all know I often admit to being a bit of a jackass but on this one occasion oh my, was I a total miserable sod!

Before the ominous day we sat there planning to ensure that we would not repeat our Winter disaster. We even somehow rummaged up enough courage to confirm with the m-i-l that she would allow us as much time as we wanted to generally enjoy the place. So we planned out a lovely day starting with the nice drive and now green scenery, then a nice relaxing and civilised lunch at a restaurant there, followed by a few lovely walks along the mighty and impressive Amur River and perhaps finishing off with a general stroll around town, then and only then, shall we give the green light to start the long journey home.

So we all got early, got ready and off we go. Ok so let me start by describing the road, cause I have to start somewhere and there really is a lot to say! And when I say road this is mainly for want of a better word. In such cases I was told, strange at is may sound, driving in Winter is actually easier. Basically because the truly enormous potholes are all full of frozen water and therefore perfectly smoothened out. Much of the way there is made up of totally destroyed surfacing with massive and extremely deep potholes which would literally break the car in two if you drive through them at anything more than a crawling pace. In many cases we had to drive down into, then slowly across their bottom and then finally back up the other side, the potholes being so massive. So much of the trip was braking suddenly lurching us all forward. I really and truly hit my head on the windscreen and the roof of the car countless times (really!). Swerving widely onto oncoming cars to miss potholes and to miss oncoming cars swerving widely to miss potholes… get it!

And as if these harrowing experiences were not enough, like many people here they have a second hand car form Japan, where funnily enough they drive on the left as we do in Malta and the the steering wheel is on the right, which is the wrong side for Russia. So poor, terrified, shitting me is the the front bleeding death seat hanging out in the effing middle of the road while the driving dad in law is happily tucked away on the other side of the car!!! I kid you not it was really much more like watching a frigging video game than a real life drive. And I don’t mean the ones you simply play on a monitor but the ones in an amusement arcade where you sit tightly in those simulator contraptions and you are wildly jerked from side to side and also occasionally hit across the head with a baseball bat from behind by one of the staff for added effect.

Luckily and again very strangely sounding, there were entire sections of totally unsurfaced dirt roads, which were actually much smoother and offered infinitely better conditions than the supposedly asphalted ones. Of course all of this in Winter is so perfectly concealed and covered with so much snow and ice that the experience is a very different one. What we did in hair-raising skidding and sliding last time round we did in swerving, banging, crashing and braking this time – pure and utter bliss. These conditions ensured that what would be possibly a 2 hour journey on a proper motorway in most other places on Earth, takes you more than double here to accomplish, and that’s if you’re driving like a maniac in such conditions.

Ok now that’s just the road bit, but as you can imagine there’s more, much more… Let’s now focus on mum. And to go straight to the point imagine tuning in the radio onto an incessant chatty talk show which simply never ever stops, not for commercials, no pauses, no breaks, nope, niet, nada, just pure unabating, interminable, perpetual, persistent, unrelenting, useless talk. Fine, now multiply that by the power of 100, and there you have the amount of suicide inducing constant and mind-numbing verbal diarrhea we got all the way there and all the way back compliments of my loving mother in law!!! What she was talking about was totally irrelevant and held absolutely no interest at all to anyone. She is just a compulsive constant talker. There are extremely few more annoying situations on this planet than having to endure such psychological torture for hours on end. And the monster was a headmistress (yes, scary!) so she even knows the trick of constantly lowering and upping both volume and intonation ensuring that no matter how hard you try to ignore here your bleeding attention snaps back on to her wretched voice.

So our mind was totally numbed by the relentless droning of the mum in law and our body was entirely battered by the atrocious roads, so let us now speak about the total destruction of our spirit.

Firstly it is fitting to point out that my intricately planned itinerary was rudely tampered with by the unauthorized introduction of various unexpected stops. The first was shortly after our departure when we left the road to Amurzet and veered of to their dacha. This is a makeshift structure surrounded by fields where much of their spare time and energy is spent in countryside surroundings. Sort is the equivalent of a summer boathouses for many of the Maltese. I was then informed that we had to pick up some tools to clear the graves of relatives during our forthcoming unplanned cemetery visits. Maria’s ancestors being mainly from Amurzet and the surrounding villages, no trip there is complete without a grand tour of every cemetery in a 100 kilometer radius. So this also explained why all of the flowers Maria received for her birthday were lying in the boot along with sweets and packets of juice, all ready as offerings for the dead.

Yes you read right. In this part of the world it is an ancient ritual to leave sweets and biscuits as well as small cups of fruit juice on each grave. Now I do consider myself to be very respectful and tolerant of others’ beliefs, but then again there are certain traditions which I do find rather odd and also perhaps ott, not to say verging on the ridiculous. But what really sent me into uncontrollable cough dissimulating laughing fits, compelling me to quickly distance myself from my mourning in laws, was the juice they were pouring into the cups before placing them on the graves. In a hilarious stroke of unfathomable fate it was multivitamin juice they had brought along!!! Now how ironic is that! You couldn’t invent these things no matter how hard you try haha. Dunno, was this perhaps the greatest possible definition of optimism?

So thanks to the dacha detour, plus two ensuing multivitamin serving trips to two very very distant cemeteries, not to mention the various pee stops in a variety of precarious places, we finally arrive in Amurzet a full five hours after our departure. By then I as dreaming of treating myself to a nice civilized lunch not only because I was famished but also as palliative therapy after the last traumatic five hours of my life.

You know us Maltese, if say we are going for lunch to Gozo, we first eat before we leave, then as we left early we stop somewhere on the way for a snack, we get to Cirkewwa and since there’s a few minutes to spare we pop into the kiosk there for a quick drink and a bite, then board the ferry for drinks, Twistees and a pastizz, before finally arriving in Gozo for lunch, all barely in the space of an hour or so. And then Julian Boffa and Tyrone Ellul complain!!

Suffice to say that during the five hours nothing was offered. No drinks, no water, no nibbles, nada. Five hours here is not considered worthy of anything more than fresh air, so shut up you city dwelling western capitalist softie asshole.

I on the other hand was dying of hunger, would have killed for a long cold drink and was craving something strong to calm my shattered nerves. So we head for the ‘centre’ and enquire where the closest good restaurant may be. We are directed down the road by a gruff individual, only to be told by an even gruffer one in this dubious establishment that they were closed. Upon insisting for a more intelligible answer than his initial ugh, we were informed that there is only one other eatery in town which was more of a grocery but which doubled up as a diner of sorts. By then my far fetched visions of Tarragon Restaurant in Amurzet had already long vanished and I was grudgingly settling for a beggars can’t be choosers most miserable attitude.

We finally find this extremely ‘elegant’ establishment which you could have aptly name shithole, but only if you were in a very complimentary sort of mood. And this is where and also why I totally adore my wife, cause it was her who joking referred to one of our favorite restaurants and with loving philosophy she told me that it might not be Tarragon but hey let’s take this as one of those funny extreme holiday experiences and rough it like the locals do. Having lived in Malta now for some 20 year, most of which she has been spoilt rotten by about as big a bon vivant as they come – in the form of moi, Maria now feels about as foreign to all this today as I do.
So we walk in gingerly and request a table for four, only to be gruffly informed that they were booked out for a wake, another post-multivitamin serving ceremony which is customary with the locals here. As it was evident that besides the long table readily set up for the group there was ample additional space, and based on our rising hunger and the daunting prospect of driving all the way back on an empty stomach, we politely asked whether he would be kind enough to set up a small table on the side and even feed us anything he liked, whatever was the easiest for him. At which point he didn’t even bother to reply and simply turned his back on us and left to wherever he came from, at which point I truly wished was the worse flea infested version of hell!

So there go our lunch plans out of the battered car window and as I grabbed my dad in law’s penknife and tended my wrists in utter desperation, I was somewhat dubiously reassured that we would go to the one local food store and buy some food for a picnic. In such situations when you simply have no choice, you just shut the fuck up and do what you have to do. So a couple of plastic bags later we head for the banks of the Amur River which is about the only location in town conducive to a picnic, unless you want to eat between two grey communist style apartment blocks, grabbed the provisions and headed down next to the water.

By then another hour was spent in the car uselessly toing and froing around town trying to eat, so a total of 6 hours of driving already. We are about to settle down by the river when a small garrison of seriously scary heavily armed soldiers appear out of nowhere and start shouting orders at the top of their voice sending us all scrambling for our lives back to the car. When everyone had caught their breath and calmed down enough to talk intelligibly I was duly informed that being right on the border and the very river marking the actual border, it was all out of bounds for civilians which probably explained why there wasn’t a soul to be seen.

In one final act of mad desperation I grabbed a beer and Maria’s arm and insisted on walking up and down the main road with her guzzling my beer in the street, and there you have it. I had been transformed into what most other men here have been reduced to. A hopelessly unstylish and unashamed street drinking alcoholic whose highest firm of entertainment boiled down to a five minute stroll down the street while desperately trying to get drunk.

So we returned to the car and decided to do the only thing possibly left to do. To return to the comfort of our home and picnic there where no soldiers and no flies and mosquitoes but only the ubiquitous mum in law will do her damn best to spoil our lives. Short of a quick assassination there was nothing we could do about her, the rest on the other hand we could choose to avoid.

So yes, after 6 hours of painful driving and let me copy paste the exact same words that I started with when describing the same moment during our previous winter visit. “everyone rightly understood that getting back into the freaky car and regaling ourselves to another half day journey after 15 minutes of totally pointless nothingness and why on Earth did we bloody bother in the first placiness” Oh and yes, yet again there was one last twist!! Dad realized that he lost his mobile and was sure that this happened at the furthest cemetery we had visited earlier that day. So in spite of my repeated reassurance that I would purchase another one for him so let’s get the fuck home, he insisted on returning there again, adding so much painful time to our return journey which lasted amongst the longest five hours of my life.
This finally brings me to the sad end of my even sadder story. In total we clocked over 600 kilometers and 11 hours of driving, which in those conditions are at least equivalent to twice as much. And all for a failed one hour visit.

This is definitely one story where the saying ‘never two without three’ will NEVER EVER apply!

I had a friend whose legs were so tall they would never finnish. And every time she spread them someone would instantly russian. She was a good cook and would carefully greece the pan, throw a parsnip and a sweden, before cooking the turkey, which she would stylishly serve in her finest china.

In Winter when it was chile, she would take us to watch the wales on the chalky white ivory coast. At times there was nothing not even a bird and we had hardly senegal. There was only one feeding on algae rhea or some type of greater bird. But then they would jump up and come smashing down on a berg while we watched the iceland in the sea all around.

A Tribute to Frank Sinatra

Hey Ezekiel how’s it going? I loved Ezekiel to bits. He was probably my fav acquaintance since I came to Heaven. He glanced at me rather furtively, nodded gracefully and proceeded with his eternally pointless circular journey around Heaven. He is what we call here a compulsive mover, in a heavenly sort of way. He really cannot go anywhere or truly travel, but some people simply like to be constantly on the move and he was certainly one of them.

So I gingerly made my way down the central pathway, carefully threading tenderly on the tops of the fluffy clouds. It is after all, one of the very first things they teach you here, not to flatten the fluff, so to speak. Especially in the main pathways where many feet tend to thread. You’d think that there would be some divine intervention in such mundane matters but no, even here man is somewhat left to his resources it seems.

Then suddenly there came that resounding and inimitable voice. That uniquely recognizable and unmistakable powerfully resonating voice which said “ALEX Alex alex lex ex x” (long pause dripping in heart wrenching suspense) “Why are you in such a hurry, urry rry, ry, y?” I instantly stopped in my cloudy tracks, startled and even feeling just a little bit picked on. I hate it when He does that. And it wasn’t every day after all that God addressed you directly. After my initial and compulsory private hearing on my admission day, I believe that God had only spoken to me twice and on both occasions there seemed to be some sour connotation. And everyone knows that when He asks you a question it cannot really be good. You already know that He knows the answer to everything, so why ask unless He’s trying to corner you in one way or another. You certainly cannot use the word devious in His context, but you know exactly what I mean…

“Oh hi there” I replied in a rather intimidated way. “Well?” He bellowed in His own imposing way. “I’m only on my way to find some company. Nobody talks much around here as you know”. He continued “You seem rather edgy and impatient”. I meekly replied “Well since I’ve been here I’ve managed to meet my parents and so many others, but although they’re friendly and kind they all seem so distant and cold”. HRH : “That is because they lack nothing and they need nothing. Not even love or attention”. The tiny little ant : “Yes it has already been explained to me over and over again, but I still don’t really get it”. Snappy : “There’s nothing to get. You just have to get used to it that’s all”. And whooosh…. off He went and simply vanished, holding His cape with it’s massive “G” on its centre in His right hand, in the same unexpected way He appeared and in the way only He can do. I couldn’t help thinking how wrong we were back down there thinking that since this is His home He would be plainly visibly here all the time, rather than just making the odd guest appearance from time to time. But who’s complaining!!

My problem was one. I was bored and nothing else. We sit around all day praising God with not much else to do. I mean it’s not like back on earth where you eat and you drink and you even go out to work. Not one of those menial things exists here. They are meant to be beneath us and not even worth contemplating at all. But I still miss eating and drinking although I daren’t mention it to anyone. I try to understand this eternal bliss thing but have difficulties assigning all previous pleasures into the carnal diversions of unnecessary self-gratification they are considered to be here. After a couple of days I was craving for a steak and a glass of wine, now even a sandwich and a Heineken would do.

But such unholy thoughts cannot be accepted here and I was warned upon entry that it takes some longer than others to acclimatise. A holy jet lag of sorts which some who were very earthed like me take some time to adapt to. I was also clearly notified that any such thoughts must be kept quiet and suppressed, lest you know Who gets involved…. not a good idea!

An old bewhiskered great aunt floated by in the opposite direction. I waved at her as she bobbed along. She gave me one of those unsettling indefinable gazes which are so typical of this place. I couldn’t help chuckle to myself that not even heaven had managed to remove that nasty facial hair of hers and also that looks in general here were greatly overlooked and so underrated.

I finally got to the central puffy forum. Several small groups of similarly lucky people slowly bobbed up and down in eternal bliss on their cushiony white clouds. I picked a nice spot next to a couple of people I knew. One of my previous teachers who was something of a mentor for me in my formative years and an angelic cousin who perished, oops sorry, who found eternal bliss, at a very young age. As expected they barely acknowledged my presence and quickly turned their heavenly gaze back to everlasting and mindblowing infinity.

After several failed attempts to engage them into some form of conversation, I gave up, yet again trying to suppress my feelings of frustration. So I settled down and tried to slowly eliminate all mundane thoughts and to focus on Him and Him only. Yes Him and solely Him, entirely Him and nothing else but Him, him, im, m…

When I woke up there was nobody around. I wasn’t meant to sleep at all and virtually nobody else did this except for the newbies who had just arrived and who invariably still smelled of dust and ashes. I tried to get those funny nicknames going, calling all new blokes Dusty and all the gals Ashley, but alas it never caught on. Somehow nobody could see the humour in this except me.

But I simply couldn’t help it and although this was yet another of my attributes which was shunned upon by many, I still clock in my eight hours a day and even slip in a quick sly siesta in the weekends. Not that there are any weekends here haha, or even days for that matter. It is always and constantly that creamy white pastel coloured glow around, which admittedly can get so annoying at times. But I sometimes secretly decide to assign a random moment in time, which incidentally doesn’t exist either here, and label it as a weekend moment when I pour myself an imaginary gin and tonic and tuck into a nice lasagne or something in my own mind.

So as everyone seems to have vanished, well not literally of course, only he can do that, I assumed that there must be a gathering of sorts. So I set off in any random direction as here it really makes no difference, you think you’re heading out, but you somehow always end up in the same place wherever you go.

As I tend to get impatience and also rather excited whenever even the most insignificant of things happen here, I have to make a concerted effort to slow down. Everyone hates it when you leave those massive trails of torn clouds frothing up behind you, in a mad western cowboy sort of way.

So I restrained myself and hovered around aimlessly until I caught that low sounding hum which is so characteristic of gatherings here. Nobody really speaks that much, but when in relatively larger groups they seem to collectively let off a barely audible hum. It is probably their way of greeting and acknowledging someone, I’ve tried it too but unfortunately I always end up breaking out into a tune. Last time it was some vulgar weird black American rap thingie, which left everyone totally bemused.

So it all seemed to be coming from the pearly gates where there had gathered quite a crowd. Peter was there as always pontificating and showing off, waving his keys proudly above everyone else’s head, as if we weren’t already aware of his unique status of head bouncer.

So this could only mean one thing. Someone very important had just arrived. I tried looking over everyone’s shoulders to see the object of their momentary and transient interest. But no, how wrong I was. It was actually someone being sent back down. Although I had heard mention of this rare event, I hadn’t yet witnessed one first hand. Oh great, finally something different and slightly engaging, allowing for at least a few somethings, as seconds and minutes don’t exist, of not having to contemplate Him.

It was a rather wicked and very top heavy looking woman, who had insisted on her fourth breast enlargement and who’s operation had gone terribly wrong. So she had slipped further and further until she went through the proverbial tunnel and moved towards that enigmatic white light. That same light which very soon becomes so unbelievably boring that you consider black as being the new white.

But naturally when Peter saw her and her melon sized protrusions, he unequivocally waved her away in his normal temperamental way. But before doing so he liked to summon up a crowd, according to him to auger these poor and ensuing mixed up individuals well and a safe return. But personally I think that he secretly gets a kick out of playing a mini me version of God.

So off she goes, all a-wobbling, back down into the operating theatre, where the various nurses and medics bouncing desperately on her bouncy castles will soon revive her to the relief of all. And once she is out of hospital she will spread the word, as others have before her, of mysterious glowing white lights.

Oh well, at least something happened around here for a change, I smugly mused to myself. When suddenly there was a top level thunderbolt and lightening entrance scaring everyone out of their wits. Well not that they really have any wits left, but you know what I mean. I really hate it when He does this, I mean was this really necessary after all?

“WHYYYYY but WHYYYY do you all seek any activity beyond your eternal adoration of MOIIIII?”. Oh sigh, here we go again, I thought to myself, feeling slightly annoyed. “PETER Peter eter ter er r” He echoed for that added effect. “Send them AWAY!” And whooshhh away He went in His usual theatrical way. I had thought up of dozens of hilarious nicknames for Him but would be banished forever if I even dared suggest any of them.

But what I could never understand is why even He could never see through Peter and rather than admonish him for his little vanity exercises it was always the poor souls’ fault instead. No wonder they float around aimlessly like heavenly zombies doing their best not to exist at all. For me it was obvious that even here certain people were more equal than others.

So off they went in perfect silence staring down at where their feet used to be. Some formed little shame groups of sorts, while others wondered around on their own. I somehow bumped into this very large man whom I had never met before. I instantly said sorry, although to be honest due to his size it was me who was mainly rattled not him. But from him nothing, absolutely nothing. Not even a small sorry or word of excuse. Can you imagine that even here in Heaven there still exist these crass individuals suffering from road rage and more.

I happily retired to an imaginary corner, for corners neither do exist up here. Yes it was decidedly nap time for me and I’ll let the others continue in their endless idolization and worship, while I grab myself some shut eye. Although admittedly I haven’t even got eyelids which makes the darn thing that much more difficult.

Oh it’s so great being in Heaven! I still haven’t bumped into Frank Sinatra but I really can’t wait to ask him what that darn song of his was all about!

The portions were enormous. And although I didn’t seem to be in France, all the waiters spoke to me in French, just for that added effect. “Voilà Monsieur votre plateau de fruits de mer pour cinq personnes, juste pour vous” he exclaimed, as he placed in front of me the largest and most impressive selection of seafood I had ever seen. “Et voilà trois bouteilles de Pouilly Fuissé”, all of which I did eventually intend to drink, but preferred to have them all next to me just in case some other greedy gourmet snatched them up before me.

I was already salivating just looking at these sumptuous delights. So I grabbed a langoustine and put it into my mouth. But just as it is about to enter I suddenly feel a huge thug on my ear, which pulls my enitre head back. Hmm how strange, I thought. So I went for an oyster. I grab the shell and place it right next to my mouth. But as I go to pour the delicious contents into my mouth, exactly the same thing happens. By that time I was extremely puzzled and really needed a drink. So I reach out for the light gold chilled nectar and as I am about to take my first longing sip, I feel a third even stronger thug at my now painful ear.

“I caught you sleeping AGAIN Gain Ain In N” came the thundering voice “And even dreaming of carnal pleasures”. “Sorry Mr G but”. “And I told you NOT to call me that already”. So He swiftly tucked His cape in between His legs, ensuring that it doesn’t interfere with His frantic arm movements, did one of His bombastic abracadabra arm and body motions and annoyingly sucked out of my mind any sweet lingering thoughts of marvelous crustaceans and Southern Burgundy wines.

Oh the selfish… Oops! No I couldn’t think such things or He would immediately know. “I have warned you several times so now you shall be tested”. And off He goes doing His usual stunt, disappearing gradually from His legs upwards until only His big angry puffed up head lingered on for that additional split second, until it too disappeared with that tiny yet distinctive pop.

Hmm tested, I thought…. I wonder what He meant by that, I reflected as I started yet another pointless journey from nowhere through nowhere and leading to absolutely nowhere, which here is referred to as eternal bliss.

A little baby crawled along slowly on its belly, hopelessly looking up at me in search of a familiar maternal nipple. Since limbo went out of fashion these poor infants were just chucked here with the rest of us and left entirely to their own resources.

So a few eons later, by which time both my ears were long pulled off, on one of my many long and pointless floats, I glimpse a cloud ever so slightly higher that the rest. It instantly caught my attention in this otherwise largely flat and monotone non existence. Naturally even the smallest of features here was bound to instantly attract me.

I quickly put my imaginary mobile into my imaginary pocket and put my imaginary Facebook thread on hold, with a final post saying “wish He would get His Nuts caught up in that damn cape of His one of these days, but ttfn gtg my dear non existent friends”. You see he could never quite grasp the concept of Facebook and had no idea how to log in or access these thoughts. So at least I had discovered this little secret garden, where he could never barge in to annoy and impress. I had even created four imaginary FB groups. One devoted to my imaginary wining and dining adventures, another where I just rant on about heaven and hell and the third reserved only for a selected few whose mind is just as open as everyone else’s here is closed. Oh and the fourth which is truly imaginary in every sense.

So I get to this special cloud and suddenly, as soon as I as much as put my missing foot upon it, there appears the most sensual and seductive creature I have ever met in this cloudy realm.

She turned her gorgeous eyes towards me sensually flicking her long curly dark hair behind her back. I was instantly captivated by her intense attention. So different to all the other zombies up here. But what mostly hit me was that unlike everyone else she even had bodily features and truly remarkable ones at that. Her large and heavy breasts hung gracefully over her chest, her firm round buttocks proudly marked a perfect pair of legs and her precious female oyster stared at me straight in the face, without as much as a tug on my ear from a frustrated old Man.

I had finally found possibly the one and only advantage of being isolated here in heaven. That this delicious creature was parading around totally naked, wearing absolutely no clothes.

“Come to me” she hissed. But as I approached it all became more and more evident that this was the test that He had mentioned. I mean it was a bit obvious after all! I somehow rummaged up all my self restraint and managed to pull away. “I’ll be waiting here for you my love” she uttered languishly as I floated totally shell shocked away.

From that moment on she was constantly on my mind. I too acted like a lost soul, floating around aimlessly and ignoring all the others. But in spite of my identical behaviour to all of them, in my case the object of my total adoration was very different to theirs.

I yearned and I craved for her all the imaginary time. I didn’t only love her as that is commonplace and the only allowed feeling here. Everybody had to love everybody else. But in her case I had totally fallen in love – quite a different feeling altogether.

Until finally I couldn’t take it any longer. So I scrambled off past old ladies huddled up together murmuring prayers, young angelic men still virgins in their twenties and thirties, couples whose previous love and devotion towards each other had been totally highjacked and redirected by Someone who never has His fill, and various other nerds and losers who never really had a life at all.

I sped past them all, leaving them and their rosary beads swaying in the distance behind me. Until I finally see the only sight here which may truly be called heavenly.

She came alive when she saw me. “Come to me my love” she murmured, holding out a big juicy pineapple in her hand, while a long feathered fluffy boa slid slowly around her neck.

I knew exactly what was happening. His petty games and tricks were now only too obviously. But I was really longing for eternal salvation. Salvation from this pathetic, monotonous and megalomaniacal non-existence. My only one greatest wish was that I would be allowed to bite into that forbidden fruit and not pulled back by where my ears used to be.

So I lurched forward into my secret lovers arms. We embraced and we kissed and we caressed each other in wild abandon, making me feel for the very first time ever that I was truly in heaven.

And as we passionately kissed on and on our tongues blending into one, I start to notice the distinct tastes of beer and nicotine and even a hint of gherkin. I didn’t want this moment ever to end, but these tastes gradually got stronger and more intense.

As did the peppery smell of body odour, mixed with that of BBQ’ed food and mohitos and marihuana.

I also felt the temperature around me slowly rising and noticed that mind-numbing creamy glow all around being slowly transformed into lovely warm shades of orange and red.

I finally pulled away when I unmistakably heard people laughing. A sound I had not once heard, accompanied by some of Bob Marley’s best reggae, which all finally jolted me to my senses.

There standing in front of me was a big smiling Jamaican Rasta, wearing shades, cut-off jean shorts and a cool pink flowery shirt. He was holding an ice cold Corona beer in one hand, a huge spliff in the other and the biggest, most chillaxed friendly smile I couldn’t even have imagined.

He passed me the beer and the six inch joint and let out a relaxed and chilled and long drawn out “What’s up maaan”.

It was the dull throbbing pain in my anal cavity which eventually woke me up. I really don’t know what got into me, but somehow I just couldn’t resist.

As I made my way through the naked sleeping bodies all tangled up in each other, I marveled at all the new experiences I had been going through of late. And it’s not like anyone was forcing me into them, I just was so tempted to try out new stuff.

While I seem to have lost all my previous sexual inhibitions, my newly discovered pleasures ranged far and wide. Any form of physical pleasure was exponentially heightened and this included my enjoyment of food, drink, music, song, physical exercise, massage, bodily grooming, sleeping and happily dosing. I had mastered so many new sports and dance and had learned to fully appreciate ballet and opera and art. All my physical and sensual pleasures had been sharpened beyond belief.

I got so much raw and gut felt pleasure from all that I did. Constant fun and enjoyment, so much passion in everything I did. Never a dull moment and perhaps the best of it all was that I could indulge to incredible excess. For nothing more could happen to me whatever I did. I wasn’t going anywhere after here.

And the sex. Oh the incredible sex! I had dozens all at once kissing my body, sending me into a delicious trance. All my wildest dreams and fantasies and much much more played out to me in delicious decadent carnal pleasure, beyond my wildest imagination.

Woman of all shapes and sizes administering dirty little tricks, the odd handsome Adonis, a couple of pretty obliging camels with seductively fluttering eyelashes, a young humble goat, a welsh experienced sheep and a hermaphrodite slug. All queuing up to give me pleasure and attention while I just sat back and took in my fill.

And between all this beautiful debauchery were the best ever rock concerts, followed by sumptuous banquets with the best champagne. Slick air conditioned interiors with stylishly designed furniture and chic colourful fabrics to match.

It was just fun and joy and happiness without fail all the time.

I finally managed to move away from the main group orgy I was involved in, with all the sleeping bodies of dozens of happy and satiated individuals. And as I walked through the lush tropical gardens, I pass several smaller groups of individuals pleasuring themselves and softly beckoning me to join in, with lovely friendly smiles on their happy faces. I must say that many were very tempting, but my first priority now was food. My exquisite antics had opened up a ravenous appetite, not only for more wondrous sex and moments of wild abandonment, but also for some great delicious food.

Although I passed many kiosks and stands offering very tempting street food, I headed with a passion for the main food court and when I arrived I wanted to get my fill of as much of the tempting food as possible. So in typical local style where access and uncontrolled abandon is the name of the game, I reached out for a 36 foot tray and headed for the central buffet.

I placed upon it some langoustine, several oysters and a bit of lobster. Then came piles of caviar and some salmon gravalax. A bowl of prawn bisque and some crab claws. Several slabs of foie gras and some duck terrine. A large plate of spaghetti vongole, another of penne al tartufo and a huge creamy lasagne which I had delicately prepared myself. Some white bait fritters, a couple of hell made fishcakes, a 12 kilo angus rib eye steak, a whole beef wellington, french fries, sauteed potatoes, roast potatoes with cumin, a grouper steak, some rare blue-fin tuna and a pagella or two.

I also took a generous helping of freshly baked Maltese bread, which here due to the heat was cooked in a jiffy. Then rather than olive oil in my expected yuppy way, I grabbed instead a few portions of full fat butter, without really knowing why I insisted on this additional condiment. But just keep this in mind as it will all be explained later…

Now for the drinks. I took a mohito, a long island ice tea, a Chablis premier cru, a Chateau Margaux 1962, a Chateau Petrus 1905, an 1875 vintage port, a Dom Perignon 1655, a Louis Roederer Cristal Brut Millesime 1245, and a Hennessy Paradis dating back from 500 B.D. (we prefer using the BD version rather the BC one here!). I also took 6 bottles of Marsovin Antonin Noir and a large basin to sooth my feet while I eat.

And as I sat at my table salivating, I was served by the most gorgeous topless waitresses, who purposely kept bending over, me rubbing their ever so slightly hanging apparel over my face and chin.

As I started to eat and drink, Anna Nicole Smith, Grace Kelly, Mata Hari, Marie Antoinette and Cleopatra suddenly appeared, before they soon disappeared again under my table to help my digestion in ways which only they could excel. Then Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald started singing for me, while Toulouse Lautrec sketched up my portrait and Rudolf Nureyev came to dance for me and gave me a wink and a nod. Hmm no thanks Rudie, that’s sweet of you but some other time perhaps. Let me first heal a bit thanks, I replied as I tucked my sore parts tightly into my seat…

Then My Rastaboy came slowly ambling along. I loved calling him this and he loved it to. So much so that he had it up on the large newscasters everywhere with all his other recent humourous nicknames we all found for him.

With the biggest ear to ear smile he languishly asks me “Maaaaaan, suuuuuuup. U haave all ya senses catered fo?” and hands me his usual temptation in the form of a massive joint. There was just something about him which you simply could never deny. He always so easily managed to pull you straight into temptation whether it was booze, or food, or offering you the most gracious and accommodating of sexual creatures.

So I ate and I drank and I sucked at my joint, as did Cleopatra and co…. and I listened to the best version of Summertime being sung and watched my Lautrec portray being hung and sat back and well I simply enjoyed… Just then a lovely little legna, which is simply a naughty furiously masturbating tempting little backwards spelt angel, flitted by showering me in sweet smelling nectar of sorts. I held up my Häagen-Dazs ice cream, topping it up with light fluffy panna as I tucked into my desserts.

Then I decided to go for a walk and started by feasting my visual senses, so I purposely chose natural beauty in the form of landscapes for a start. So I took the scenic trail passing towering mountains, spectacular waterfalls and crystalline lakes. I walked on stunning golden beaches and up on towering cliffs, taking in the gorgeous scenery and reveling in its beauty. Whenever I was thirsty I just stopped at one of the cafes and feasted on a freshly opened coconut or an ice cold beer and snacked on a bar of dark Belgian chili chocolate, while I stroked someone’s titty or two.

After these moments of reflective and relative solitude, I joined in one of the many parties around. All my previous and newly made friends welcomed me enthusiastically, showering me in gold and silver and gifts of all sorts. Then I jumped into a Lotus Diablo and raced around against a Ferrari Testarossa or two, before we swapped cars and then crashed them just for fun.

Big D came along on a Harley, looking as cool as can be. He threw us all a gold Rolex and a Faberge egg, blowing kisses as he went along in his cute lusty way.

After my pottery lesson, my chocolate massage and soaking in a bath of champagne, I walked out with an enormous bouquet of flowers, a gift from the seductive young masseuse. I loved varying my pleasures, so I took a stretch limo downtown and headed straight for the museums, passing hundreds of kids who had totally fell for their worst and darkest temptations of candy floss, popcorn and candies, as they screamed in delight on their bouncy castles, roller coasters and endless rides.

First I went to a Rembrandt collection and then a Gustav Klimt. I followed this up with Salvador Dali, Andy Warhol, then a Dorothea Lange photographic exhibition. And what I always liked best was that the artists themselves would show you around and explain.

On the way out I stopped and listened to Agatha read through Murder on the Orient Express, then to William reciting Romeo and Juliet, by which time I had soaked up enough visual and auditive pleasures and headed into one of the huge casinos. I picked up a large pile of free chips and sat myself down at one of the roulette tables, sending back kisses to the seductive croupiere who I still believe was Marilyn Monroe herself.

This was just one day in my time here in hell, and probably one of the tamest and lamest so far. So I grabbed Beelzebub by the feelhiszbub cause he had at least two or three, and asked him straight and plain…

This is totally absurd and just cannot be! How the hell do you expect me to believe that this is supposed to be our punishment in hell?

For the first time ever I caught a glimpse of a slightly more serious Lucifer who said. They don’t call me Lucifer for nothing, meaning the morning star. This name comes from lux or luce, hence a light bearing individual bringing brightness, enlightenment and knowledge to all. Yes it is admittedly absurd but only because all we do here is oppose religious teachings which they themselves are so absurd. Keep in mind that we don’t make any of the rules here, all we do is go against them instead.

Religious rules are against nudity and sex, two natural things which we simply love and relish. Where the hell did they ever invent this from, as even their big old book never mentions this. Sex and nudity are about the two most natural and normal things that exist. Sex before marriage is another big taboo, which nobody on earth ever even gave an iota’s attention to, however it goes totally against religion. Contraception also is yet another sin which everyone totally ignores. And the list goes on and on with the biggest dogmas of religion being no more than a funny irrelevant joke. Thou shalt not lie haha hehe while everyone lies all the time. How the hell could you not lie even to your own family and friends to keep the peace, let alone to get you own way as we all do.

Go on think more about it, he insisted, and realise how ridiculous it all is. Give away all your possessions you are told, while everyone does exactly the opposite. If someone hits you on the face, then turn you face and give them the other cheek so they can hit you again. I could tell that he was showing off now as he gave me example after example of how ridiculous the whole situation was.

What a load of bollocks, he cried, how about the fact that sex for pleasure and not for procreation is also a sin. As is masturbation simply because it is pleasing and every other enjoyment that exists.

My head started to spin as the tremendously obvious started to sink in and the hard cold truth finally hit home. It wasn’t that I was even ever religious, but the extraordinary clarity was now screaming at me in the face.

Why the hell were simple physical pleasures so shunned when they were the most natural things of all. Why was sex wrong when it was the most beautiful thing in our lives? What is wrong with a nude body and why did we ever have to create shame.

I always knew all of this perfectly, even when I was still alive. But now looking back at my life surrounded by so many sheep, I wondered how the hell some still followed this nonsensical bullcrap, especially as none of them followed the teachings which were so incompatible with their everyday lives.

Religion taught of restraint and sacrifice and pain and hardship and sin and shame and wrongdoing and bad and negative and prisoners in our own thoughts with suffering all the way. While once all of this was totally abandoned, there was fun and enjoyment and limitless freedom and love and carefree joy for all. Nobody cared and nobody had any bad intentions, all that was important was pleasing yourself and everyone around you.

So we all carried on in our business of opposing all that was meant to be righteous and good. We didn’t do anything else than to lead each other into temptation in all that opposed the established religions.

So we made love to each other, and sometimes we were two or three. Because think about it now, if you are one it is wrong, if you are two and married it is right, but if you are three or more it is wrong and all because of evil mathematics. For whatever other reason could two be fine but not say 22?

We cooked food and we brewed drinks which was also meant to be evil. Wafered bread and diluted wine were fine, but anything else was gluttony. Any pleasures to the body and its senses should be suppressed and having fun should never be. For laughter, joy and enjoyment is a sign of the devil and should be avoided at all costs.

So with all this in mind and having strenuously stroked and stimulated my fast growing spirit of contradiction, I finally found a use for that full fat butter. I pulled down my pants, bent down and shouted, Let’s Party!

I didn’t care at all. I totally forgot everyone around me. I just wanted to enjoy the moment. It was so rare to have such great quality time together. To live such intense moments.

I kissed her strongly on the head. I held her tightly in my arms, hugging her dearly against me.

A very very very long time ago, when I had only just started working full time, well before the advent of electricity and telephones, I was working as a receptionist in a small 3 star hotel in Sliema. My boss who was the owner, who was something of a mentor for me, was rather sharp and perceptive and astute.

So I knew that I was under his full scrutiny and that he was evaluating me much of the time. You might be thinking that this was normal being my boss. However I felt that he was also assessing me as a person and an individual and often gave me fatherly advice.

Being fresh out of school, I suppose that many of us act in a similar manner, as if their first job was an extension to their school antics. And as to me school was all about antics and fooling around and playing it smart when I didn’t really have a clue and didn’t care much more that being cool and popular and winging it all the time which somehow worked most of the time, I suppose that in my mind my first job wasn’t much different.

So somehow I managed to get away with murder. I did very little of what I was supposed to, never touched any of the boring tedious and repetitive work which was assigned to me and even managed to turn my job description upside down and moulded it perfectly to suit my own desires.

So within weeks I did absolutely none of the book keeping or admin but pushed it onto my colleagues, I ran a little racket with the tips and the souvenirs we sold at front office, I appropriated a hotel room and literally moved in lock stock and barrel, I negotiated a fully inclusive deal for me with free unlimited food and drinks, decades before it was even invented, and I flitted from room to room busier than a bumble bee on heat.

So I lazed around and I ate and I drank and I partied and I slept around like there was no tomorrow. And what an experience it was, which lasted several years. And in many ways there was no tomorrow because in spite of my young age I was so comfortable and in a way set up for life, that the days and the weeks and the months and eventually even the years went by and didn’t count at all. I still remember once forcing myself to go for a very short walk around the block, as it had been exactly two weeks since I last had even set foot outside the hotel.

I mean think about it. What on earth could a young man want? Living in a hotel, eating, drinking, partying, making friends and living a daily erotic dream – AND being paid for it!!!

I will not go into the details and permutations and nightly, or often multi-nightly – charades, in this instance, for that alone would warrant an independent book.

But by this stage you might be wondering why on earth was I tolerated? Why wasn’t I kicked out with all my clothes and pride into the street in separating squabbling couples style?

Well believe it or not here comes the crux of the story. My boss who I already said was anything but dull, had worked things out rather well. He tolerated all of this nonsense and a bit more which now escapes my memory, for one big reason. And this reason was only revealed to me towards the end of my degenerate era after several years. For I too really didn’t know before. And being the very immature boy I was then, I really didn’t care and had never even dwelled on the matter much. I was far too busy having fun to think very much in those days.

I was still in my late teens when I had started this job and I had permanently moved out of home. Although I didn’t visit my parents much as every minute away from work was a minute of glorious fun wasted, I sometimes made the effort to go and see them for an hour or two. I forgot to mention that my laundry was also catered for at the hotel, so obviously mummy lost even more value in my then shallow esteem.

I told them how busy I was and how interesting my role had become, steering light years away from any form of truth in my details. Until one day after several years bang! I see my parents walking into the hotel! I was very taken aback. What on earth were they doing there. My father in his habitual wise demeanour, simply informed me that they were there to have a drink. He had slowly collected bits of information over the years and knew the right day and time to come to find my boss there for his intended talk. I wouldn’t say that they were overtly worried or concerned. They were curious more than anything else and just wanted to get to the bottom of things once and for all.

So they casually walked into the bar, made themselves comfortable and ordered a drink. I was buzzing around not knowing what to do and how to act, until my boss arrives and notices something happening. I had no choice than to introduce them, a few minutes after which I was conveniently sent away to do something which took a very long time to complete.

My parents left with no big fuss and not many words. It was only after many days during my next visit to them that they revealed what was discussed. They told me how my boss went on and on listing negative after negative and weakness after weakness of my performance as an employee. To the extent that after some time my mother’s protective instinct had tuned in and apparently she rather exasperatedly asked “Ok ok then if he’s so bad why do you keep him?’. “Ah well”, he replied, “Because this is first and foremost a hotel and our prime objective is to keep our guests happy and make them return. And with looking after people Alex has a rare talent and is second to none”.

He was of course not only referring to what had by then become my Kama Sliema Sutra fame, but my passionate socialising, my full attention to people, my unashamed openness and friendliness and untiring efforts to make people comfortable and happy, my jokes and fun and laughter, the regular games and parties I organised for the guests, basically my entire devotion, virtually 24/7 to making people happy, literally in every way possible with an unabating and natural devotion.

It suddenly all fell into place. My infinite naiveté was starting to crack. It wasn’t all a game after all. He didn’t simply like me and humoured my every whim and fancy. There was a reason therefore why he very well knew about all my antics and even at times helped me up to bed when I had drank too much. It wasn’t for nothing that he even suggested to me to approach the lonely ladies. Once he even reproached me for not having made a pass at a woman who had returned for more a few months after her first visit to Malta.

This finally made it all so obvious. No wonder I was permitted to frolic around like a cross between a Prince Charming and a Don Juan to my heart’s delight, not to mention any other bodily organs. This is why all my mad excesses were always supported and never curtailed or admonished.

In many ways I was flattered and even put at ease. My highly irregular employment and lifestyle was in a way officially sanctioned. But somehow the whole realisation and rationalisation of the previously magical and surreal situation had burst my bubble. It was no longer mad and crazy and exciting and wild – it had become a job. And much as I admired by boss’s wisdom, foresight and practicality, in an ironic twist of fate, I felt that it was time to move on.