…in ‘lay’ man’s terms 😛

Isn’t poetic license simply an awesome thing!!!

One had a really big smile
The other a runny nose
Two had really bad gums
Another was obviously-late
And one with a bloody nose

She leaned over her Honda Hornet like a horny hornet, ready to sting.

Her long, luscious, slim and curvy body wrapped around that bike. A midriff as long as an airstrip, legs that climb out of hot biker’s boots, along smooth marble like legs, ending in the heavenly buttocks that any saddle has ever had the immense pleasure of accommodating in such an intimate and delicious way.

I waited by the window for the postman, for postwomen still didn’t exist in the 1970’s. I waited for that one letter from my penfriend in Germany to hear what he thought and what he had to say.

And when I finally got that letter, many many weeks later, I read it over and over. Then I carefully thought of an answer and after a few weeks I wrote out my own reply. I then ran down to the post office and had my letter posted. So eventually, after about two or three months in all, my pen friend got my reply.

That pretty much sums up the speed and more so the volume of communication back then. One letter every couple of months and somehow we survived. Don’t ask me how, but there was obviously a lot of marbles, hide and seek and skimming stones involved somewhere in between…

These memories came to me as I scrolled through my FB wall and saw what my friends today had posted. Or to be more precise, what they posted in the last couple of hours and certainly not more.

There are photos of children, loads of children, others on the beach, plenty at parties and a couple who were abroad. Close ups of faces for the overweight and poses in bikinis for the slightly less overweight, dogs and cats everywhere, babies and cars, poses yes never ending poses, solos, with and without spouses, kissing boys and girls no matter their gender. Their entire lives and activities displayed blatantly in front of my eyes, all at the single fingered scroll of my trackpad.

There were many posting videos, others funny generic pics, sharing of clips and images which have already gone around the world five dozen times in the last 24 hours. So many senseless visuals with morals and teachings and supposedly clever advice, written over various images, as if anyone cares, does anyone even read this crap? Everyone trying desperately to be funny and smart and sharp and different, in their very sameness and their desperate search for likes and comments.

There were others ranting on about their hidden yet screamingly obvious agendas. The racists calling themselves patriots and praising their country like it isn’t the dump they themselves otherwise admit. The anti racists posting shocking videos of black people suffering and abused on every possible occasion. The not so secret feminists whose every post rants on about the abuse of women, as they fume in anger and menopausal frustration in their villas with pool with their convertibles parked outside. The obsessive religious posting somehow yet another reason we should all love Jesus and yet another visual interpretation of the crucifixion with more blood but shorter thorns. The charity junkies constantly peddling their dubious wares, today collecting for a new kitchen sink for their holiday home – why pay for it yourself when you can always find some sucker to finance it.

Then there are the romantics with their fairies, unicorns, sunsets, flowers and white horses. The sad perverts with their bouncy booby videos and raunchy clips. The horny housewives desperately trying to turn their constant pics of topless, incredibly hunky, greased up plumbers, holding phallic shaped tools, into the blondest forms of non-humour. The fatalistic martyrs with their morbid gravestones and vampire like creatures with some enigmatic nonsense text, which is meant to sound mystically powerful, but fail miserably at even making any sense.

The football freaks, the politically motivated, the hunters and the hunted, and very worst of all the politically correct gestapo, who somehow find the time and energy to patrol your every step, your every post and comment, and come down on you like a sour ton of bricks with their righteousness and virtuosity. Those who are in a permanent state of shock. These people must live their entire lives with their mouths wide open and their eyes firmly rolled back. They post furiously, virtually inciting entire crusades about subtleties and meticulously unimportant details which you didn’t even know existed. How dare that evil monster call the little boy in north eastern Myanmar autistic instead of a boy with autism – we must all revolt!

There is thankfully also the savvy. Interesting news and facts, so many things you never knew. Loads of useful info on events and activities and concerts and parties and stuff. Also the important and sometimes life-changing personal news, from normal birthdays, to anniversaries, to weddings to the sad demise of loved ones.

People proudly losing weight, others so visibly gaining it but never admitting it. Refugees losing weight, but none of us ever admitting it. Two idiots ended their 12 year marriage online, right in front of the amused spectating eyes of the entire universe. A half-baked friend insists on taking pics of her disgustingly prepared meals, and a chauvinist middle aged idiot revels in posting adverts from the 1950’s being smugger than smug and as palatable as vomit.

There are those vanity obsessed females who change their profile pics every half an hour and their fat slobbish hubbies who think they’ll play it cool by posing without a shirt. Oh and those who insist on giving us a minute by minute account of their every move – off for a shower now, going to have a nap, doing the washing up, oh and what do we have here? do I sense my second bowel movement of the day?… every painful, pathetic, mundane move they make, documented for mind-shattering posterity.

Then there are the drama queens who start off a mini revolution and scream and yell, yes simply because their washing machine packed in, or their ironing board just broke.

Oh and perhaps the very revolting of all, are the tons and tons of nauseating nonsense on gender based stereotypes, either badly disguised as humour, or even worse feigning some hidden profound meaning. Dumb women repeatedly calling all men shallow and selfish, idiotic men calling all women users and good for only one thing. When, but when, will these sad individuals finally realise that every man and woman on earth is different and that gender has absolutely nothing to do with it and that they are only projecting their own weaknesses, inadequacies and frustrations by blaming it on the opposite sex.

We don’t live in the information age, we live in the information diarrhea age. And in the little time it has taken you to read this, if you return back to your own wall, you will see so many new posts carrying infinitely new bits of information. All the people around you compulsively communicating, endlessly, with and without scope, with and without sense. But even that is no longer important. You can, as many do, go onto your timeline and write something as dumb as a “Hi” or an “Oh” or “My toenails are itchy” and sure enough within minutes those magic likes start trickling in. And before you know it several comments first about toes, then about feet, then about health, diet, eating out and whether you want to join in on a party tomorrow.

For that’s how it goes OH WAIT, I just heard an enormous bang. Let me just rush to my window to look outside…. Oh my, it was the postman who crashed with his scooter as he was coming up my drive. It seems that he was posting on Facebook while he was driving and was simply overwhelmed and lost control…

A deep and academic analysis of the choice of people’s profile pics based on gender…

Have a giggle and most certainly take it all with a massive pinch of salt!

One is a fucking good artist and the other is a hopeless romantic, or was it the other way round, a hopeless artist and a fucking good romantic… I’m not quite sure now with all the wine I drank – upon their own seductive suggestions!

But following a bit of light and pointless banter, they both threw at me what they thought might be an enormous challenge. The artist I imagine, because she is used to having her works commissioned, so she rightly assumed that I too can write on demand. The romantic because she was curled up at home, entirely on her own, and desperately trying to find my mobile number which had totally escaped her mind.

So Krista and Romina simply dared me blatantly and unashamedly to write about filth and smut, which I am very pleased to transform into much more palatable material, full of charm and wit and gentle smiles.

They dared me to touch such taboo topics as the gradual and sensual undressing of a geisha. Why good women end up doing bad things with wine. The irresistible charm of bad boys. Why Scots wear no underwear. The reason behind women liking it very hard. To write about the ideal boob to hip ration and finally how to masterfully tease the testis.

No short order, if you’d excuse the pun, you might be thinking. These two crazed women, just throwing the wildest of ideas that come to their impoverished and sex-starved minds. straight onto my bulbous ball pointed pen.

It is with extreme consternation and looming writing constipation that I will attempt to pull all these disjointed and somewhat perverse ideas together.

The very worse part of it all was that I was right in the middle of dinner, when they slapped me with this impossible dare. My gentle wife had prepared a stylish coq au vin for me, which I had only just started eating. However to be perfectly honest it was a bit on the tough side. We are unfortunately all so used to the extra tender, albeit tasteless water-injected chicken breasts, that hard cock is rather difficult to swallow. It is not something I am particularly fond of, although I hear that it has quite a following.

So I sat there at table, doing my best to eat a bit more. But it wasn’t an easy task at all. Luckily it was only my wife and myself at home tonight, so I was rather comfortable. I had just taken a shower and simply wrapped a towel around my luscious loins and sat there next to the open doors, enjoying the breeze which slowly but surely, surreptitiously reached my unsuspecting hanging testis. It gently found its way in and cheekily played with my inbuilt threesome, teasing and tantalizing in a terribly tangible sort of way.

And as I write this dubious detritus disgustingly disguised in distinguished discussion, I cannot but help think that most women are somehow attracted to bay boys like me who demonstrate delirious delusions but in such a delightfully descriptive way. But enough with the d’s already!

As my gorgeous wife disappointedly removed the virtually full plate of hard cock from in front of me, inciting a bit of envy from my side, how it can possibly remain so hard for such a long time, I look up at her fucking fantastic figure. She is really and truly a 36-26-36, as simple as that. Now this is about one of the very first naughty things I remember, when I was still a young, pimply, daily masturbating teenager, before alas it dwindled down to twice weekly, then to twice weakly. We even used to quote these vital statistics I remember – the famous 36-26-36. And yes! I am so frigging lucky to have this goddess of a wife who even at the mature age of 30 sports a bwoodie (that’s how she pronounces it !!) of a 50 year old! Oops wait, I think I got things mixed up there again tongue emoticon Can there ever be a better boob to hip ration on this side of the universe?

And in such a short piece I feel that my task is already done. Perhaps the only one missing link you might ask is what has the Scotch got to do with it. Well, haha as I write I hold in my hand a little glass, which in fact needs a bit more ice… So excuse me now, I’ll be off to do more important things, such as fish around for my next fun challenge.

To love is to empower, they are one and the same thing. If your brand of love does not empower, then sadly it is not true love. For by its very nature, love is empowering.

There are two distinct levels of this empowerment. The first which should ensue automatically and unconsciously from the very existence of love, and the second which should be intentionally and purposefully bestowed between those who love each other.

The first automatic type should come from feelings of positivity, of being supported morally, of stability and of protection. You are no longer alone. There is someone constantly by your side, either physically or mentally, or ideally both. You have someone to share your problems, your woes and your doubts. You have someone to share your joys, your secrets and your most exhilarating moments.

You are no longer alone. Being loved is one of the best feelings on earth, especially when this love is fully and unashamedly expressed in all its forms.

All these feelings are very empowering. You are happy and proud. You are motivated in much of what you do and take life by the horns and shove it in the direction that suits you. You are elated, virtually high, and feel invincible. You have no time for negative thoughts and people. You walk a bit quicker, you stand a bit taller, you push a bit harder, you talk with greater enthusiasm, you discuss and negotiate better, you are much less shy and reserved. You are made strong.

In turn people will listen to you, they will believe you and follow you and respect you. They will want you and love you. This is how love empowers you more than anything else in life.

Then there is the second level, the conscious empowering of your loved one. There are many ways you can treat your partner. You can try to cage them and to confine them. You may try to bully and intimidate them. Others just go with the flow and seem to be indifferent and dispassionate. Some think they are being exceptionally generous and lenient, simply by according a few liberties.

Then there are the few wise ones whose only wish is to empower. Not to control or suffocate. Not to ban and forbid. Not even to impose any form of limitation. Rather than putting a bird in a cage, or clipping its wings, or even attaching it to a long cord, you should simply set it free. And moreover before you do, you should also make sure that you have shown it how to fly, taught it how to soar, far above all the others, and to glide away further and stronger than is really necessary.

Give it all the required skills and abilities to be totally independent. To make it on its own and to thrive fully without you. This is true love.

If you do this perfectly and truthfully, without any hidden agenda, then the bird will fly and soar high up in the sky. But it will always return, nowhere else but to you. It will come back and eat from your hand, it will love you dearly for the rest of its days. For it was you who gave it all its power and strength and somehow in certain irony, the stronger it has become, the more it will consider you its creator and its master.

Do not restrict and impede. You are nobody and nothing without creating others bigger and better than you. They are nothing without their creator. The pupil must always surpass the teacher, if the teacher is at all a good instructor. If you are unable to produce anything that surpasses you, then it is you who is a limited person.

If you do not want to set them free, then it is you who is insecure. If you do not want your loved ones to be stronger than you and independent of you, then you are afraid that they will crush you.

If on the other hand you don’t just sanction, but you relish, the total liberation of your most loved ones, the greater they will one day become, the greater this will elevate you.

Set them free, let them run and play, all the games they want to. Give them all the freedom they want, as this will be your freedom, your choice, your decision, not theirs. And hence they will always be yours.

Only in this way can they never escape from you, by creating the space not where you lock them, but where you have set them free.

Forty years is a long time.

It was probably my very first full length essay, when I was in my early teens. Our English teacher gave us all a theme to write about, being – When We First Met.

So off we all went, trudging back home, to tediously try and complete this seemingly impossible task. What would we write about? How would we possibly manage to find all those required words?

And for the first time ever, that magic seemed to have hit me. It just suddenly came out of nowhere. As soon as I sat, biro in hand, I just started writing automatically with perfect ease, with ideas flowing, trying desperately to catch up with my thoughts. I even remember that I always had very bad handwriting, but this was virtually illegible, as I scribbled madly to put on paper what my mind was effortlessly throwing at me.

We all presented our work to the teacher, an ageing sour faced cleric, who I never ever saw smile once, in all the years he taught us. A day or two later after having read them, he presented them to the class.

It was very simply a never-ending tirade of “when I first met my best friend it was during the Summer holidays” with a couple of “when I first met my teacher on the first day of school”. Then there was mine. And in my naivety I truly and honestly didn’t even think that it was any better!

So when it was my turn, Father Frowny looks up at me fuming, holding up my essay in his hands for added effect. He told me “I want to know from where you copied this?”. I was like, eehh?? I beg your pardon!! “Just tell me which author this is”. What, sorry? He said that it was obvious that I copied it all and just changed a work here and a word there. The argument went on and on until he finally genuinely believed me, that it was entirely mine.

He of course slammed me for starting it off with the most boring and stereotypical of intros, being “It was a warm Summer’s evening” – now how lame is that! On my side of course… This was probably the one and only real thing sour face ever taught me. But then he went on to read my story, the essence of which went something like this…

“I sat there on the edge of the rocks, enjoying the cool Summer’s night air in the perfect silence of night. The breeze ruffled my hair (I still had hair then!) and sat, fishing rod in hand, looking down into the deep blackness of the waters below. My mind traveled to places afar, imagining views and landscapes and encounters. Then all of a sudden there was a ripple, which then broke out into a wave, until the waters broke just beneath my face and a big white beautiful stunning shark slid its massive head out of the water.

It glared at me directly in my eyes. We both remained there perfectly immobile, in shock, in silence, looking deep into each other’s eyes. We read each others’ thoughts. We made a magical connection. Then as suddenly as it had appeared, it slowly slid back away, beckoning me to follow. I hesitated, temped to follow it into the mysteries that lay below.

Later on after I had packed my fishing gear and was quietly walking home, I stopped and wondered. Was it all a dream? Was it just a figment of my imagination? I would never know.

That was when we first met. I still wonder if we will ever meet again.”

After he read it there were a few moments of silence in the class, before all the boys nervously started chatting again, not knowing what to make of all of this.

But the really sad part of this story is that what would you expect that a teacher should do, when spotting any sort of talent? But in this case he actually hated me and scorned me for as long as he taught me. Never a compliment, never a word of encouragement. Looking back now I am quite sure that he was quite simply jealous that a young teenage boy could write much better than he could, in spite of him giving the impression that he was god’s gift to the English language.

So the years passed and then the decades. And life takes you places you didn’t really plan. Luckily I also have a bit of a flair for business, so that is where I spent most of my life. I wrote very very little. A tiny article here and a little letter to the press there. But absolutely nothing like I should have. I simply left this latent passion virtually dormant, always telling myself that I really should start to write.

Yes that is the reality of our so called formal education. I was forced to study chemistry and physics and I don’t know what, but the talent I obviously showed was purposely thwarted and derailed, until now!

Forty years is a long time. But I sure as hell am going to make up for lost time!

M’Hawnx Wiehed/Wahda Sura

As many of our friends know, until relatively recently we ran a catering establishment which was rather large. This permitted us, besides operating a restaurant, to also hold parties twice a week, along with DJ and dancing. Very soon the scene automatically evolved very much into one which attracted virtually only singles, and people of a certain age. Much of our clientele were in their forties and fifties and very obviously out on the prowl.

This wasn’t specifically what we had intended, but it certainly wasn’t something we were opposed to either. On the contrary, from a takings point of view, it was infinitely better than settling for young couples smooching their way through the entire evening, while sipping one glass of wine between two with a straw. And business is business and you simply take what it throws at you.

So we soon become the talk of town and we made a big name for ourselves in this particular market.

As both my wife and I were always there, supervising and assisting with procedures, we very effectively got to know of attitudes and current trends of this particular scene. I have always been quite the observer and also the amateur psychologist. So in between stolen grabs and kisses in dimly lit corners when my wife wasn’t looking, which wasn’t half as often as I had wished, I always relished the people watching and the odd engaging conversation.

The majority of our patrons were regulars, so it was also easy to quickly get accustomed to their own particular approach to their evening of pursuit for company, and sometimes for a bit more. It goes without saying that singles of that age are virtually always separated and desperately or not so desperately in the search for their next partner. There were also the occasional married individuals who sometimes came, when they were of course “working late”…. full lists with photographic evidence may be obtained upon payment of €100!

But what was of particular amusement was the way people differed so much from each other. Much to their own painful frustration, the majority of both men and women were already convinced that they weren’t going to score the moment they set foot in the establishment. They trudged in, walked around with a distinctively nasty snarl on their face, snapped at a couple of people who dared approach them, and proceeded miserably to the bar to drown their sorrows in a desperately fatalistic way. This happened in equal proportions with both men and women.

I invariably approached such individuals and did my PR thing. We had to keep these people coming, so the men were happy to buy me drinks and I was happy to buy the girls drinks, although many a time it was also the other way round. I felt it was my mission to try and cheer them up, and to see if there was anything I could do to help, besides the aforementioned grope with the men and the stolen kiss with the women, or was it the other way round?

These rather sad individuals invariably were fully convinced that every member of the opposite sex there was totally worthless, a leach, a bloodsucker, a waste of time and a total loser, while in my objective eyes it was obviously they themselves who were the losers. So all the women were adamant that all the men were jerks and all the men were sure that all the women were unappealing. Now how sad and sorry is that!

All men are losers and all women are users, in the minds of these sad individuals.

They moped and they sulked and no amount of sweet-talking or encouragement would convince them otherwise. I spoke gently to the women and pointed out a couple of decent blokes I knew who were also game. Oh no not him, he’s far too tight with his money. No the other one is only after one thing. And he there is a real freak and the other too short. I tried to joke with the lads nodding towards a few sweeties. No yuck she’s a whore. And the one next to her is a massive user. Her friend just wants to get married and the other is far too fat, look at the size of her thighs.

I wish I were joking, but I am not. And as absurd as it might sound, if at least it were only one of the sexes, any one of them for that, who had this distinct impression, then perhaps you would try to make some sense out of it. But no, both genders were equally insistent that every member of the opposite sex there was an idiot.

How lame, dull-witted and imperceptive must you be to think this. How shallow are those women who believe that men are shallow just because they do not unnecessarily overcomplicate themselves to the extent of confusing even their own selves. How insensitive are those men who have no sensitivity towards women’s emotions and insights. And incredulously they came back again and again, and just went through the same fatalistic routine each and every time.

And then there were the others.

There were a few men and women, definitely the minority, perhaps 10% or 20% at most, who always without fail had a good time and very rarely left the premises alone.

They came in beaming. Like smiling was soon going out of fashion. They walked and they talked with a marked air of confidence, they exuded positivity and never failed to score. These were the ones who had only praise for the opposite sex. The men who adored every single woman (and possible a few married ones too), and the women who simply loved all the men. Those men who showered all the girls with drinks and lovely compliments and the women who believed so strongly in the men around them that they unashamedly told them so. These were the ones who only brought out the best in each other, the ones who realised that it was only a matter of attitude and not much else.

Nobody is perfect and nobody is perfectly good or bad. It is up to you to bring out certain traits in the others around you, at every possible occasion.

So the vast majority had destined their own selves to failure and invariable went home sulking, disillusioned and alone, while the same few picked up a choice item every time they came. And it was always a choice item, for these are the fellow strong, positive and fun individuals who gave others a chance and hadn’t already marked their fate before they had even started. These are the ones everybody wanted to pick up, not the grumpy cranks. And I can assure you that looks had little to do with it.

As they rightly say, it is all in the mind and this is yet another valid example of this old adage.

This absurd gender feud only seems to have gotten worse in recent times and simply makes conditions worse for everyone, especially for those who advocate it. If you are convinced that the entire world is against you and make it a point of spreading your poison wherever you go, may I suggest that you drink a cup or two of it yourself and so do us all a favour.

All women and men are beautiful. They are clever and vibrant and intelligent, but only if you consider and treat them as such.

So while the likes of me happily, and often even ecstatically, grope and kiss their ways through life, before going home with my gorgeous, loving and also forgiving wife, seeing everything through rose coloured glasses, there are those who are stuck in their dark and dismal holes. Give people a chance, believe in humankind, give them the benefit of the doubt. If you have already condemned yourself to fail, then fail you will.

Open your mind to accept the positive, then open your arms to embrace others, and finally if and when you think appropriate, open your legs and have a hell of a good time.

I am currently in the process of winding down my various businesses and establishing myself as a private business, marketing & sales consultant. For further information please call 79498142!

This will give me a more relaxed lifestyle and above all it will allow me precious time for writing.

Although I have only just started this, I have already landed myself a few clients and according to one of my jealous so called friends, I have always been very lucky in everything I do. To whom I immediately pointed out that I don’t have blue eyes but grey matter…

My most recent client is a delightful, young, talented and enterprising women called Emily Grimaud, who very enthusiastically hand makes the most delicious and healthy granola bars on this side of the galaxy. These are sold under the brand Oh So Yummy, so please go and like her page and put in an order.

Now that I’ve earned the 2.5 million Euros which Emily pledged for that advert, I can proceed with my main story here. But as you will see it is all very relevant to my general train of thought.

This morning I managed to land myself a new client who is based in Mumbai. Yes Mumbai in India. It’s called the Internet and it actually works even beyond your village to communicate with other people and make new contacts.

So this morning my Indian client phoned me and we spoke for the very first time, and I must admit that until today I was a virgin insofar as Indian clients are concerned. And if you were wondering, no, it didn’t hurt at all.

His company sells boxes and packaging materials both to offices and to individual consumers, of which there are one million of the former and 21 million of the latter, in the Mumbai metropolitan area alone. So his first question was whether we should limit ourselves to such a small market, or extent our services nationwide to the the 1.3 billion people throughout India.

I easily anticipated what his main concern might be, so I cleverly asked him whether he had the ability of producing boxes and running a similar company outside of India. He went on and on about how easy that would be and proceeded to talk about the millions of successful Indians living in Europe and elsewhere who run their own businesses, and in his own words – making boxes is making boxes and knows no borders and was obviously based on the same principles anywhere on earth.

So sure enough, when that crucial question came, asking me whether I felt qualified enough to assist him with marketing in India, I tried not to snigger when I put on my very best wisdom voice and told him in a profound manner, that marketing was just like making boxes and if he could do it anywhere, then so could I.

The few moments of contemplative silence which followed, immediately confirmed that the deal was mine!

So we chatted a bit more until finally he started to end the conversation. And this person with whom I had never spoken to before and with whom my only association until then was purely of a business nature, went on to say, “Alex, I now consider you as my friend. I want us to make a lot of money together because that is good. But besides the money I also want us to be friends. It is more important to have good friendship and to enjoy your life than to make lots of money and be miserable. I want us to enjoy each other in friendship and respect and I want you to come to India with your wife, with your family and to stay at my house. For my house is yours. What I own is yours. What belongs to me I will gladly share with you. Because you are a friend and you want to help me. And through your expertise I will make money for my family and they will be happier, so I want you to be part of this as well.”

Yes, that is exactly what he said!

Now tell me, how on earth could you not be touched by this? What extraordinary insight into the real fabric of life. Why shouldn’t even business lead to this, each and every time? Why are we, in the Western world, so terribly stuck in our rigid ways of doing things?

I have always been very interested in what is referred to today as cross-cultural business behaviour and communication and have also recently read quite a bit about it. It is a fascinating subject for anyone who, like me, has been in business and who also has a keen interest in humankind. It combines the seemingly cold and harsh business world with the warm, intriguing phenomenon of cultural understanding and diversity. But what this man had just said to me was truly extraordinary.

I had only spoken to this person once for a few minutes, yet already he was asking me to be his close friend and opening his home to me.

Through my many experiences in life, both in Malta and directly abroad, I have dealt extensively with foreign clients. Besides the greedy Maltese, I am also used to the cheating Italians, the obnoxious French, the heartless English, the demanding Germans, the ruthless Dutch and the brash Americans. But throughout my many years, I have never come across this exceptional attitude and enlightened approach to life, emanating purely from a business contact.

The closest I ever got was with this mad Polish investor, when I was organising international conferences, who attended a world business congress I had handled. On his last evening in Malta, he suggested that I, in turn, hold congress with his wife, whom he soon intended to divorce, and this purely to collect evidence of her infidelity. I immediately declined, not least because of her scary muscular physique and terribly hairy armpits. She was truly one intimidating Polish lady. I wouldn’t Lech her Walesa if he paid me, although she probably had quite a Solidarnosc.

But I digress… I learned a lot today. I learned that even in the seemingly ruthless domain of business there can be more, so much more. Yes it all boils down to money in the end and any business which is not making good money is destined to fail. But whatever you business case, this in no way should prevent you from making friends, appreciating and respecting each other and enriching your life not only financially but also spiritually. Yes I think that here in the West we still have a lot to learn…

I must admit that each time I meet Emily she always insists on paying for my coffee, but is this enough? Shouldn’t I also be able to assure myself that if my wife ever kicks me out, I would be able to go and stay at her place for a few years at least? And to set the record straight, I say this purely as a misbehaved father, who needs setting straight by his level-headed daughter.

To conclude and based on my interest in these cultural business affairs, I will dare to say that this might be a prime contributing factor to the relative success of Jewish businesspeople. Many of them somehow combine shrewd, cunning and clever business skills with strong traditional values of family, friendship and loyalty. This only makes them better businesspeople and better people in general too.

Nurturing a skill in life does not necessarily have to be detrimental to another. We can be excellent businesspeople and excellent people too.

I walked further and further away into the countryside over smooth and rough terrain. The brisk exercise gave me a sense of accomplishment and also provided me with a constant challenge not to stop.

As I regulated my pace and my breathing, my mind gradually floated further and further away…

I perfectly manoeuvred through paths and fields and groves of trees, without really noticing where I was, or where I was heading. It was like being on autopilot, oblivious of my surroundings, as my thoughts flitted from one dimension to another, in total randomness.

The elements around me gently caressed my senses. Cool air flowed around my face, the rhythmic tap of my feet on the ground formed imaginary tunes in my head, so many fragrances and scents regaling my nose, as I progressed in a trance like state, seemingly elevated, removed from the physical reality around me.

It was hard to tell how long this really lasted, but then suddenly something unknown snapped me back rudely to my senses. It must have been the defence mechanism in my mind, which automatically sensed some form of danger.

We are all wired up to instinctively be wary of the dark. The dark means peril and the unknown and I suddenly realized that the sun had long set and that only a weak glow of light still lingered on in one small corner of the sky.

Our night vision is very limited and as we rely so much on our visual sense, we are not properly geared up for a dark environment.

As we slowly venture into sombre places, we feel our mind automatically heightening its defences. We are suddenly on guard, we are wary and hypersensitive to all stimuli around us.

Every shadow, every movement, every sound and smell, even the slightest differences in the air’s movements and temperature are suddenly obvious, matters which are usually fully ignored.

Instantly I was thrown into a state of alert. I looked around me desperately trying to get my bearings. There was a high clump of trees directly in front of me and large open spaces on both sides. Behind me was a low lying hill which concealed anything beyond and from where I might have come.

I was alarmed and confused. I was totally disorientated and had no idea where I was. And my heart sank even further with the harsh and terrifying realization that there was no way I could get out of here in the dark.

My heart started racing. I ran around desperately in circles not knowing where to go. I searched in vain for a solution, for some comfort in my fear.

Then I decided to continue walking. Walking further away. Purposely losing myself into the wilderness beyond. I did not reject my fears but I embraced them. I opened myself up to them totally, letting them permeate my inner soul.

Come fear, come to me. Enter into my heart. I want you inside me, I accept you as part of me. You are I and I am fear. We are one and the same. I welcome you within my heart. I want you deep inside me.

And I walked. Deep into the darkness, into the darkened woods, into the great unknown. Bt now I was fear and I was darkness. I was shadow and I shone the unknown. I was one with my shadowy surroundings, one with the unseen. I moved with stealth and with purpose. I walked into danger, into death and beyond. But I surmounted every obstacle, I overcame even death. For I was not afraid. I conquered the most evil and the vile. For I was invincible…

It was soft and warm and pleasant to the touch. I gently rubbed my arms and legs and back against the soft silky fabric. My eyes very slightly opened. I could see the warm golden rays of light streaming in from the window. As I took a deep breath I could smell the strong morning body odour of my loved one lying sleeping right beside me. Resting, in perfect peace, slightly bent in a protective foetal position. I turned towards my partner’s warm body and placed my face up close to feel the warmth, the smell, that gorgeous heavenly smell which no one on earth could ever imitate. I love you, I adore you – I thought as I moved up close and rubbed my entire body against that body that I so much loved and desired.

My love had made me strong. It showed me the way forward. It showed me the way to be. I could not harm or be harmed.

I remembered my wondrous dreams of countryside, fields, rolling hills, blackened horizons, scary woods and terrifying paths, which I had also tamed.

For my love and my resolve were unconquerable. For I was invincible.