No need for funny quips, here's Bob's tour of the apartment.
September 28, 2009
Work
I refuse to block this blog from general access as that goes against the principal of me writing it. Now I know it is being read, and used for incorrect reasons, by a member of staff - work related entries will be kept to a minimum, and will only be light-hearted tales.
It seems a shame that I have to bite my tongue over certain issues, but I will find other sources to vent my spleen when necessary.
End of Entry.
It seems a shame that I have to bite my tongue over certain issues, but I will find other sources to vent my spleen when necessary.
End of Entry.
My Magnificent Octopus Part VII
I finally picked up the quill, the first time since I crossed the pond, and decided to get back into the writing game. It was quite a fun process.
Ok, as you read this, I'm just going to sound big headed. I apologise now, saves me doing it fifty times along the way. I know I'm not a published writer, I also know the chances of this book ever getting into print is roughly the same odds as winning the Saturday lottery the day after scooping the EuroMillions, so bear with me if I 'sound' cocky. I don't mean to.
As mentioned, I haven't picked up the novel for seveal weeks. If I'm honest, it could even be stretching towards more than two months. As regular readers will know I've had a lot on my plate of late, so getting my lame murder mystery finished was right at the bottom of my list of 'things to do'. It was Saturday that I slapped myself in the face and decided to pick up the memory stick. (The signs of a modern generation eh? Any other author would pick up a pen and the manuscript. I have to hunt out a memory stick!)...
...but where was I up to? I knew in my head roughly where the plot had got to, but I was also aware that my brain had the next few sections of the storyline drafted. As it was the first time back in front of the keyboard for quite a while I decided to read what was already written right from page one...
...and do you know what? I actually found it enjoyable. Yes of course I'm bias, but I'm also my own worse critic. Even though I knew the story off by heart, I still found myself smiling and laughing at certain phrases I'd used (phrases I didn't even remember coming up with). Not laughing 'at' it, but laughing 'with' it. It was a bloody good read.
Granted, I could instantly see where I had skimmed too fast over certain plot points, and where other sections needed more detail, but I have admitted that from day one. My initial aim is to get to the final page with a complete story written, and then go back to turn the story into a full blown novel. The two central characters almost feel 'real' too, something I was paranoid I'd find hard to do. I was always scared I'd make them too 'two-dimensional' but I've noticed it only takes a single sentence, or sometimes even just a few words to conjure up images in your head, and let the reader create their own back story.
I suppose it helps that DCI Morgen is basically me disguised as an ageing policeman, but his assistant, DS Krake is certainly not me, and I can't think off anyone off hand that he is directly based on.
Anyway, we're 120 pages in, three murders down, and Morgen has just held a press conference to reassure the general public that he's about to catch the killer. Of course this sets it all up nicely for the depression I've talked about previously. Little does Morgen know that murder number 4 has already happened whilst the press conference is in progress. A bit like Columbo though, the reader already knows this, and I'm trying to get across the idea that you (as an innocent reader) want to help Morgen. You want to be in that press conference telling him to shut up and stop making promises about 'no more deaths'....
...but you'll have to wait till it's finished to find out if he fights his way out of the depression or not! :)
Ok, as you read this, I'm just going to sound big headed. I apologise now, saves me doing it fifty times along the way. I know I'm not a published writer, I also know the chances of this book ever getting into print is roughly the same odds as winning the Saturday lottery the day after scooping the EuroMillions, so bear with me if I 'sound' cocky. I don't mean to.
As mentioned, I haven't picked up the novel for seveal weeks. If I'm honest, it could even be stretching towards more than two months. As regular readers will know I've had a lot on my plate of late, so getting my lame murder mystery finished was right at the bottom of my list of 'things to do'. It was Saturday that I slapped myself in the face and decided to pick up the memory stick. (The signs of a modern generation eh? Any other author would pick up a pen and the manuscript. I have to hunt out a memory stick!)...
...but where was I up to? I knew in my head roughly where the plot had got to, but I was also aware that my brain had the next few sections of the storyline drafted. As it was the first time back in front of the keyboard for quite a while I decided to read what was already written right from page one...
...and do you know what? I actually found it enjoyable. Yes of course I'm bias, but I'm also my own worse critic. Even though I knew the story off by heart, I still found myself smiling and laughing at certain phrases I'd used (phrases I didn't even remember coming up with). Not laughing 'at' it, but laughing 'with' it. It was a bloody good read.
Granted, I could instantly see where I had skimmed too fast over certain plot points, and where other sections needed more detail, but I have admitted that from day one. My initial aim is to get to the final page with a complete story written, and then go back to turn the story into a full blown novel. The two central characters almost feel 'real' too, something I was paranoid I'd find hard to do. I was always scared I'd make them too 'two-dimensional' but I've noticed it only takes a single sentence, or sometimes even just a few words to conjure up images in your head, and let the reader create their own back story.
I suppose it helps that DCI Morgen is basically me disguised as an ageing policeman, but his assistant, DS Krake is certainly not me, and I can't think off anyone off hand that he is directly based on.
Anyway, we're 120 pages in, three murders down, and Morgen has just held a press conference to reassure the general public that he's about to catch the killer. Of course this sets it all up nicely for the depression I've talked about previously. Little does Morgen know that murder number 4 has already happened whilst the press conference is in progress. A bit like Columbo though, the reader already knows this, and I'm trying to get across the idea that you (as an innocent reader) want to help Morgen. You want to be in that press conference telling him to shut up and stop making promises about 'no more deaths'....
...but you'll have to wait till it's finished to find out if he fights his way out of the depression or not! :)
September 24, 2009
"Thunderbolt & Lightening, Very Very Frightening..."
Sorry that all these Maltese entries seem to revolve around shopping, insects and weather. Truth is, so far that's all my Maltese life has amounted to (except for bone-shaking bus rides and work). Sadly, this entry is not a jaunt away from the norm.
Last night I went to bed early. I have done for the past few nights in the vain hope of sleeping more. The night temperature hasn't been as crazy of late, so I've been able to get closer to five or six hours. Last night however the Gods were against me and did everything they could to keep me awake.
It must have started about one o'clock in the morning. I could hear a swirling wind beating against my balcony window. Thankfully the landlord had been round to fix the lock that day, so it wasn't accompanied by a loud rattle. Next sound to join the orchestra was beating rain, lashing against the window in my bedroom. The blinds were almost fully closed, but I could still see the droplets smashing against the glass, lit up by neighbouring apartments. The final addition to the ensemble was the storm. It was the lightening first. Not an occasional flash, followed seconds later by the rumble of the thunder, no, this was a barrage of light, one after another.
You know on the news when they are about to take you to a roving reporter at the red carpet of a film premiere and the newscaster says 'viewers should be aware that the following images contain flash photography'? It was just like that. It was as though Hugh Grant and George Clooney had just stepped out of a limo together holding hands and every journalist wanted the scoop.
Flash after flash after flash. Of course there was thunder too, but it was one, long constant drone. The kind of sound you can only make if you were inside an echo chamber with an eight foot kettle drum.
Time ran on. Two o'clock, three o'clock. My alarm was set for five. At this point I didn't care if I got back to sleep, but I was worried about how I would get to work without looking like a drowning man. Not only did I have the two minute walk to my bus stop, but there was the ten minute 'It's a knockout' adventure at the other end to look forward to. Then the weather Gods turned on their magic...
...as my alarm sprang into life at 5am, everything stopped. The lightening flashes stopped. The rumbling thunder rolled away. The swirling wind disappeared. The lashing rain subsided. All was calm. Perhaps it was just the eye of the storm, but I knew I had a window of opportunity to get to work and stay dry....
...and I did.
...but the journey wasn't without it's own adventure. I was on one of the older buses in the fleet, a real 1940's contraption. As we left Sliema you get to the foot of a hill, and begin a steady climb up. The hours of rain had of course flooded this valley area, and it was now at least 18 inches deep in places. Parked cars there had the water level completely obsuring their wheels, and partially up the doors. One car had 'floated' away blocking the road, but the bus in front of our 'nudged' it out of the way to give us both clear passage. Everyone seemed to go about their daily business as everything was normal.....
...but at least I knew how Noah felt now.
Last night I went to bed early. I have done for the past few nights in the vain hope of sleeping more. The night temperature hasn't been as crazy of late, so I've been able to get closer to five or six hours. Last night however the Gods were against me and did everything they could to keep me awake.
It must have started about one o'clock in the morning. I could hear a swirling wind beating against my balcony window. Thankfully the landlord had been round to fix the lock that day, so it wasn't accompanied by a loud rattle. Next sound to join the orchestra was beating rain, lashing against the window in my bedroom. The blinds were almost fully closed, but I could still see the droplets smashing against the glass, lit up by neighbouring apartments. The final addition to the ensemble was the storm. It was the lightening first. Not an occasional flash, followed seconds later by the rumble of the thunder, no, this was a barrage of light, one after another.
You know on the news when they are about to take you to a roving reporter at the red carpet of a film premiere and the newscaster says 'viewers should be aware that the following images contain flash photography'? It was just like that. It was as though Hugh Grant and George Clooney had just stepped out of a limo together holding hands and every journalist wanted the scoop.
Flash after flash after flash. Of course there was thunder too, but it was one, long constant drone. The kind of sound you can only make if you were inside an echo chamber with an eight foot kettle drum.
Time ran on. Two o'clock, three o'clock. My alarm was set for five. At this point I didn't care if I got back to sleep, but I was worried about how I would get to work without looking like a drowning man. Not only did I have the two minute walk to my bus stop, but there was the ten minute 'It's a knockout' adventure at the other end to look forward to. Then the weather Gods turned on their magic...
...as my alarm sprang into life at 5am, everything stopped. The lightening flashes stopped. The rumbling thunder rolled away. The swirling wind disappeared. The lashing rain subsided. All was calm. Perhaps it was just the eye of the storm, but I knew I had a window of opportunity to get to work and stay dry....
...and I did.
...but the journey wasn't without it's own adventure. I was on one of the older buses in the fleet, a real 1940's contraption. As we left Sliema you get to the foot of a hill, and begin a steady climb up. The hours of rain had of course flooded this valley area, and it was now at least 18 inches deep in places. Parked cars there had the water level completely obsuring their wheels, and partially up the doors. One car had 'floated' away blocking the road, but the bus in front of our 'nudged' it out of the way to give us both clear passage. Everyone seemed to go about their daily business as everything was normal.....
...but at least I knew how Noah felt now.
September 23, 2009
"There's Many a Long Night I've Dreamed of Cheese..."
Go on clever clogs. Do you know what the title is a quotation from and who made it?...
(Answer at the end of the blog entry)
But it is an appropriate title. I adore cheese. There aren't many cheeses I don't like, but I certainly have my favourites. I could become the dairy equivalent of a wine expert - just without the bull-shit and fakeness that seems to go hand in hand with the lovers of the grape.
(Wine experts really get up my nose! "Oh I can smell tulips and a hint of buttercup. Autumnal rain and cosy log fires. There's an after taste of hospital bedsheets and badger. Reminds me of the '73 with a soupçon of the '75" Grrrrrr)
Anyway, back to the cheese. I was in my local supermarket last night (the proper one this time with the horrendously slow queues) and I knew I needed to stock up on cheese. I think I've mentioned before that one thing this store has, is an excellent cheese counter and for the first time I decided to order from it. The prices were steep for some of the imported and flavoured varieties, but the basics were a reasonable cost. I plumped for a medium sized portion of normal edam and then scanned around for a flavoured cheese for a bit of a change.
There in the front corner of the counter was a mild cheese with peppercorns. Ah, it took me straight back to the Isle of Man. Manx cheeses are right up there on my list as some of the best in the world and their flavoured ones are second to none. I knew any other peppercorn cheese would just be a disappointment to me so I glanced elsewhere in the cabinet for something else. Then another familiar flavour caught my eye. 'Mild with sweet chilli'. Another throw back to my yeras on the island. I even used to get the swet chilli one delivered to my door once a week with my milk. It was this variety though that made me do a comical double take. You know one of those moments where you look away but then instantly look back? The wrapper for the sweet chilli cheese carried the Three Legs of Man logo. Another look at the peppercorn and lo and behold there was the same ident. No matter where I go Manx cheeses will always be there for me. I felt quite proud (even though I had nothing to do with making the cheese or organising it's import to Malta).
Sadly the price was extortionate. Yes it'd be worth every cent, but when you know how much it costs at the source it's enough to make you weep. I settled for a Mexican hard cheese instead, but I might be tempted back if I feel the craving gets too much for me...
...now i wonder if they do Manx Queenies and kippers too...
p.s. There was a post script on an earlier entry where I bemoaned the prices in the supermarket. I've kept my last till receipt so thought I'd give you a few examples. I'm using Tesco as a comparison (and I've multiplied the UK price by 1.1 to covert it to Euros as that's the rough exchange rate at the moment)
1kg Kelloggs Cornflakes: - Tesco: 3.49 Scotts: 4.66
2ltrs Coke Zero: - Tesco: 1.37 Scotts: 1.45
Single Pepperami stick: - Tesco: 0.51 Scotts: 0.93
1ltr Energy drink (own brand): - Tesco 0.82 Scotts 1.75
ChicagoTown takeaway pizza: - Tesco 2.75 Scotts 5.10
Get the idea? I have found a few basics are cheaper here though. Milk for instance is 72c a litre (about 1 and 3/4 pints) and italian meats like chorizo and salami are a few cents lower. But I can't exactly live on a diet of pepperoni and milk can I?....
...or can I? hee hee
ANSWER: Ben Gunn in R.L. Stevenson's 'Treasure Island'
(Answer at the end of the blog entry)
But it is an appropriate title. I adore cheese. There aren't many cheeses I don't like, but I certainly have my favourites. I could become the dairy equivalent of a wine expert - just without the bull-shit and fakeness that seems to go hand in hand with the lovers of the grape.
(Wine experts really get up my nose! "Oh I can smell tulips and a hint of buttercup. Autumnal rain and cosy log fires. There's an after taste of hospital bedsheets and badger. Reminds me of the '73 with a soupçon of the '75" Grrrrrr)
Anyway, back to the cheese. I was in my local supermarket last night (the proper one this time with the horrendously slow queues) and I knew I needed to stock up on cheese. I think I've mentioned before that one thing this store has, is an excellent cheese counter and for the first time I decided to order from it. The prices were steep for some of the imported and flavoured varieties, but the basics were a reasonable cost. I plumped for a medium sized portion of normal edam and then scanned around for a flavoured cheese for a bit of a change.
There in the front corner of the counter was a mild cheese with peppercorns. Ah, it took me straight back to the Isle of Man. Manx cheeses are right up there on my list as some of the best in the world and their flavoured ones are second to none. I knew any other peppercorn cheese would just be a disappointment to me so I glanced elsewhere in the cabinet for something else. Then another familiar flavour caught my eye. 'Mild with sweet chilli'. Another throw back to my yeras on the island. I even used to get the swet chilli one delivered to my door once a week with my milk. It was this variety though that made me do a comical double take. You know one of those moments where you look away but then instantly look back? The wrapper for the sweet chilli cheese carried the Three Legs of Man logo. Another look at the peppercorn and lo and behold there was the same ident. No matter where I go Manx cheeses will always be there for me. I felt quite proud (even though I had nothing to do with making the cheese or organising it's import to Malta).
Sadly the price was extortionate. Yes it'd be worth every cent, but when you know how much it costs at the source it's enough to make you weep. I settled for a Mexican hard cheese instead, but I might be tempted back if I feel the craving gets too much for me...
...now i wonder if they do Manx Queenies and kippers too...
p.s. There was a post script on an earlier entry where I bemoaned the prices in the supermarket. I've kept my last till receipt so thought I'd give you a few examples. I'm using Tesco as a comparison (and I've multiplied the UK price by 1.1 to covert it to Euros as that's the rough exchange rate at the moment)
1kg Kelloggs Cornflakes: - Tesco: 3.49 Scotts: 4.66
2ltrs Coke Zero: - Tesco: 1.37 Scotts: 1.45
Single Pepperami stick: - Tesco: 0.51 Scotts: 0.93
1ltr Energy drink (own brand): - Tesco 0.82 Scotts 1.75
ChicagoTown takeaway pizza: - Tesco 2.75 Scotts 5.10
Get the idea? I have found a few basics are cheaper here though. Milk for instance is 72c a litre (about 1 and 3/4 pints) and italian meats like chorizo and salami are a few cents lower. But I can't exactly live on a diet of pepperoni and milk can I?....
...or can I? hee hee
ANSWER: Ben Gunn in R.L. Stevenson's 'Treasure Island'
September 20, 2009
Feeding Time Part II
It's really starting to get me down. I can't concentrate on anything else. I can't sleep. I can't relax. I'm at the end of a proverbial tether.
Whatever it is that thinks I look like a satisfying evening meal won't go away. I thought I had dealt with the vermin, after two days of bite-less nights, but it was just the eye of the storm. Not a night has passed now without getting up with a fresh scratch. A fresh area of my body to drive me insane for the next few days.
I'm sure at some point you've all had an insect bite. It's not the pain of the bite itself, it's the constant 24/7 reminder that it's there. Well now multiply that irritation by 17 (my current bite count). Now extend the period of suffering from 'a few days' to 'a few weeks'.
I've tried everything. I've sprayed the entire room half an hour before going to bed with industrial bug spray (then sealing the room completely until it's time to go to bed). I've tried drowning myself in insect repellent. I've been told they hate air-conditioning, so I've run that through the night (at great expense). I've lit joss-sticks. I'm running out of ideas and it's making me cry myself to sleep.
It doesn't help I can't get a comfortable temperature in the night either. I tend to have to sleep on top of the covers and this still doesn't prevent me waking up in a pool of sweat (and yes it is sweat, I checked!) Of course, flying critters love damp areas don't they. I must look like Valhalla to those winged warriors of the night. You see, that's the other irritation, the constant layer of sweat on my body. It's just no longer funny (not that it ever was). The weather is so humid. It has been breaking a lot recently, but it doesn't seem to help.
Two nights ago I ended up staying awake all night. The pain from the bites I already had was driving me crazy so much I just couldn't face going to bed and waking up with more. Last night I had to make an effort to sleep - I was facing the prospect of getitng run over crossing the road in a daze if I didn't. Of course, I woke up with two new bites on the inside of my left arm and one on my little finger. I cried again.
I really don't know what else I can do. When the public holiday is over here (they seem to have one every two weeks and everything shuts when they do) I'm going to see if I can find a plug-in electric bug repellant. It's the only hope I have left.
With this lack of sleep and constant skin irritation I am not a happy camper around anyone else. I've completely lost my patience and sense of humour. Everything bugs me (excuse the pun). I can't seem to get it through to anyone what I am going through. When I hear someone laugh at the situation I feel the urge to clentch my fist. I can't remember the last time I ever had proper violent tendancies. I am not the Geoff you once knew anymore...
...and it's the tiny bugs to blame.
Whatever it is that thinks I look like a satisfying evening meal won't go away. I thought I had dealt with the vermin, after two days of bite-less nights, but it was just the eye of the storm. Not a night has passed now without getting up with a fresh scratch. A fresh area of my body to drive me insane for the next few days.
I'm sure at some point you've all had an insect bite. It's not the pain of the bite itself, it's the constant 24/7 reminder that it's there. Well now multiply that irritation by 17 (my current bite count). Now extend the period of suffering from 'a few days' to 'a few weeks'.
I've tried everything. I've sprayed the entire room half an hour before going to bed with industrial bug spray (then sealing the room completely until it's time to go to bed). I've tried drowning myself in insect repellent. I've been told they hate air-conditioning, so I've run that through the night (at great expense). I've lit joss-sticks. I'm running out of ideas and it's making me cry myself to sleep.
It doesn't help I can't get a comfortable temperature in the night either. I tend to have to sleep on top of the covers and this still doesn't prevent me waking up in a pool of sweat (and yes it is sweat, I checked!) Of course, flying critters love damp areas don't they. I must look like Valhalla to those winged warriors of the night. You see, that's the other irritation, the constant layer of sweat on my body. It's just no longer funny (not that it ever was). The weather is so humid. It has been breaking a lot recently, but it doesn't seem to help.
Two nights ago I ended up staying awake all night. The pain from the bites I already had was driving me crazy so much I just couldn't face going to bed and waking up with more. Last night I had to make an effort to sleep - I was facing the prospect of getitng run over crossing the road in a daze if I didn't. Of course, I woke up with two new bites on the inside of my left arm and one on my little finger. I cried again.
I really don't know what else I can do. When the public holiday is over here (they seem to have one every two weeks and everything shuts when they do) I'm going to see if I can find a plug-in electric bug repellant. It's the only hope I have left.
With this lack of sleep and constant skin irritation I am not a happy camper around anyone else. I've completely lost my patience and sense of humour. Everything bugs me (excuse the pun). I can't seem to get it through to anyone what I am going through. When I hear someone laugh at the situation I feel the urge to clentch my fist. I can't remember the last time I ever had proper violent tendancies. I am not the Geoff you once knew anymore...
...and it's the tiny bugs to blame.
September 15, 2009
Definition of an Eejit Part XIII
Blimey, there must have been more than 13 times that I've proved myself to be a few Smarties short of a tube? Oh well, here's the story of number 13 anyway, and it's back to the kitchen...
It was late last night. I had wanted to go to bed a bit earlier to see if I could actually get some sleep for once, but the landlord was coming round to have a look at the lock on the balcony door. By the time he left (the lock still not fixed) it was past 10 o'clock, but it was only then I realised I hadn't eaten all day. I knew without looking that the food cupboards were almost bare, (well, except for about 9 litres of mineral water, 15 cans of imported Dutch beer and some Cheddar cheese) but I did have some pasta, pasta sauce and a tin of some kind of chilli paste...
...I have to break away here to relate the story of how I got the pasta, sauce and paste. Trust me, it is impotant.
I may have mentioned that I have a local supermarket nearby. That's fine if I'm doing a large amount of shopping, but it can be a bit of a chore if I just need one or two items. The walk there, the walk back, the mind-numbing slowness of the check-out queues, the pensioners blocking the aisles... not fun if all I need is some toilet roll. What I have done though is find smaller shops all around that can provide the items I need to buy on their own, so I don't need to make the journey to the larger store. I have somewhere I go to for my water, somewhere else I go to for beer. There is a chemist for toiletries and a kiosk if I want a hot pie or any other kind of quick snack. Get the idea? Of course I'm always on the look out for other shops in the local vicinity, it's amazing where some of them hide out.
On the road parrallel to mine, just round a slight bend I found a 'self service convenience store' (well that's what it said outside anyway). I popped my head in and it was exactly as I expected. A small store with one long aisle, divided into two sections by a central bank of shelves. Try to imagine Awkrights corner shop from 'Open all Hours' but on a bigger scale. The shelves were piled high with tins, packets, and jars seemingly in no sense of order. At the entrance to the store was the till, and behind that, a smiling woman, possibly of Middle Eastern origin. I smiled back and ventured in, not really knowing what I was looking for.
My intention was just to look around, work out what I could use this shop for on a regular basis, and then leave, but the way the shop was laid out meant as soon as I was in, I felt compelled to buy something. If I walked down the aisle, back up the other side and then just left I'd feel so guilty, soI searched frantically for something cheap but useful. Then I started to panic...
Every item, every jar, every tin had no english writing on it. I had wandered into a Halal supermarket. My eyes darted from one thing to the next, desperate to spot something I recognised, but I was having no luck. One tin had a cartoon cow on it, but did that mean it was processed meat, or tinned milk? I was stumped.
It was at this point that a young boy came running up to me, tugged on my shirt and thrust a basket into my hand. I thanked him, but that made me even more petrified that I had to buy something. How much worse would it be now if I walked past the till empty handed and passed the basket back to the shop owner? But my luck was about to change...
Right at the end of the shop was a spice rack. This I could work out. Garlic pepper, vindaloo curry powder, paprika - they are the same in any language. I'm sure I let out an audible sigh of relief. My luck kept improving. Next to the spices were a few dried good packets, one of which was tube shaped pasta. Who needs a label for pasta? I was on a roll. What's this next to the pasta? a row of jars with a red sauce inside and a picture of a plate of spaghetti on the front! It may not say Ragu on the side but I knew what this was too. Oh the joy! Could I find anything else? well look what we have here... a tiny tin with a ring pull on the top and pictures of chilli peppers on the side. chilli sauce perhaps? chopped chillies? who knows, but whatever it is it can be added to pasta sauce to give it a bit of zest. Selections made, goods bought, and home to put my prize purchases away for a rainy day.
(I haven't been back to that shop yet, and it's not really on my list, but I suppose if I need spices or pasta again it's as good a place as any. It was dirt cheap too!)
Back to last night. Landlord gone, I need something to eat but only thing I have is the pasta and sauce. (told you it was relevant!) Actually I'm lying there, I have a loaf in the freezer but I haven't found anywhere to buy more margarine yet. There is a chinese chicken stir-fry thing in there too. But tonight it was going to be a bowl of pasta and sauce for tea. Yes, I know having a plate of carbs just before going to bed is probably not the best thing if I'm looking for sleep, but since when did I do anything sensible?
Saucepan of water on, pasta in, starting to soften. All good so far. Pasta done, drained, sauce added, back on the heat to mix together (I had to phone my Dad about that bit. Please don't ask me why, but for some reason I just couldn't work out how to mix the sauce with the pasta. All I kept thinking was it wouldn't work because the saucepan was full of water. I really must have been in need of sleep!)
..and then I opened the tiny tin with the chillies on it. What was inside? a sort of red paste. Thicker than a sauce, reminded me a bit of poly-filler, just a different colour. I dipped my little finger in and tasted it. Hot, but yummy.... here comes the Eejit bit....
...because it was such a small can, I assumed it was a single portion serving. I added the entire contents of the tiny tin to the pasta/sauce mix, stirred a few times then dished up. Before I could take my mouthful, the small morsel I had tried moments before suddenly kicked in. My tongue was on fire and I hadn't even touched the pasta yet. I think the reason the tin was so small was because a little is meant to go a long long LONG way.
I drained half a litre of mineral water into my mouth and panted like a long-haired dog after a jog. I stared at the bowl of pasta and sauce I had just made and wondered if I should even chance it. Anyone who knows me well knows I like my heat. Jallapinos on every pizza, vindaloo curries if I dine out, West Indian red pepper sauce with my cheese on toast - you name it, I'll try it. This chilli paste though was something else....but I wasn't going to let it beat me.
....I ate the pasta. Granted it took me about 4 attempts, another two litres of water in total and a towel on stand-by to constantly wipe my forehead, but I finished it....
..and I'm going to be regretting it for the rest of today no doubt. But for eating an entire jar of chilli paste (and buying it in the first place when I couldn't read the serving instructions on the side) I am once again an eejit.
It was late last night. I had wanted to go to bed a bit earlier to see if I could actually get some sleep for once, but the landlord was coming round to have a look at the lock on the balcony door. By the time he left (the lock still not fixed) it was past 10 o'clock, but it was only then I realised I hadn't eaten all day. I knew without looking that the food cupboards were almost bare, (well, except for about 9 litres of mineral water, 15 cans of imported Dutch beer and some Cheddar cheese) but I did have some pasta, pasta sauce and a tin of some kind of chilli paste...
...I have to break away here to relate the story of how I got the pasta, sauce and paste. Trust me, it is impotant.
I may have mentioned that I have a local supermarket nearby. That's fine if I'm doing a large amount of shopping, but it can be a bit of a chore if I just need one or two items. The walk there, the walk back, the mind-numbing slowness of the check-out queues, the pensioners blocking the aisles... not fun if all I need is some toilet roll. What I have done though is find smaller shops all around that can provide the items I need to buy on their own, so I don't need to make the journey to the larger store. I have somewhere I go to for my water, somewhere else I go to for beer. There is a chemist for toiletries and a kiosk if I want a hot pie or any other kind of quick snack. Get the idea? Of course I'm always on the look out for other shops in the local vicinity, it's amazing where some of them hide out.
On the road parrallel to mine, just round a slight bend I found a 'self service convenience store' (well that's what it said outside anyway). I popped my head in and it was exactly as I expected. A small store with one long aisle, divided into two sections by a central bank of shelves. Try to imagine Awkrights corner shop from 'Open all Hours' but on a bigger scale. The shelves were piled high with tins, packets, and jars seemingly in no sense of order. At the entrance to the store was the till, and behind that, a smiling woman, possibly of Middle Eastern origin. I smiled back and ventured in, not really knowing what I was looking for.
My intention was just to look around, work out what I could use this shop for on a regular basis, and then leave, but the way the shop was laid out meant as soon as I was in, I felt compelled to buy something. If I walked down the aisle, back up the other side and then just left I'd feel so guilty, soI searched frantically for something cheap but useful. Then I started to panic...
Every item, every jar, every tin had no english writing on it. I had wandered into a Halal supermarket. My eyes darted from one thing to the next, desperate to spot something I recognised, but I was having no luck. One tin had a cartoon cow on it, but did that mean it was processed meat, or tinned milk? I was stumped.
It was at this point that a young boy came running up to me, tugged on my shirt and thrust a basket into my hand. I thanked him, but that made me even more petrified that I had to buy something. How much worse would it be now if I walked past the till empty handed and passed the basket back to the shop owner? But my luck was about to change...
Right at the end of the shop was a spice rack. This I could work out. Garlic pepper, vindaloo curry powder, paprika - they are the same in any language. I'm sure I let out an audible sigh of relief. My luck kept improving. Next to the spices were a few dried good packets, one of which was tube shaped pasta. Who needs a label for pasta? I was on a roll. What's this next to the pasta? a row of jars with a red sauce inside and a picture of a plate of spaghetti on the front! It may not say Ragu on the side but I knew what this was too. Oh the joy! Could I find anything else? well look what we have here... a tiny tin with a ring pull on the top and pictures of chilli peppers on the side. chilli sauce perhaps? chopped chillies? who knows, but whatever it is it can be added to pasta sauce to give it a bit of zest. Selections made, goods bought, and home to put my prize purchases away for a rainy day.
(I haven't been back to that shop yet, and it's not really on my list, but I suppose if I need spices or pasta again it's as good a place as any. It was dirt cheap too!)
Back to last night. Landlord gone, I need something to eat but only thing I have is the pasta and sauce. (told you it was relevant!) Actually I'm lying there, I have a loaf in the freezer but I haven't found anywhere to buy more margarine yet. There is a chinese chicken stir-fry thing in there too. But tonight it was going to be a bowl of pasta and sauce for tea. Yes, I know having a plate of carbs just before going to bed is probably not the best thing if I'm looking for sleep, but since when did I do anything sensible?
Saucepan of water on, pasta in, starting to soften. All good so far. Pasta done, drained, sauce added, back on the heat to mix together (I had to phone my Dad about that bit. Please don't ask me why, but for some reason I just couldn't work out how to mix the sauce with the pasta. All I kept thinking was it wouldn't work because the saucepan was full of water. I really must have been in need of sleep!)
..and then I opened the tiny tin with the chillies on it. What was inside? a sort of red paste. Thicker than a sauce, reminded me a bit of poly-filler, just a different colour. I dipped my little finger in and tasted it. Hot, but yummy.... here comes the Eejit bit....
...because it was such a small can, I assumed it was a single portion serving. I added the entire contents of the tiny tin to the pasta/sauce mix, stirred a few times then dished up. Before I could take my mouthful, the small morsel I had tried moments before suddenly kicked in. My tongue was on fire and I hadn't even touched the pasta yet. I think the reason the tin was so small was because a little is meant to go a long long LONG way.
I drained half a litre of mineral water into my mouth and panted like a long-haired dog after a jog. I stared at the bowl of pasta and sauce I had just made and wondered if I should even chance it. Anyone who knows me well knows I like my heat. Jallapinos on every pizza, vindaloo curries if I dine out, West Indian red pepper sauce with my cheese on toast - you name it, I'll try it. This chilli paste though was something else....but I wasn't going to let it beat me.
....I ate the pasta. Granted it took me about 4 attempts, another two litres of water in total and a towel on stand-by to constantly wipe my forehead, but I finished it....
..and I'm going to be regretting it for the rest of today no doubt. But for eating an entire jar of chilli paste (and buying it in the first place when I couldn't read the serving instructions on the side) I am once again an eejit.
September 13, 2009
Jeux Sans Frontières
All I needed was Stuart Hall laughing inanely into a microphone, and I would have been on an episode if It's a Knockout this morning. Let me explain.
The weather has really broken now in Malta. Heavy rain throughout the night that has lessened to a fine drizzle by the time I had to go to work. I decided I'd opt for jeans because of the lower temperature, but a thin t-shirt (quicker than a heavy shirt to dry when I'm sat in the office.) On my feet I chose a pair of (what I thought) were sturdy trainers. No socks, in case my feet got wet.
Two steps outside my front door and I knew I was in trouble. The trainers had no grip at all on the slippery pavements.
Have you visited Malta? I'll assume not so I'll explain what the pavements are like over here. Random and treacherous would be the best two words to sum them up. Each house or building has a different style of paving outside it, from shiny tiles to road tarmac. From rough concrete to cracked flagstones. Every two strides you change surface. Added to this, the slope of each section also appears to have no bearing to the road you are on. One second it's running level with the road, the next it's sloping dramatically towards it. Then sloping just as dramatically away from the road, then back to flat again. Imagine those funny paths that constantly move in Blackpool Funhouse and you'll get the general idea.
Now add in the water factor. Free flowing liquid on the top of all these bizarre walkways. Sometimes charging towards you as you climb a slope. Occasionally running with you as you head downhill. More often than not, running sideways, looking for the drains.
As I got off the bus I was faced with the gargantuan task of walking about a third of a mile, all uphill, to the office. To be honest, I should have been in a giant rabbit costume, clutching a huge inflatable carrot and having Mr Hall screaming 'Here come the Belgiums!' I even stopped at one point, holding onto a sort of makeshift railing and just laughed. I seriously contemplated getting down on my knees and crawling. Every step I made, my foot slid back underneath me. I tried a sort of skating motion, as though I was cross-country skiing, but that only worked on the shiny tiles surfaces. On the rougher areas it almost made me go arse over tip.
Eventually I got to the front door and into the lift - but there is still the journey home to consider at 6pm....
...anyone got a surfboard?
The weather has really broken now in Malta. Heavy rain throughout the night that has lessened to a fine drizzle by the time I had to go to work. I decided I'd opt for jeans because of the lower temperature, but a thin t-shirt (quicker than a heavy shirt to dry when I'm sat in the office.) On my feet I chose a pair of (what I thought) were sturdy trainers. No socks, in case my feet got wet.
Two steps outside my front door and I knew I was in trouble. The trainers had no grip at all on the slippery pavements.
Have you visited Malta? I'll assume not so I'll explain what the pavements are like over here. Random and treacherous would be the best two words to sum them up. Each house or building has a different style of paving outside it, from shiny tiles to road tarmac. From rough concrete to cracked flagstones. Every two strides you change surface. Added to this, the slope of each section also appears to have no bearing to the road you are on. One second it's running level with the road, the next it's sloping dramatically towards it. Then sloping just as dramatically away from the road, then back to flat again. Imagine those funny paths that constantly move in Blackpool Funhouse and you'll get the general idea.
Now add in the water factor. Free flowing liquid on the top of all these bizarre walkways. Sometimes charging towards you as you climb a slope. Occasionally running with you as you head downhill. More often than not, running sideways, looking for the drains.
As I got off the bus I was faced with the gargantuan task of walking about a third of a mile, all uphill, to the office. To be honest, I should have been in a giant rabbit costume, clutching a huge inflatable carrot and having Mr Hall screaming 'Here come the Belgiums!' I even stopped at one point, holding onto a sort of makeshift railing and just laughed. I seriously contemplated getting down on my knees and crawling. Every step I made, my foot slid back underneath me. I tried a sort of skating motion, as though I was cross-country skiing, but that only worked on the shiny tiles surfaces. On the rougher areas it almost made me go arse over tip.
Eventually I got to the front door and into the lift - but there is still the journey home to consider at 6pm....
...anyone got a surfboard?
September 11, 2009
Got the Inglorious Basterd!
No, it's not a reference to Tarantino's new epic Nazi kiling movie. The winged carrier of pain and sorrow is no more. I finally caught the mosquito that's been terrorising my nightly slumber.
Perhaps I'm harsh calling it names. After all it was a female and it was only doing what it felt came naturally, but there was no way I was going to let this critter live to see another dawn.
Round one. Feb this year. The mosquito won and I still have the scars on my lilly white legs to prove it.
Round two. April time. A new venue, a new mosquito, but still the flying ones got the upper hand.
Round three. A few days ago. My own apartment. Home turf, and yet still I awoke to find my body covered in red, itchy blotches. If this had been a real boxing match my trainer would have been over the ropes throwing a towel into the ring. I had nothing left to give. My fight was over.....
...but this wasn't an ordinary fight. This was like all the Rocky Balboa movies put together. I was bloodied, I was battered. I was a broken man, but from somewhere, god knows where, I found a final punch. One last blow. A do or die swing....
Round four. Mosquito spotted on the wall beneath my table. A barrel roll across the bed to grab the can of insect spray. A mist of poison fills the air as I push the button. She flies, she stutters in mid-air. She crashes to the floor. Still fighting for life but unable to muster the energy to get airborn. One last blast of aerosol and she is no more.
My legs and arms my never recover from the battle I have fought over the past few days, but tonight, I will (for the first time) sleep soundly. Safe in the knowledge my room is bug free....
...Unless this is like the Jaws movies and she's summond up her entire family to take revenge on me!
p.s. I apologise to any Buddhists, or naturalists who may take offence at the light-hearted way I have spoken of my exploits despatching the mosquito. I mean no offence. If you could share the pain and suffering I have been through (and am still going through on a 24 hour basis) I hope you'll understand.
September 09, 2009
On the Turn
Not sure if it's a permenant thing, or just a temporary glitch, but the weather has definitely turned.
Sunday night I think I first noticed it. I was woken from my light slumber by a heavy bang. It sounded like an explosion coming from the spare room, but as I'm not currently storing any heavy explosives or pyrotechics, it couldn't have been that. I got out of bed and padded down the small hall. First thing I noticed was the plastic cover for the fuse box was lying on the tiles surface. Next thing I notice was the small balcony door in the guest bedroom was closed, despite the fact I remember leaving it open to allow air to circulate through the flat. Looks like there was a strong wind brewing outside (the force of the door slamming closed had made the fusebox lid jump off too).
I battened down the hatches. Brought in the washing I had left drying on the sun terrace, closed and locked the balcony doors and returned to bed. I lay there watching and listening to the howling wind getting stronger and stronger. I then watched in awe as a succession of semi-naked women appeared on the various balconies in the apartments opposite to retrieve their own washing. (one rather attractive lady was topless and probably assumed no one could see her!)
Next morning there wasn't a breath of wind in the air. Normality was restored. high temperatures again, it was as though nothing had happened.
Later the next night I was woken again. This time by the gentle patter of raindrops on the window. Not a major shower, but enough to wash away the dust that was starting to collect on the streets. Locals tell me it's not the end of the summer, just a passing weather front....
...we shall see.
p.s. Saw my first cockroach today. Thankfully not in the apartment, but out of the street. It shot out from between two rubbish bags that were left there to be collected. to me it was HUGE, but I suppose they can be bigger. In retrospect it was probably a very beautiful creature - it seemed to be two-toned, with shiny legs...
...but I'll die a happy man if I never see one again for the rest of my time here.
Sunday night I think I first noticed it. I was woken from my light slumber by a heavy bang. It sounded like an explosion coming from the spare room, but as I'm not currently storing any heavy explosives or pyrotechics, it couldn't have been that. I got out of bed and padded down the small hall. First thing I noticed was the plastic cover for the fuse box was lying on the tiles surface. Next thing I notice was the small balcony door in the guest bedroom was closed, despite the fact I remember leaving it open to allow air to circulate through the flat. Looks like there was a strong wind brewing outside (the force of the door slamming closed had made the fusebox lid jump off too).
I battened down the hatches. Brought in the washing I had left drying on the sun terrace, closed and locked the balcony doors and returned to bed. I lay there watching and listening to the howling wind getting stronger and stronger. I then watched in awe as a succession of semi-naked women appeared on the various balconies in the apartments opposite to retrieve their own washing. (one rather attractive lady was topless and probably assumed no one could see her!)
Next morning there wasn't a breath of wind in the air. Normality was restored. high temperatures again, it was as though nothing had happened.
Later the next night I was woken again. This time by the gentle patter of raindrops on the window. Not a major shower, but enough to wash away the dust that was starting to collect on the streets. Locals tell me it's not the end of the summer, just a passing weather front....
...we shall see.
p.s. Saw my first cockroach today. Thankfully not in the apartment, but out of the street. It shot out from between two rubbish bags that were left there to be collected. to me it was HUGE, but I suppose they can be bigger. In retrospect it was probably a very beautiful creature - it seemed to be two-toned, with shiny legs...
...but I'll die a happy man if I never see one again for the rest of my time here.
Feeding Time
I cooked my first meal in the apartment last night, but I wasn't the only one who ate well...
I had made two seperate trips to the local supermarket during the day on Monday. Firstly, this was because I didn't want to carry too many bags at once, and secondly I realised I hadn't bought some essentials when I got home with the first batch. On the second trip out I came back with some nice marinated beef steaks from the Deli counter and some toilet rolls (that was the essential items I forgot in the first place).
I decided to freeze the steaks. Mainly because I didn't intend to eat them that night. On the Tuesday morning I took them out again to defrost, and by the early evening they were ready to cook. I had planned on having a few oven chips with them (but that went to pot when I realised how quickly the steaks cooked).
I'd been given one of those griddle pans by the landlord. You know, looks like a small, square frying pan, but has raised lines in the base. Perfect for cooking the meat on the hob. I like my hob. It's one of those touch screen flat things which heat up instantly and give off a sci-fi style red glow. Ten minutes later I had two perfectly cooked beef steaks, marinated in what I think was a mild curry dressing. Melt in the mouth meat, a delight to savour, especially as I could eat it on my balcony with a glass of iced orange juice.
But I wasn't the only one to eat well last night. I was attacked again by a winged critter. I think I caught him at it this time too. I woke myself up at about 2am, finding the big toe-nail on my left foot, instinctively scratching the back on my right calf. I tried to get back to sleep, but every, tiny movement on my body made me lash out. Most of the time it was probably just a bead of sweat moving around in my body hair, but it was enough to keep me awake. At about 3am I got up and fetched the bug spray from the kitchen. I emptied half the can in the bedroom, and all over the sheets, then tried to get back to sleep.
When I woke to my alarm, just before 6am I examined my body. Think I've found 4 seperate bites, one of which is on my middle finger and is very annoying. After work today I'm off to find some insect cream in the hope I can make the irritating pain go away....
....and the bedroom is getting sprayed every night from now on until they give up and try one of my neighbours instead.
p.s. on a related topic, it's apparant that the cost of living over here is decidedly higher than the UK. Trying to shop sensibly in the supermarket was not easy. Sometimes it's only a few cents over the price you'd expect to pay, but for other items the cost was nearly double. It doesn't help that many of the items have the english RRP in big, bold type on the front of the packet, but the price you pay over here is not even close (there is a lot of Iceland merchandise. You know those 'one pound' things they advertise on TV with the big yellow stickers on the boxes? They have those here, complete with sticker, but some of the items are actually upto 3 euros each.)
On any one item it's not worth worrying about, but when it's a basket of shopping, it all adds up.
I had made two seperate trips to the local supermarket during the day on Monday. Firstly, this was because I didn't want to carry too many bags at once, and secondly I realised I hadn't bought some essentials when I got home with the first batch. On the second trip out I came back with some nice marinated beef steaks from the Deli counter and some toilet rolls (that was the essential items I forgot in the first place).
I decided to freeze the steaks. Mainly because I didn't intend to eat them that night. On the Tuesday morning I took them out again to defrost, and by the early evening they were ready to cook. I had planned on having a few oven chips with them (but that went to pot when I realised how quickly the steaks cooked).
I'd been given one of those griddle pans by the landlord. You know, looks like a small, square frying pan, but has raised lines in the base. Perfect for cooking the meat on the hob. I like my hob. It's one of those touch screen flat things which heat up instantly and give off a sci-fi style red glow. Ten minutes later I had two perfectly cooked beef steaks, marinated in what I think was a mild curry dressing. Melt in the mouth meat, a delight to savour, especially as I could eat it on my balcony with a glass of iced orange juice.
But I wasn't the only one to eat well last night. I was attacked again by a winged critter. I think I caught him at it this time too. I woke myself up at about 2am, finding the big toe-nail on my left foot, instinctively scratching the back on my right calf. I tried to get back to sleep, but every, tiny movement on my body made me lash out. Most of the time it was probably just a bead of sweat moving around in my body hair, but it was enough to keep me awake. At about 3am I got up and fetched the bug spray from the kitchen. I emptied half the can in the bedroom, and all over the sheets, then tried to get back to sleep.
When I woke to my alarm, just before 6am I examined my body. Think I've found 4 seperate bites, one of which is on my middle finger and is very annoying. After work today I'm off to find some insect cream in the hope I can make the irritating pain go away....
....and the bedroom is getting sprayed every night from now on until they give up and try one of my neighbours instead.
p.s. on a related topic, it's apparant that the cost of living over here is decidedly higher than the UK. Trying to shop sensibly in the supermarket was not easy. Sometimes it's only a few cents over the price you'd expect to pay, but for other items the cost was nearly double. It doesn't help that many of the items have the english RRP in big, bold type on the front of the packet, but the price you pay over here is not even close (there is a lot of Iceland merchandise. You know those 'one pound' things they advertise on TV with the big yellow stickers on the boxes? They have those here, complete with sticker, but some of the items are actually upto 3 euros each.)
On any one item it's not worth worrying about, but when it's a basket of shopping, it all adds up.
September 05, 2009
Opening Malteser Adventures.
Thought I'd bring you up to date on what's been happening in my first week of life in the bloody sun.
Well up until Thursday it's been work everyday, various shifts, followed by drinks in the local pub and either a meal out, or a small take-away. The heat has been getting to me from day one. I knew it would, despite a million and one people telling me I was lucky to be here. I certainly don't feel lucky.
I'm not sure people grasp how depressing it is to feel sweaty. To sit in a chair and feel your arms stick to the furniture. Getting out of bed just to go to the bathroom, but having to towel yourself down just to get back onto the mattress. Stepping into a shop off the street just for a bottle of coke and feeling the water pour off your forehead. This isn't just a one off. This is from 6am to 11pm everyday so far. It's relentless. I had similar issues in the UK, but no one took a blind bit of notice. I've lost count of the times I said I'm not going to enjoy the heat, only to hear the reply 'Oh count yourself lucky, you'll have better weather than us'. 10 days in total I've been here, and 10 days I've hated the weather.
I made it worse for myself on Thursday. I had finally moved into my new place (which took two days, because wheeling suitcases through tourist traffic, uphill in temps exceeding 95 degrees is not going to be done in one go). I decided to make use of my balcony and sat out on the lounger for a short while with an ice cold lager and lime and my book. Of course I covered the lounger in towels (see above for the reason) but after about 15 minutes the heat was getting to me, despite the fact I wasn't having to move, so I went back indoors. Over the next few hours I got redder and redder and redder. Not nice and evenly of course, that would be too much to ask, but in sections. My chest, upper arms and the right side of both legs were glowing red, and now I was in agony. This was after 15 minutes of sun. I walked (gingerly) to the local pharmacy (which happens to carry the Boots sign) and was shown to the 'after-sun' section by a nice young assistant. Cheapest bottle was 11 Euros. 11 Euros!!!! (That's exactly 10 quid at the moment). It was kind of soothing for a brief moment, but I didn't get any sleep that night. I think I had 6 showers that day, and ran the air-con all through the night, but I just couldn't drop off.
Next day the pain was still there (in fact it still is to some degree) but it was now bearable. This was my second day off, but I wasn't going anywhere near the outdoors during the height of the sun. I got in touch with an old friend from IOM who moved to Malta about 12 months ago and we arranged to meet for drinks that night. I had in the back of my head it was close to his birthday, in fact I'd got it spot on, his birthday was that night. It was great to meet up. We had a few drinks in Sliema, and chatted about the IOM, books, films, things we knew we always had in common. He actually seemed grateful to chat to someone he could hold an intelligent conversation with for the first time since he got there. He was meeting up with more frineds in Paceville (Malta's nightlife area) so we got a bus up in that direction. After a couple of drinks in a quiet bar, he went off to meet his friends and I caught a bus back to Sliema. I was more than welcome to join him, but it was approaching 11pm, and after that I would be in taxi territory. Taxis over here are notorious rip-offs and it's too early in the month for me to be throwing money away.
I caught a bus, along with about 30 other people and it set off. Straight away I thought something was wrong as it didn't follow the route I expected it to, and you could hear murmours from the rest of the passengers. The driver then came to a road (which was signposted to Sliema) but there was a barrier across it. "Ok, Sliema is closed. If you want Sliema get off now" Were his exact words. I knew for a fact Sliema wasn't closed, but clearly he had no intentions of going there, so I got off. In the middle of nowhere. No recognisable landmarks, just an unlit back street.
I walked for about 10 minutes in a straight line, hoping to catch a glimpse of civilisation, or a sight I could use as a beacon. Nothing. I carried on, at least another 5 minutes. I came across a dramatic looking church (wish I'd had my camera) and on top was a neon red cross. This I did know. I'd never been to it, but it used to domintate the skyline directly behind the staff flat. All I hoped was that there wasn't more than one church in Sliema with a neon red cross! I thought at last I had a point of reference. I carried on with more confidence, and after a further 5 minutes, found myself on the waterfront, halfway between my old and new apartments. 10 minutes later I was back indoors. A total of 30 minutes walking after a bus driver kicked us all off. This included a whole load of tourists, some of them of an elderly persuassion, dumped in the middle of nowhere.
So there you have it. I drink about 4 litres of mineral water a day, drink far to much alcohol to take away the pain of being here and I'm sick to death of my boss....
..oh and I've been bitten twice already.
Well up until Thursday it's been work everyday, various shifts, followed by drinks in the local pub and either a meal out, or a small take-away. The heat has been getting to me from day one. I knew it would, despite a million and one people telling me I was lucky to be here. I certainly don't feel lucky.
I'm not sure people grasp how depressing it is to feel sweaty. To sit in a chair and feel your arms stick to the furniture. Getting out of bed just to go to the bathroom, but having to towel yourself down just to get back onto the mattress. Stepping into a shop off the street just for a bottle of coke and feeling the water pour off your forehead. This isn't just a one off. This is from 6am to 11pm everyday so far. It's relentless. I had similar issues in the UK, but no one took a blind bit of notice. I've lost count of the times I said I'm not going to enjoy the heat, only to hear the reply 'Oh count yourself lucky, you'll have better weather than us'. 10 days in total I've been here, and 10 days I've hated the weather.
I made it worse for myself on Thursday. I had finally moved into my new place (which took two days, because wheeling suitcases through tourist traffic, uphill in temps exceeding 95 degrees is not going to be done in one go). I decided to make use of my balcony and sat out on the lounger for a short while with an ice cold lager and lime and my book. Of course I covered the lounger in towels (see above for the reason) but after about 15 minutes the heat was getting to me, despite the fact I wasn't having to move, so I went back indoors. Over the next few hours I got redder and redder and redder. Not nice and evenly of course, that would be too much to ask, but in sections. My chest, upper arms and the right side of both legs were glowing red, and now I was in agony. This was after 15 minutes of sun. I walked (gingerly) to the local pharmacy (which happens to carry the Boots sign) and was shown to the 'after-sun' section by a nice young assistant. Cheapest bottle was 11 Euros. 11 Euros!!!! (That's exactly 10 quid at the moment). It was kind of soothing for a brief moment, but I didn't get any sleep that night. I think I had 6 showers that day, and ran the air-con all through the night, but I just couldn't drop off.
Next day the pain was still there (in fact it still is to some degree) but it was now bearable. This was my second day off, but I wasn't going anywhere near the outdoors during the height of the sun. I got in touch with an old friend from IOM who moved to Malta about 12 months ago and we arranged to meet for drinks that night. I had in the back of my head it was close to his birthday, in fact I'd got it spot on, his birthday was that night. It was great to meet up. We had a few drinks in Sliema, and chatted about the IOM, books, films, things we knew we always had in common. He actually seemed grateful to chat to someone he could hold an intelligent conversation with for the first time since he got there. He was meeting up with more frineds in Paceville (Malta's nightlife area) so we got a bus up in that direction. After a couple of drinks in a quiet bar, he went off to meet his friends and I caught a bus back to Sliema. I was more than welcome to join him, but it was approaching 11pm, and after that I would be in taxi territory. Taxis over here are notorious rip-offs and it's too early in the month for me to be throwing money away.
I caught a bus, along with about 30 other people and it set off. Straight away I thought something was wrong as it didn't follow the route I expected it to, and you could hear murmours from the rest of the passengers. The driver then came to a road (which was signposted to Sliema) but there was a barrier across it. "Ok, Sliema is closed. If you want Sliema get off now" Were his exact words. I knew for a fact Sliema wasn't closed, but clearly he had no intentions of going there, so I got off. In the middle of nowhere. No recognisable landmarks, just an unlit back street.
I walked for about 10 minutes in a straight line, hoping to catch a glimpse of civilisation, or a sight I could use as a beacon. Nothing. I carried on, at least another 5 minutes. I came across a dramatic looking church (wish I'd had my camera) and on top was a neon red cross. This I did know. I'd never been to it, but it used to domintate the skyline directly behind the staff flat. All I hoped was that there wasn't more than one church in Sliema with a neon red cross! I thought at last I had a point of reference. I carried on with more confidence, and after a further 5 minutes, found myself on the waterfront, halfway between my old and new apartments. 10 minutes later I was back indoors. A total of 30 minutes walking after a bus driver kicked us all off. This included a whole load of tourists, some of them of an elderly persuassion, dumped in the middle of nowhere.
So there you have it. I drink about 4 litres of mineral water a day, drink far to much alcohol to take away the pain of being here and I'm sick to death of my boss....
..oh and I've been bitten twice already.
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