Pensioner’s paradise

Malta. Came for nine days, stayed for four. Think Tweed Heads, Tenerife and Pattaya minus the prostitution. Expats a-plenty, comfortable shoes, socks and sandals. English pubs, sports channels, Guinness, Sunday roast. Day-trippers, organised tours, excellent bus network, left-hand drive. Amazing harbor, pretty inlets, spectacular old capital Mdina. Josef, as lovely as you were your apartments needed a good scrub so thanks for the refund and dropping me off. You asked for some feedback but am sure you weren’t quite expecting the essay I left you. Annika from Finland, you’re so wafer-thin and I’m sure your boobs are fake but thanks for letting me into your fabulous old Maltese apartment and giving me the best room with the ocean view. If you washed your dogs occasionally the apartment would smell better. Thanks to the ex Irish navy boys who now chase Somalian pirates on the high seas for a (lucrative) living. For the past few nights you’ve kept me entertained at the bar in The Dubliner although I didn’t quite understand your accents most of the time. And finally, to the South African gentleman I gave my seat to on the bus to today, I will remember you telling me three times that Australians don’t know how to play cricket the next time we whip your sorry arses. Malta. I wont be seeing you in another twenty-five years that’s for sure.