Gozo, island of peace and tranquillity

It must be just after 6 a.m., any day in May. The heroic Gozitan infantry is already defending the island against sparrows and other flying "pests", occasionally supported by rapid-firing weapons and - one gets the impression - sometimes the cannons in front of our church in Zebbug. The echo from Ta' Ghammar is multiplying the battle's noise. The bus-shelter near the miraculous fountain gets a direct hit by friendly fire, but who cares, as long as tradition is maintained.

At 7 a.m. sharp, our friendly neighbour starts his various diesel trucks in his garage - one by one - moves them for warming up to the street and throws his tools onto them with lots of go. The pilot of the approaching plane almost cruising through our bedroom - Zebbug lies quite high - seems to show his passengers our tranquil village.

It is high time to stop dreaming anyhow, the multitone horn of the baker's van is coming closer...

Sometimes I wonder whether the guests of the group of hotels (whose advertising I used for my heading) are being given earplugs.