As I sit to write this I know that it’s already happening. I also know that the murderous thoughts in my head will not stop it, and that I simply have to hang on for dear life until it’s all over.

So, I hereby resign to the fact that in no time the sun will heat up our shores to an unbearable degree, that our power supply will revert back to its tantrum-throwing ways, that more and more desperate immigrants will try to reach our shores, and that pretty soon northern blondes with golden tans and coconut scents will visit our country with only three things on their mind - a little English, a bit of romance, and a lot of sex!

Holiday romances are curious things - some people go through their entire lives without ever having one, whilst others, quite literally, go miles out of their way to have them. The allure of the (supposedly) inconsequential nature of mad flings with strangers is highly addictive, and because we’re by far more relaxed when we’re on vacation, holiday romances come so much easier than those at home.

For starters we feel more physically attractive because of all the excitement and preparation built up in anticipation of the big day and if you happen to be of the fairer sex, the chances are that you haven’t eaten a decent meal in 6 months... all in lieu of the bikini wax. So whilst under normal circumstances a potential lover would have to live up to some bare minimum - like having two eyes, a job and decent breath - when on holiday, you probably wouldn’t care less if the object of your affection is unemployed, drinks a little too much or has scored five STDs in the past year.

Our yearly summer influx of abdominally-unchallenged blondes, has nurtured an indigenous group of Maltese sexual predators. Come June, and you’ll see them come out of their winter dens sniffing and humping everything that moves. All they care about is to carve enough notches on their bedposts to see them through the ‘barren’ winter months.

Let’s face it! Holiday romances are usually a quick and dirty exchange of bodily fluids, but sometimes, just after you’ve kissed behind the boats in Marsaxlokk, someone starts to mention kids and weddings. In this case there’s only one thing you can do - Run Forest Run! If running is not an option, at least do not mistake the blinding heat of throbbing pelvises for love and devotion.

The truth is that very few holiday romances blossom into something more, and most end up into sweet nothings and distant memories. Mistaking a torrid holiday romance for the real thing could have devastating consequences. Remember that the person who swept you off your feet in sunny Goa is most likely to miss mummy’s apron strings and daddy’s big business, and no matter how ‘good it is’, a few years down the line you too will end up living ‘The secret lives of Alice and Henry’ because just like Alice, your tall blonde will spend so much time with your mother and the village neighbours, that she too will end up spending more hours each year wiping down surfaces than on holiday.

So, now that the heat is on JUST BE SENSIBLE - this translates precisely to staying sober, which in turn means taking all the necessary precautions when indulging in the carnal pleasures, keeping embarrassing pictures to a minimum and not dancing when you can’t count a beat.

Enjoy your hot summer!