Just a little bit off the top...

“I still think it looks obscene.”

If they must have a monument there I’d like to see a statue of somebody famous like... that nice Ira Losco

“What does?”

“That thing... monument on the roundabout in Luqa. It still looks like a man’s... you know.”

“You mean they should have chopped a bit more off?”

“No, I mean it should never have been there in the first place. What must the Pope have thought? He probably assumed we Maltese were a nation ofsex-obsessed peasants.”

“Then he wouldn’t have been far wrong, would he?”

“I think it’s disgusting.”

“It, my darling, is what is known as art.”

“Rubbish... and dirty rubbish at that.”

“To you – maybe. But to a trained eye, or to anyone who can appreciate artistic creation, it’s a piece of radical contemporary art.”

“Huh!”

“Well if Damien Hurst’s pickled shark and Tracy Emin’s unmade bed are considered relevantexamples of modern art... then why not a phallic symbol on a roundabout?”

“Because it’s not nice, that’s why not! Dirty great blue thing sticking up like a... like a... well, like a you-know. And blue, why did he make it blue?”

“I dunno. Maybe it started off pink and what with it being out in all weathers – and especially after the freezing cold winter we’ve just had – it became blue with the cold.”

“And they paid good money for that?”

“Presumably somebody did – and anyway, not everybody finds it offensive. I – for instance – think it’s quite amusing and definitely cutting-edge.”

“You would. Well all I can say is... it’s a pity they, whoever they were, didn’t chop a bit more off... preferably down to ground level.”

“And in reply to that, my sweet, I say thank goodness you’re not responsible for dictating what is and is not artistically acceptable in our islands.”

“Alright, I’ll agree I may not know much about art... but I know what I like... and I know I do not like that great big blue thingy... with or without its top bit.”

“Oh yeah, and what do you like, eh? Pretty pictures of flowers and luzzus and sculptures of birds and things.”

“What’s wrong with that? I’d sooner look at a picture of a bowl of roses, or a stone sparrow, than that rude thing on the Luqa bypass.”

“Well you don’t have to look at it any more... not all of it anyway.”

“But enough, you can still see what it was supposed to be.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake woman, you see phalluses wherever you go. When we were in London you told the guide that if you had your way... you’d cover up Cleopatra’s needle and demolish the gherkin.”

“And so I would. There’s enough filth in the world without adding to it by putting up disgusting things like those... and that Luqa... monstrosity.”

“Yeah well... the Philistines won. Mutilation rules OK.”

“Who do you think they modelled it on?”

“It wasn’t me, that’s for sure.”

“Probably a foreigner.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well... I can’t imagine anyone I know agreeing to do something like that.”

“What about that guy who used to live with your sister Doreen?”

“Yes, he is sort of foreign... his mother was Gozitan. Do you think it was him?”

“I dunno. Could be, he was a bit of a lad, as I recall.”

“Do you think they’ll stick it back together again?”

“They have to find the missing bit first... or make a newtopping.”

“I hope the police make them take down what’s left of it.”

“So what would you put there instead?”

“Nothing, roundabouts are for flowers. But if they must have a monument there I’d like to see a statue of somebody famous like... that nice Ira Losco.”

“I don’t think she would be too happy about that. See, you sort of have to be dead some time before they start sticking up statues of you.”

“Well anything’s better than a giant willy.”

“The oracle hath spoken... give me strength!”

“Um?”

“What is it now?”

“What do you think they did with the bit they chopped off?”