“Alfred... fancy a day at the beach?”
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
“No, it’s Sunday, it’s summer. It’ll be lovely at Għadira or Armier or Għajn Tuffieħa or Ġnejna or ... ”
“Are you feeling alright, woman? Yeah, right, it is summer and Sunday. Have you any idea what those places will be like?”
“Course I do. It’ll be lovely.”
“It’ll be hell!”
“Oh, you are an old misery. Both kids love a day at the beach... and so do I, and so will you... when we get there.”
“Ha! And that’s half the problem.”
“What is?”
“Getting there. Get the car out, then join the never-ending convoy north to... wherever you decide we’re going.”
“Ġnejna would be nice.”
“On a weekday, maybe, but on a Sunday?”
“Għadira, then. We could park near that new hotel and it would only take you a few trips to bring all our stuff from the boot to the beach.”
“A few trips? Do you know how much stuff you contrive to take to the beach?”
“Just a few bits and pieces.”
“For starters, there’s the canopy... to keep the sun off the kids and your oranged-up hair.”
“Well, it goes green in direct sunlight.”
“Then there’s all the food. How can one family of four consume all that food?”
“Don’t be silly, there isn’t a lot.”
“Two large trays of timpana, three dozen bziezen filled with ham, cheese and tomato. A whole trifle, plus two gateaux from the local patisserie, a crate of fizzy orange, four flasks of tea... plus one measly can of lager for me.”
“That’s more than enough, you’re getting too fat anyway.”
“So all the other stuff is slimming, is it? Timpana light, etcetera?”
“Got to keep our strength up.”
“Then there are the picnic chairs, plus the folding table that no longer folds... and the groundsheets. The gas bottle, the swimming costumes, the radio, I have to carry all that lot as well.”
“Don’t forget the kids’ armbands, the electrified boundary fence and the distress flares.”
“Distress flares?”
“We can’t be too careful, there are some very strong currents up there.”
Both kids love a day at the beach... and so do I, and so will you...when we get there
“I’m not a bloody pack-horse, you know.”
“Oh, stop moaning, you’ll love it when we get there.”
“And when we do get there... with all our luggage, there’s bugger-all to do, except lounge around, getting sand in our food, dodging other people’s footballs and being deafened by their music centres.”
“Well, we could... we could all go into the sea.”
“I would hope we’d go before we leave home. There’s enough pollution in the Med without our family adding to it. Mind you, it is convenient to be able to nip into the water up to your waist when you are caught short at the beach, I’ll agree.”
“Or you could bring the plastic tennis ‘bats’ and we could play a game... or something.”
“Where? Every inch of sand is taken up either with people or sunbeds. There would be more space on the deck of an illegal immigrants’ boat.”
“The kids always enjoy it.”
“The kids always enjoy annoying other people, and there’s plenty of scope for that on Għadira beach on a Sunday in July.”
“So if you won’t take us to the beach... where shall we go then?”
“OK, I know this is a somewhat radical and off-the-wall idea but... why not spend the day right here... in the comparative peace and quiet of our own home?”
“I promised the kids we’d go to the beach. Are you going to tell them you’re such a mean and nasty daddy that you are not going to take them?”
“Why don’t we, er... take them to the... aquarium?”
“No, we did that back in the spring. They hated it. Brooke was scared of the sharks and Rambo was terrified that all that water was going to break through the glass and drown us all.”
“Cinema?”
“There’s nothing on that’s suitable.”
“There’s that new Chinese kung fu film.”
“Naar. Those Chinese movies are all the same... 10 minutes after watching one, you’re ready for another one.”
“So Ġnejna it is.”
“Għadira.”
“I’ll start loading the car.”