For my sins, I live in Sliema, this chic and trendy place. We boast the best promenade in the world, we have great shopping malls and the classiest buildings this side of Valletta and beyond.

I love living here. Almost all of us live in coops with no greenery, no open spaces or architectural finesse but we all love it.

We, as a nation, love Sliema so much that on a sultry, summery Sunday evening, the whole country and various other nationalities descend on the town and walk on the front. This is a sight worth seeing, preferably from afar.

But my biggest grouch about this part of the island concerns age. Sliema is an ageing community. Most of us come here to retire. I don’t mind this one bit; ageing, after all, is a natural phenomenon that has hit me and most others I know.

My goat is, however, with church bells. Sometimes they sound cute but their call to a funeral, day in day out, is depressing, to say the least. I do not mind the idea of church bells ringing to announce somebody’s death. But do they have to sound so depressing? Can’t they ring out with some more enthusiasm?

Death is a leveller but instead of seeing the blackness of it all can’t the Church at least remind us that whoever has just been summoned away from this vale of tears is off to a much better land?

A life concluded is always a great time for a feast, so do not play a dirge but a joyful tune. After all, is Pope Francis not all for new waves, new fashions and throwing away the old fustiness to make way for new and fresh ideas?

So, please, peal some good notes on that bell.