In Malta, the so-called silly season lasts from mid-July to early September. In many ways, the term ‘silly’ is a misnomer; a more accurate word would be ‘somnolent’.

It is the time of year when, traditionally, not much happens. Maybe a few jellyfish stings, the occasional case of the ‘bends’, the normal plethora of major roadworks in designated tourist areas and the usual mega traffic jams to and from the beach.

But this year we’ve had a veritable kaleidoscope of action. Starting with that prime ministerial photo-op, otherwise known as the return of the hostage.

Didn’t you just love that rather sad gaggle of politicians around the aircraft’s steps, jostling for position in front of the media cameras – but please, can somebody, anybody tell me what was little tubby Manuel doing there? Or have they added returning hostage welfare to his portfolio?

Then, almost as soon as the official cars disappeared off the MIA forecourt, we experienced that humungous island-encompassing power cut.

Wow! Great timing guys, but every cloud... I’m just waiting for official instructions as to how to collect my mooted government compensation. Believe me, I am not holding my breath.

Maybe if I take them my four cartons of solidified, cheesy milk, three delicately greening pork chops, two kilos of somewhat over-ripe peaches and plums, a decomposing timpana festering quietly in its baking tin, three cartons of liquefied Neapolitan ice cream – and worst of all... half a dozen cans of piping-hot lager.

Then this year’s silly season became positively demented when – not quite out of the blue – our esteemed minister for buses announced that a Spanish company had ‘won’ the right to ferry us around our islands... that is, until they decide they can’t make any money out of it either and get the hell out... again. So, after Austin’s folly are we to get Joe’s ‘solution’? I think I’ll buy a bike.

That’s by no means all the excitement – so far – this ‘silly season’.

Did you read that report on the front page of The Sunday Times of Malta a few weeks back, which broke the startling news that... just 70-odd years ago, Nazi general Bertu Kesselring was seriously considering colonising Malta and using us as a base for operations in North Africa. Wow! How about that?

Then, just when we thought that things couldn’t get any more un-silly seasonish, up pop Brad and Angelina

Smacked of the gob I was! Little Malta acting as a permanently anchored aircraft carrier for the krauts. It’s just as well for us that Churchill had the idea first. Can you imagine all those towels laid out all the way down the Ta’ Qali runway? The mind boggles.

Then, having digested that momentous piece of scoopy news, the same newspaper goes and breaks the exclusive story that the late ex-president Agatha Barbara once had a boyfriend... yes, that’s right, a boy – friend. Astonishing or what?

As a silly season blockbuster story it was right up there with the spaghetti trees and medieval photography.

And we weren’t finished yet: The media went into overdrive to report that practically every resident of Sliema and St Julian’s were in a veritable siege situation, terrified to even pop to the grocery store for a carton of milk... lest they return to find their house devoid of furniture and flus.

Then, just when we thought that things couldn’t get any more un-silly seasonish, up pop Brad, Angelina... and not forgetting their godfather... Jo-zeff, to turn Mġarr ix-Xini into Hollywood in the Mediterranean.

And if all this excitement wasn’t enough, we now hear that some residents of Lija have come up with a novel new way to car-surf... using another stationary car – which one surfer apparently mistook for the edge of the pavement. It lends a whole new meaning to the term kerb-crawling.

And the final adrenalin rush occurred when, seeing the Mater Dei Hospital car park full... again, some bright spark decided to turn the helipad into a sort of car park annex.

It really has been all go for the past few weeks, and if all this hectic action is a portent of what’s to come in future years, I think I’ll arrange to be abroad during the not-so-silly season next year. I frankly don’t think my system can stand that degree of breathless excitement again.