It’s suddenly warmer. Hot, actually. We all know that Malta has only two seasons: summer and not so summer, and despite the highly irregular rainy season we’ve just experienced, we can still chalk that up to an aberration, considering that one day it’s frigid and the next we’re sweating through our shirts.

Already, the brave have started to post gloating pictures of themselves at the waters’ edge, hair wet and smiling with the tag: “First swim of the year!” Let it be known that no one is impressed and no one likes you. We’ll wait for the waters to get warmer, like real human beings. And with warmer weather come the summer parties. With warmer water come the boat parties.

There are many activities one does knowing full well that it’s a bad idea and the inevitable regret is best left to future self to handle. Boat parties are a monstrous creation of which I cannot for the life of me understand the appeal.

First of all, it’s the constraint. You’re at a club – the vibe isn’t that great. You leave and go to the next venue. Your friends message you suggesting an alternate rendezvous, you head there.

Now apply that logic to a boat party. You’ve pulled some hot chick and want to head home (or in my case, you’re tired and you want to head home). Well too bad. You’re trapped until everyone is done and until the club moves back into port. Might as well get more drunk. Because getting more plastered than an ‘on benefits’ handyman doing some illegal work on your uncle’s villa seems to be the primary motivation for these events.

It’s a rational conclusion. You’re a little seasick? Drink until you wobble along with the boat. You like the music? Drink to celebrate! You hate the DJ? Drink until he’s a distant memory. You’re sleepy? Drink until you pass out and don’t care what happens next. You’re cramming a few score people in a tight space for several hours by night so there are no sights to see, no informative narration of how the Knights valiantly held off the Turks in the Great Siege and no actual destination other than the dock you just left from.

Showing off, bringing on the sexy and acting macho all enhanced with the alcohol-removed inhibitions can be the primary reason why these things still remain popular

It seems fair that I should mention a few good things to offset my diatribe. Boat parties ensure everyone arrives on time and starts the evening before dark. In a country where punctuality is misunderstood as a reference to a flat tyre, it’s a rare thing that can gather all the guests in the same place at the same time. Unless the organisers’ best friend is late. Then the boat stays put for an extra hour while everyone stews in each other’s body odour.

There is a rising trend for live music on boat parties as a friend of mine who is a singer in a band recalls to his great regret. With energetic rock music come the drunk headbangers, followed by the impromptu mosh-pit. On a boat with no stage. More than one person careened clumsily into the band itself, both singer and backing vocalist had split lips and chipped teeth from microphone impacts. Having the music frequently interrupted by people tripping over wires and accidentally yanking out power cables from the amplifiers only added to the calamity. In which world did anyone think this was a good idea?

I understand that with any boat party comes the added advantage that most of the girls are going to be wearing bikinis – which in a nightclub they don’t normally do. The apex of the boat party usually is when anchor is dropped at a cove somewhere north, spotlights flare on and everyone launches themselves as gracelessly as possible into the water.

There is something to be said for swimming in a secluded bay with music playing surrounded by a throng of people having a good time. Showing off, bringing on the sexy and acting macho all enhanced with the alcohol-removed inhibitions can be the primary reason why these things still remain popular.

Perhaps I’m not good looking enough, maybe I’m not single enough, but I’ll watch the boats sail past on the summer nights from my camping vantage point in the north, the party music amplified by the curvature of the cliffs and think to myself – I’m happier with my friends.

The likelihood of the contents from someone’s stomach floating by is significantly lower.