I first came to this wonderful island in 1957 as a boy serving on a warship which operated out of Sliema Creek. I returned in 1959 on another warship and after that again in 1962 until 1964, serving at Nato HQ in Floriana, then Lascaris War Rooms and, finally, on HMS Ausonia in Lazaretto Creek during which time my eldest son was born at Mtarfa Hospital.

On top of all that experience, as an alien I like to think I am reasonably well informed about the island and its fantastic people, especially as I have returned on three other occasions as a visitor.

So why am I writing this?

What on earth is happening to this island, a place I loved and treasured after I had traversed the world?

The people are still largely warm and affectionate, although I do have certain reservations about the younger element. The customs, especially the festas, are second to none. The history is marvellous.

But what are the Maltese doing to themselves? Malta buses were renowned throughout the world. They were family owned, they went wherever and were fun and cheap. And one had to be colour blind not to know a bus’s destination.

Today it is mayhem. It is a service run by a useless operator employing staff that could not care less. Every visitor has to ask questions and no one has a clue as to whether the timetable is accurate. The winter schedule is being operated during the summer months!

And what has happened to Paceville? I lived in Ball Street in 1962 and the whole area only had one bar; it was peaceful and select. From what I have witnessed over the past three weeks you are heading for another Magaluf. What a disaster!

If you continue down this path you will kill the golden goose. Sadly, I will never return.