Evil will never grow extinct. It has deep roots. Cut its grass as close to the earth as you can, it will still sprout with the first rains. It is not difficult to find examples of this sad truism. I came across quite a few in my lifetime.

The latest regarded the main current affair of late spring, divorce legislation. I thought we had just about gone away to fresh start. Early summer proved to me the error of my assumption.

After a gap of a few years the poison pen addressed me once again. We live in a very open age. The media are a platform to hang out all types of washing, be it a personal opinion like mine, or that of those who vehemently disagree with me, as is their right.

The social media are turning into a very broad platform too. All sorts of thoughts and feelings are expressed on them. They start from the banal and go on to surprisingly deep reflections. In between there is a vast space for people to say it exactly as they see it. That space is taken up by thousands who feel a freedom they may not have felt before.

One would have thought that the traditional media, plus the new revolutionary social media online, plus – why not – personal contact through buttonholing or the telephone, would have rendered anonymous letters obsolete.

They have not. It is only the style that has changed. In the bad old days of the politico-religious dispute of the 1960s, when horrendous ugliness was mailed purportedly and obscenely in the name of God, anonymous letters were addressed in a range between scrawls and very neat handwriting.

I hope the authors of those vicious missives have recognised the error of their ways and, though they have not apologised to me and mine, have sought peace with their Maker.

Times have changed. In recent years anonymous letters come computer-set, in smart envelopes. For some reason that has made it easier for me to work out the probability that the letter is anonymous. I glance at its ending and, more often than not, I confirm my suspicions.

The writers of this modern break with decency and courage tend to be readers of my columns. In which case, they might read or hear the following: They are wasting their time.

As soon as I confirm that a letter is anonymous, I do not read it. I tear it to bits and throw it away. I came to that decision after I had written a piece about a departed political adversary. I concentrated on our friendship and his good points. Any shortcomings we may have should not live after us.

I received an anonymous letter detailing the departed fellow’s personal life. I read it and, in the first instance felt disgusted with myself that I had done so. Then I tore it to shreds and resolved that never again would I read an anonymous letter.

I have kept that resolution. Those who target me through that foul channel are wasting their time. They will not spoil my summer, or any day of my life.

• Every coin has two sides, though we sometimes forget that. It is worthwhile taking a look at both of them, even if it is in the case of the Arriva transport system, which has taken more boot than is used in a Championship final that runs into extra time.

A foreign friend of ours came to visit us for a few midsummer days, not the first time she has done so. Our guest likes to meet fellow nationals living on the island when she’s here.

At her prudent request, we worked out a system. I take her from our house in the countryside limits-of-Rabat to Rabat itself. There she catches the bus to Valletta and from there she goes on to wherever she has arranged to visit.

As we began the routine last week she noticed there was a bus stop close to us. I explained that the Arriva schedule now includes a regular service to Baħrija. We got to Rabat and, on asking a courteous Arriva driver, she found she could take a bus directly to St Julian’s, where she had planned to go.

She overnighted into the eve of Santa Marija. As the evening progressed and it was time for her to come back she phoned us saying she was at Rabat.

I said I would drive up to collect her. No, she said, she wanted to continue her adventure. She turned up at our place within half an hour.

How did you get along with Arriva, I asked, half-fearing the worst. Great, she said. She made it to St Julian’s okay. The following day she took Arriva to hear Mass in Valletta – she bought a non-resident day ticket. Then she went to two or three villages celebrating the feast of Santa Marija. She had lunch, and so on. In the evening, she took the bus to Rabat. Then to Baħrija. It was all splendid, and good value for money.

It does not mean that the other side of the coin does not exist. That there do not remain problems with the new bus service.

I know that at Għargħur, for instance, they are making Arriva buses pass two ways through a road that can barely be used as a one way. The routes worked out were atrocious. And I, for one, certainly do not like the bendy-buses.

Still, it would seem, there has been some improvement. It is no longer all bad. Perhaps we’re nearing the not-too-bad.

Whether the new bus service will reach the desired level by September 11 as promised, remains to be seen. But the portends are not all negative.