The state Sliema is the subject of several complaints, ranging from vendors on the seafront to unsightly signs, advertising the food that is being served in restaurants. Fiona Galea Debono follows Wilfried Tops through the trials and tribulations he experiences in a single day in the major tourist and commercial centre. The Dutchman has been visiting Malta since 1986, becoming a Maltese resident on retirement three years ago.

7 a.m. Mr Tops may not have planned such an early start but he has no say in the matter. He is woken up by a drilling noise from one of the many building sites in the area. He must have dreamt that excavation is not allowed in tourist areas during the summer!

7.15 a.m. Since sleeping in is not possible in this part of the world, Mr Tops opts for an early morning swim. But he gets wet way before he reaches the sea! Stepping out of the front door, Mr Tops gets splashed by a car that is racing through the waterlogged potholes in the road. Luckily, he is wearing his swimming trunks. He is told it is only “rainwater” but it is milky in colour and smells of sewage.

7.30 a.m. Walking down the stairs to the jetty opposite his apartment to take the plunge, he is welcomed by the pungent smell of urine. The sea does not look too inviting either, full as it is with floating paper napkins, plastic cups and leftovers, possibly thrown into the water from the party boats moored further on. Mr Tops walks towards Tigné Point in the hope the debris has not arrived there yet. While passing by the five-star hotel in the area, he slips and almost falls. Someone is cleaning the pool deck with a water hose, spraying everything the guests left behind into the sea.

7.45 a.m. Mr Tops arrives at the beach under Tigné Point, which he describes as “the neighbourhood’s favourite canine playground” because it is littered with dog ­excrement.

8.15 a.m. He returns home for breakfast on his balcony but as he cleans the table he is horrified to find the cloth is turning greyish black due to the pollution.

9 a.m. While reading the newspaper, a noisy concrete mixer, working on a major development at the top of the road, tries to reverse at the busy corner into Ċensu Xerri Street, holding up several hooting cars. It has barely driven off when a second arrives and parks on the corner, waiting for the first to return after it has unloaded. This goes on until 11.45 a.m., by which time Mr Tops is fed up of the unbearable noise and exhaust fumes, so he decides to confront the warden. He is told to mind his own business: the lorries have a permit.

12 p.m. Having been firmly put in his place, Mr Tops flees from his noisy and polluted balcony.

3.15 p.m. He returns home for an afternoon nap but has barely dozed off when no less than 15 minibuses and a further six coaches arrive to collect foreign students. The buses are either early, or the students late, because 45 minutes later the passengers have still not yet boarded. While the vehicles are parked and blocking the whole street, the drivers take a break under the few trees on the seafront, leaving their noisy engines and air conditioners running. Deafened and practically suffocated by the diesel fumes, spewed out of 21 vehicles, Mr Tops goes to have a word with the drivers. Needless to say, he does not get very far. Introducing himself as a “desperate resident, trying to enjoy some peace and quiet”, he is told he should not have come to the busiest area.

5 p.m. Mr Tops retreats and needs to calm his nerves after the exchange. He closes his balcony door to spend the rest of the evening inside.

11.30 p.m. While fast asleep, Mr Tops suddenly has the impression a discotheque has opened right next to his bed. But it is only two overcrowded party boats passing by. He begins to wish he too was a student – they seem to have all their wishes catered for.