While my father was still alive I restricted my travels abroad to very short trips related to my line of work. In the last ten years there were only one or two occasions when I was away from Malta for as long a period as four days. Most of my trips were two or three days long. I don't grumble in the least. I wish I could have done more for my father; and every trip – however short – was always accompanied by the longing to quickly return to be near him.

Now that my father is once more united with my mother in our Father's beautiful abode I decided to take a holiday abroad. Last Monday I went for a few days to Gardaland; the land of fantasy for children and those who would like to kindle in them a child-like spirit. I was accompanied by members of my family and by another couple and their two children.

Pagan beliefs

We left Monday morning after a Sunday characterized by earthquakes. Some of little faith connected these earthquakes to the predictions of the visionary of Borg in-Nadur reported in The Sunday Times. After splattering of his own blood and kitchen oil on a statue of Our Lady, it seemed that it was now time of sterner stuff to admonish us sinners. What better than an earthquake to shatter the audacity of the infidels? There are still people whose religiosity is so primitive that they still believe in a man-made god who sends plagues, earthquakes, cancer and tsunamis to punish people. Isn't it incredible that after two thousand years of Christianity there are still those who cherish these pagan beliefs?

I was not really worried. Our real tension on Sunday was not the earthquake but whether little Julian (my niece's six year old son) would be fit enough to travel. Late in the evening his pediatrician gave us the go ahead. We celebrated.

Sunny Gardaland

More predictions were thrown out of the window in the following days. It seems that predictions by secularists are as credible as predications by pseudo-religious fundamentalists. The scientists predicted four days of rain. We had four days of sunshine punctured by a short-lived drizzle on Tuesday afternoon; just as we were concluding that day in Gardaland.

There are so many rides and games to choose from! One could buy "fast track" tickets to jump the queues. There were two offers: family rides and adrenaline rides. The former included nice train rides giving one an overview of Gardaland and a boat trip on the jungle rapids. The latter included Raptor and Blue Tornado. I was horrified by just looking at people riding on these two rollercoasters, which looked like torture machines. Even looking at them almost made me faint, to the great amusement of Beppe and Christina, the ten and eleven year old children of the Lauri couple accompanying us. (Or were we accompanying them?)

(I had written about Beppe some time ago when I was faced by the awesome decision of which mobile to buy. He was my consultant. I wrote about Christina in my Sunday Times column. I contrasted her ethical behaviour as a goalkeeper with that of the German goalie who was conscious that the ball had crossed the line in that fateful match with England, but pretended that it had not done so. They – Beppe and Christina, not the German players – are two darlings. They are quite two handfuls and a half and, consequently, one is not always predisposed to consider them as darlings.)

I was adamant in my no for a ride on Raptor and Blue Tornado. This gentleman is not for turning is authoritatively said. I prevailed.

Mamut = "ha mmut"

However, I was not saved yet. The kids had another card to play as part of their nefarious strategy. They pointed out that the roller-coaster called Mamut was part of the family pack offered by Gardaland.

"Joe, you cannot not do that. It is for children", they insisted.

I fell for that argument not willingly, I dare say, but because my hand was twisted and my ego well-targeted.

The decision to go on Mamut was the second most stupid decision I took in my life. The first one was to ride Space Mountain in Disneyland, Los Angeles. The kids had a hell of a ride. They were laughing and teasing me all the way. I was horrified and mortified. I just closed my eyes, prayed, cursed my decision, and offended the kids for daring me. By the end of the experience I was flour white and shaking. To add insult to injury (to my ego not my body), at the end of the ride I was faced by an electronic photo that registered the kids' glorious laughter and my utter fear and humiliation.

"How many copies do you want to buy, sir?" asked the attendant.

"Can I just buy the original as I want to destroy the evidence?"

She looked at me with that kind of look you give someone whom you think is completely crazy.

My weakness prevailed once more and I bought a copy which I now deposited in a bank vault so that it will be kept out of harm's way.

I prefer two whole months of negative press reports by the Malta Today/Torca/One tandem than two minutes on Mamut!

Shooting Ourselves in the Foot Committee

I gave in to another weakness during my visit overseas. I regularly accessed my emails and the timesofmalta.com news portal.

I read that Dr Deborah Schembri was struck of from the register of lawyers who can serve at the Ecclesiastical Tribunals. I was not surprised in the least. I knew that the Curia had recently set up a high leveled group called: Shooting Ourselves in the Foot Committee. The dismissal of Dr Schembri was the brainchild of the members of this Committee who have sworn that they will do their utmost to get a place in the Guinness Book of Records for such creative and innovative achievments.

They have already out-run a similar committee operating within the Maltese government.

Mark my words: they will do similar and worse fracas by the end of the Referendum Campaign.

Some people never learn!

Manchester uber alles

Tuesday evening was celebration day. Manchester United had a great victory over Scholke. We (I am not using a royal plural but I refer to our group) watched the match in the hotel's bar. There was also a group of Germans but none of them stayed till the end of the match.

All good things come to an end. We left sunny Gardaland and returned to rainy Malta.