Halfway through my staff Christmas dinner last Friday my phone went off. I normally wouldn't take a call in such circumstances, but upon seeing the number of a relative back there, at a time when she wouldn't normally call, I thought it would make sense to break the rules and take the call, just in case it was bad news.
Thankfully it was not - although unfortunately some of that came the day after. My caller was in her her living room watching Xarabank, where the topic was - once again - Paceville (does anybody ever talk about anything new there?) and another very good friend was on the panel. "I'll tape it and send it to you," she said, being of a generation that still refers to 'recording' as 'taping'. But honey that's no longer necessary, I replied, being a bit more hi-tech than her. "I can watch it all online now."
So on my first Saturday morning at home alone in weeks, I sat with a cup of tea and a few slices of toasted bread dripping in Nutella (it's winter, I need comforting) in front of my computer watching Xarabank. I've never really been big on the programme - too many experts, too many breaks, too much silly singing - but I was interested to see what my friend had to say, seeing as we've shared many a fun night in the place being discussed on the night.
Well, well, well! What was that Emy Bezzina all about then? Is he for real? I thought at one point he was going to explode. What a fuss! Does this man have any idea that we are living in the 21st century? Does he really believe that the only way for young people to develop (an overrated virtue anyway) is for them to stay at home and read "the classics"?
Eventually I got bored and lost interest in the debate, but Dr Bezzina's vociferousness kept echoing in my head, so much so that I even started making some notes about this column. On a Saturday! Unheard of!
I first arrived in Paceville when it was quite a little town and we had just moved from Valletta to Swieqi. At the beginning I was warned away from it, not because of the bars which were non-existent then, but because - I was warned - it was populated by "homosexuals, prostitutes and Arabs" - not that we are racist or anything) - which of course made it an interesting place to roam around for a group of teenagers bored stupid by the safety of suburbia.
Over the years I spent many a night painting Paceville red (the deepest red that you could possibly imagine), a lot of them in states that would have probably justified Dr Bezzina's hyperventilating. In spite of it all, I would say I've turned out pretty well, am happy with my life - which, coming to think of it, took a few interesting turns thanks to people I met over there - people who I definitely would not have come across if I'd heeded Dr Bezzina's words and stayed home reading the classics.
Of course, Paceville is no ideal. It is dirty, noisy and like many other places on the island, a bit of a mess. But is closing it down going to make any difference? I would have thought that someone with a mind open enough to speak out for divorce and abortion in a country that refuses to accept what is essentially considered to be a fundamental right in most modern societies, would be a bit more creative with his proposals.
Thankfully it was not - although unfortunately some of that came the day after. My caller was in her her living room watching Xarabank, where the topic was - once again - Paceville (does anybody ever talk about anything new there?) and another very good friend was on the panel. "I'll tape it and send it to you," she said, being of a generation that still refers to 'recording' as 'taping'. But honey that's no longer necessary, I replied, being a bit more hi-tech than her. "I can watch it all online now."
So on my first Saturday morning at home alone in weeks, I sat with a cup of tea and a few slices of toasted bread dripping in Nutella (it's winter, I need comforting) in front of my computer watching Xarabank. I've never really been big on the programme - too many experts, too many breaks, too much silly singing - but I was interested to see what my friend had to say, seeing as we've shared many a fun night in the place being discussed on the night.
Well, well, well! What was that Emy Bezzina all about then? Is he for real? I thought at one point he was going to explode. What a fuss! Does this man have any idea that we are living in the 21st century? Does he really believe that the only way for young people to develop (an overrated virtue anyway) is for them to stay at home and read "the classics"?
Eventually I got bored and lost interest in the debate, but Dr Bezzina's vociferousness kept echoing in my head, so much so that I even started making some notes about this column. On a Saturday! Unheard of!
I first arrived in Paceville when it was quite a little town and we had just moved from Valletta to Swieqi. At the beginning I was warned away from it, not because of the bars which were non-existent then, but because - I was warned - it was populated by "homosexuals, prostitutes and Arabs" - not that we are racist or anything) - which of course made it an interesting place to roam around for a group of teenagers bored stupid by the safety of suburbia.
Over the years I spent many a night painting Paceville red (the deepest red that you could possibly imagine), a lot of them in states that would have probably justified Dr Bezzina's hyperventilating. In spite of it all, I would say I've turned out pretty well, am happy with my life - which, coming to think of it, took a few interesting turns thanks to people I met over there - people who I definitely would not have come across if I'd heeded Dr Bezzina's words and stayed home reading the classics.
Of course, Paceville is no ideal. It is dirty, noisy and like many other places on the island, a bit of a mess. But is closing it down going to make any difference? I would have thought that someone with a mind open enough to speak out for divorce and abortion in a country that refuses to accept what is essentially considered to be a fundamental right in most modern societies, would be a bit more creative with his proposals.