Ġ: I don't care what people said. I asked what you think.
J: Ok Gieżu. The best thing that has happened to Valletta in the last 100 years is Norbert Attard.
Ġ: So Jiez, those portraits adorning Freedom Square which are lit up during the evening must have got to you?
J: I've always thought of that place as the ugliest site built by crude-men for gentlemen. I find the whole of Citygate so hideous that I try to avoid getting near. I also feel obliged to steer my foreign guests away from that black spot. Especially during the daytime; when it becomes a haven for dirty cars and unwashed peddlers, hawkish hawkers, hidden hookers and visiting Africans.
Ġ: And?
J: Norbert cleared all the cars in less than it took Austin to clear the Monti hawkers.
Ġ: And?
J: And already the place is looking like something else... Just think what could be done for the Main Guard space.
Ġ: Freedom square looks certainly bigger than I ever thought. With some interesting greenery and imaginative street furniture it might yet surprise us all; and the old City cries out badly for some decent open spaces.
J: Lining up the arches with portraits, which are lit in the evening, has given a unifying effect which now makes it look like something else.
Ġ: Now it somewhat appears quite fit to handle the humanity, no? Is that what you mean?
J: Look, since Norbert took it over, the place has morphed into an ordinate space that does not disgust one's sensitivity. And I've been saying this ad nauseam. The artist makes all the difference. Every ministry, local council, school or institution should subscribe to one before the contractor pushes his Hymac button.
Ġ: Okay, point made. So what has this multi-culturalism to do with that series of mugshots all over the place vying for attention?
J: Are you being serious Ġieżu, or ġej bid-dgħajsa? (this coming by boat is the slang form for taking the mickey, perhaps derived from sending somebody on a slow boat to China, for which of course a much bigger boat would be needed).
Ġ: What you call mugshots - I prefer the gentler term of characters - are all Maltese. They are your brothers and sisters.....Pause. What's the matter now? Lost for words?
J: There - but for the grace of God - go I.....
Ġ: Their genes are your genes.
J: I never wear them. Can't stand denim.
Ġ: Stop it. Those faces, underneath the arches, constitute the living proof that the Malteser is nothing but a mixture of races hailing from the four corners of the globe.
J: Hold it, will you? Are you sure they're all Maltese?
Ġ: I suppose they checked.
J: There's only one way of checking. And that's to trace the family tree. Now let me tell you that's not much of a fun exercise; especially if you find out that your family is much better off dead than alive.
J: Now what's that supposed....?
Ġ: I haven't finished. With some of those characters - I have to admit it - tracing the family tree was dead easy. As you know only two things live in the trees....Care to name them?
J: When you get to be like this...
Ġ: The only two things which live on trees are birds and monkeys. Now I am sure you watched those images closely, mornings and evenings, right? And none of the images had any feathers, right? Now that of course eliminates the birds, leaving only...
J: Honestly, I do not think that you are doing the Maltese nation, your family and yourself, justice; okay so you like to joke, don't we all? But some so-called jokes are better left untold.
Ġ: I have no qualms with my ancestry. Which is why I refuse to be associated with those whose mugs hang beneath the arches. I know I'm different. I know I got class. At the risk of sounding snobbish, but I know that you are man enough to take it, let me just remind you that my family records go back ten centuries.
J: And no doubt you may produce these records?
Ġ: Hmmm, not really. They were lost in the Flood.
J: Ok Gieżu. The best thing that has happened to Valletta in the last 100 years is Norbert Attard.
Ġ: So Jiez, those portraits adorning Freedom Square which are lit up during the evening must have got to you?
J: I've always thought of that place as the ugliest site built by crude-men for gentlemen. I find the whole of Citygate so hideous that I try to avoid getting near. I also feel obliged to steer my foreign guests away from that black spot. Especially during the daytime; when it becomes a haven for dirty cars and unwashed peddlers, hawkish hawkers, hidden hookers and visiting Africans.
Ġ: And?
J: Norbert cleared all the cars in less than it took Austin to clear the Monti hawkers.
Ġ: And?
J: And already the place is looking like something else... Just think what could be done for the Main Guard space.
Ġ: Freedom square looks certainly bigger than I ever thought. With some interesting greenery and imaginative street furniture it might yet surprise us all; and the old City cries out badly for some decent open spaces.
J: Lining up the arches with portraits, which are lit in the evening, has given a unifying effect which now makes it look like something else.
Ġ: Now it somewhat appears quite fit to handle the humanity, no? Is that what you mean?
J: Look, since Norbert took it over, the place has morphed into an ordinate space that does not disgust one's sensitivity. And I've been saying this ad nauseam. The artist makes all the difference. Every ministry, local council, school or institution should subscribe to one before the contractor pushes his Hymac button.
Ġ: Okay, point made. So what has this multi-culturalism to do with that series of mugshots all over the place vying for attention?
J: Are you being serious Ġieżu, or ġej bid-dgħajsa? (this coming by boat is the slang form for taking the mickey, perhaps derived from sending somebody on a slow boat to China, for which of course a much bigger boat would be needed).
Ġ: What you call mugshots - I prefer the gentler term of characters - are all Maltese. They are your brothers and sisters.....Pause. What's the matter now? Lost for words?
J: There - but for the grace of God - go I.....
Ġ: Their genes are your genes.
J: I never wear them. Can't stand denim.
Ġ: Stop it. Those faces, underneath the arches, constitute the living proof that the Malteser is nothing but a mixture of races hailing from the four corners of the globe.
J: Hold it, will you? Are you sure they're all Maltese?
Ġ: I suppose they checked.
J: There's only one way of checking. And that's to trace the family tree. Now let me tell you that's not much of a fun exercise; especially if you find out that your family is much better off dead than alive.
J: Now what's that supposed....?
Ġ: I haven't finished. With some of those characters - I have to admit it - tracing the family tree was dead easy. As you know only two things live in the trees....Care to name them?
J: When you get to be like this...
Ġ: The only two things which live on trees are birds and monkeys. Now I am sure you watched those images closely, mornings and evenings, right? And none of the images had any feathers, right? Now that of course eliminates the birds, leaving only...
J: Honestly, I do not think that you are doing the Maltese nation, your family and yourself, justice; okay so you like to joke, don't we all? But some so-called jokes are better left untold.
Ġ: I have no qualms with my ancestry. Which is why I refuse to be associated with those whose mugs hang beneath the arches. I know I'm different. I know I got class. At the risk of sounding snobbish, but I know that you are man enough to take it, let me just remind you that my family records go back ten centuries.
J: And no doubt you may produce these records?
Ġ: Hmmm, not really. They were lost in the Flood.