July has been bursting at the seams with activity; both the high brow and the mono brow have been situationists of sorts, acting out their roles on the streets and under the stars of hot and sticky Malta. Perhaps it is no laughing matter, and indeed the public transport sector of Malta may have a valid point in striking and disrupting the streets but please, if you are to carry out a national strike, thus shattering the illusion that we are a friendly and tranquil bunch, be sure to get the spelling of your slogan right - possibli is written with one 'b' not two!
July is a privilege; it is the month where we meet many curious characters who come here to participate in the summer festivals; film-makers, musicians, artists, tag-alongs and fanatics: oddballs from Valencia; burningly curious girls from Galicia; boys called Ester; deejays from Brighton who miss planes but make it anyway; Iraqi documentary makers; sea lions, crocodiles and lying reptiles; stop trick animation gurus; Italian girls who sing in Portuguese; Sicilian girls who live in Damascus, Serbian girls who live in Dresden; Swedes who claim that all eastern European films are boring, eastern Europeans who claim I am a "renaissance tourist"(whatever that means)... exhausting but exhilarating indeed. July is a month of extremes: the heat is on, the beaches are crowded, every night is a plethora of pimply teenagers drinking their first warm cocktails in the dirty streets, their laughter piercing the still nights.
Long-lost friends have organised babysitters and barbecues and boat trips, family members are inviting you to big lunches and slow supper parties...
In four short weeks all the expectations of winter must be met and exceeded; a tall order perhaps, but summer in Malta always seems to deliver.
Soon the last of the film-makers and artists will be gone and languid August will roll in, but until then, make sandcastles while the sun shines and catch up on everything: spend all your money; carry lipstick and a hairbrush in your bag to elegantly shift from night to day without going home.
Stay awake even when you're tired, park in the shade, eat only fish, always opt for snorkelling, rise early, sleep little and catch a white night (complete with pastizzi at Crystal Palace), avoid the news, be spontaneous, be frivolous, always steal swims, buff your skin, fluff your hair, invite everyone over, gate crash every event, talk to strangers, dance to songs you don't really like, then dance to songs you really like, wash off the salt or let it sit on your skin, whether you're out or you're in, you simply can't avoid this beautiful, hot thing called July.
July is a privilege; it is the month where we meet many curious characters who come here to participate in the summer festivals; film-makers, musicians, artists, tag-alongs and fanatics: oddballs from Valencia; burningly curious girls from Galicia; boys called Ester; deejays from Brighton who miss planes but make it anyway; Iraqi documentary makers; sea lions, crocodiles and lying reptiles; stop trick animation gurus; Italian girls who sing in Portuguese; Sicilian girls who live in Damascus, Serbian girls who live in Dresden; Swedes who claim that all eastern European films are boring, eastern Europeans who claim I am a "renaissance tourist"(whatever that means)... exhausting but exhilarating indeed. July is a month of extremes: the heat is on, the beaches are crowded, every night is a plethora of pimply teenagers drinking their first warm cocktails in the dirty streets, their laughter piercing the still nights.
Long-lost friends have organised babysitters and barbecues and boat trips, family members are inviting you to big lunches and slow supper parties...
In four short weeks all the expectations of winter must be met and exceeded; a tall order perhaps, but summer in Malta always seems to deliver.
Soon the last of the film-makers and artists will be gone and languid August will roll in, but until then, make sandcastles while the sun shines and catch up on everything: spend all your money; carry lipstick and a hairbrush in your bag to elegantly shift from night to day without going home.
Stay awake even when you're tired, park in the shade, eat only fish, always opt for snorkelling, rise early, sleep little and catch a white night (complete with pastizzi at Crystal Palace), avoid the news, be spontaneous, be frivolous, always steal swims, buff your skin, fluff your hair, invite everyone over, gate crash every event, talk to strangers, dance to songs you don't really like, then dance to songs you really like, wash off the salt or let it sit on your skin, whether you're out or you're in, you simply can't avoid this beautiful, hot thing called July.