This week I picked up friends of mine from the airport. The minute we packed all the suitcases in the booth, we heard a roar and then ruckus everywhere. Less than a couple of metres away from us, a sudden brouhaha had erupted. A warden was pointing his finger at the chest of a man doing the ‘żommuni’ act, and a crowd had gathered in the spot of the scuffle.

Parenthesis here: the ‘żommuni’ (hold me back) move is the one where said man throws his shoulders back and stretches his arms backward as if an invisible pair of hands are pulling him back and preventing him from unleashing and charging at the other person’s throat, then the said man takes a step forward and almost immediately another step back, again because of the pull of the invisible hands. It’s the closest you can get to a macho dance, a solo tango, if you will. Try it at home – great fun, but make sure to contort your face in the shape of a scowling chimp – good for the face muscles.

“Sigh. Welcome back to Malta,” said my friend. We did not hang around to discover why the man and the warden came to blows, this was hardly a one-off anyway. I find that as a nation we’re losing our temper more and more. Could it be, I said to my friend, that we need to adopt a hobby?

I mean let’s face it, what are our national hobbies? Most countries have one. Dutch are into cycling, the British are into gardening, the Italians are into singing, the Irish are into their craic, and us? No, not hunting – that’s just half the nation. I’d say we’re into two things: politics and food.

Food is to us what weather is to the British. Whereas their small talk on a bus stop would be something like this:

-“Slightly nippy today isn’t it?”

-“Oh right, mustn’t complain.”

Ours would be:

Can’t you see that your back wheel is half an inch over my garage ramp? What if I had to go to hospital Eh?! Eh?! Eh?! You piece of disrespectful ****! You want me to die in my own home?

-“The bus is taking ages… I have to go and cook… everyone will be famished.”

-“I know, yesterday I cooked this huge pork joint – in the oven, with a bit of garlic and potatoes, have you ever tried it? – and everyone wanted a double portion and I said…” bla bla bla”

We are obsessed with food and especially bargain food, which is the reason why we love buffets. This summer we were on this tiny, remote island in the middle of the Adriatic sea and true to form we bumped into a Maltese chap. For the best half an hour he regaled us with great detail his menu for each breakfast, lunch and dinner and how cheap it was.

Of course, politics and food are intertwined. The more we plonk in front of Super One and NET, the more we want to vent our frustration by scoffing down food. Moreover, the constant drama gives us an adrenaline injection which makes us crave sweets. Not just any sweets, mind. But pasti bil-krema. And I don’t even think there is a proper translation for it – pastry with cream does not do it justice.

The Errol-Flynn-cream-moustache is an immediate Maltese identifier. If you put a Maltese man or woman in a room where there’s a table with a juicy Gordon Ramsay steak, a Jamie Oliver roast or a pasta bil-krema tal-van tad-downats, no doubt the steak and the roast will stay put, and the ‘żommni’ invisible hands will shove the legs towards the sweet.

Actually it just occurred to me that we do have another national hobby and we engage in it in between watching the political drama and cramming our faces with food: spying on our neighbours’ parking trends.

We’re not very happy when someone takes the – public – parking space we usually park in.

-“Whose is that car? Never seen it round here…”

-“I don’t know! That’s exactly what I said too. And they did not even park it in properly in the white box!”

-“No way! Let me go and check, ara” [cue ‘żommni’ position].

A stern note is then left on the windscreen, reading: ‘Please park properly, or we’ll prosecute’.  (We love the word prosecute – it sounds so much more threatening than that simple ‘sue’). At times we even like to be a bit more dramatic about parking: we call the police. Then car owner comes along worried and is greeted by a:

-“Can’t you see that your back wheel is half an inch over my garage ramp? What if I had to go to hospital Eh?! Eh?! Eh?! You piece of disrespectful ****! You want me to die in my own home? Die in pain? Because I could not get my car out?! Eh?! Eh?! Is that what you want?”

Clearly politics, food and parking are not doing it for us. We need to launch a nationwide campaign on engaging people to take up a different hobby. I don’t know, maybe instead of Gvern li Jisma we can have Gvern li jsiblek Hobby. Or maybe we can have free drama classes for everyone to vent out our grievances – we certainly love a bit of theatrics. Would I join? Żommuni.

krischetcuti@gmail.com
Twitter: @krischetcuti

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