The great, the good, the questionable, the merry and the melancholy were there.

Such a myriad mélange: young, old, jaded, and those beyond repair. A total local, Gozitan, foreign, malt-tease, extra-terrestrial affair.

Razzle-bedazzled, bemused, confused, amused and enthused two-a-pair we were.

But blend weld meld it gelled, and just swell.

And banquet drank and danced so we did, and whirl-twirled wow.

Nanna, Pa and his girl, kith and kids and swirling kin, all unfurled and how.

‘So what did you do on Sunday, son?’

“Trekked like heck, had a ball and some real neat fun.”

‘And how green was our valley, lad?’

“Oh man! Just up my alley, Dad.”

Oisin Jones-Dillon

Saint Paul’s Bay