It gives me the shivers to even drive around the outskirts of Paceville, with all the confusion that exists between Spinola Bay and the traffic lights, and between the traffic lights and St George’s Bay. I can only imagine how scarier it is right in the heart of this entertainment mecca.

I disliked it when I had the energy and enthusiasm of a young man, and over the years I’ve grown to hate the place more and more, even though I’m never there. I just occasionally drive by when I have to, and I immediately get that nauseating and suffocating feeling. If it were for me, I would demolish the whole place and turn it into a golf course or a family park. Never has there been a place whose name is insulted so deeply by what goes on.

The news that comes from Paceville is never good. And what we come to hear about is always the more serious of the incidents that happen; only God knows the volume of illicit behaviour that takes place there which is never caught and which, therefore, goes unpunished. The more recent cases – including that of a Libyan man who started slashing out at people with a knife – continue to highlight the danger one can face without any provocation.

Over many years we’ve have discussions on how the situation can improve. But very little, if anything, has been done. Successive governments are too afraid to take the bull by the horns, fearing the backlash of greedy businessmen whose arguments about employment and the economy hold the administration hostage.

And so, in between one serious accident and another, life goes on. The police, with their limited resources, try to keep tabs but it is humanly impossible for them to be in every corner, every street, every establishment to see that the situation is under control. With all those thousands of inebriated people, it takes just one remark, just one long look at an ultra mini-skirt, just a shoulder to shoulder bump to start a fight.

Year after year matters degenerate further. There are laws that, for example, prohibit under-age people from buying alcohol or entering night clubs, but these laws are consistently broken. It only takes a wink or something more than that for the bouncers to look the other way. And bartenders are too busy to ask for ID cards when giving out drinks. After all, more people drinking means more money raked in, so who’s to care if a 14-year-old enters a bar and has a shot of vodka?

Paceville has made a (notorious) name for itself even abroad, and the intentions of many of the youngsters who supposedly come here to study English is only to have some days of fun in a place far away from the eyes of their parents and where there are literally no restrictions.

I really pity the few residents of Paceville and the many others who reside in the surrounding areas of St Julian’s and Swieqi, who have to make do with these Sodom and Gomorrah ways each and every evening.