Mark Grima has been an entrepreneur for almost a quarter of a century, which seems hard to believe until you learn that he started out at the young age of 19.

“Do you know how many people tell me that they met their future wife or husband at Raffles?” he laughs.

Ah Raffles, the 80s, the era of the disco, big hair, glitzy outfits and shoulder pads – it’s all coming back to me.

We met for lunch at T.G.I. Friday’s, where we are given a quiet table so that we can talk. Surrounded by the eclectic paraphernalia for which this franchise is famous, it seems a fitting place to conduct this interview.

“I like this place because it’s casual, and because we also do a lot of charity work with T.G.I. F.”

He is the owner of the two Fuegos as well as XFM (formerly known as Radio One Live) which he and his brother Simon bought from their father Joe Grima about a year ago. Despite being the youngest station, it has been turned into one of the most popular on the island thanks to a line-up of popular DJs.

“I’m learning to let go a bit, because I tend to be a control freak, and now we have managers taking care of the radio.”

As young as the age of 14, Mark was already immersed in the world of entertainment, providing music for parties with his mobile disco (remember those?).

“I grew up knowing everything about broadcasting since I used to go with my father to Rediffusion and later Radio Malta. Entertainment came as a natural sideline and ever since I can remember that’s all I ever wanted to do. When I was 12, I used to tell my mates, ‘I want to have a disco when I grow up’. They didn’t know what I was talking about. My father bought me a boom box and I started playing at my friends’ parties.”

Mark’s parents were always supportive of his ambitions, only grumbling because he had to stay out late. And this was one teenager who certainly had ambitions. Not content with the success of his mobile disco, he had his sights set on something more permanent, convinced he could make it work. Shortly before he opened Raffles with his brothers Simon and Pierre, a club owner tried to dissuade him from getting into business, but Mark shrugged it off and followed his intuition.

Then, and in the years to follow, it would always be his gut instinct which would lead to his best decisions.

Raffles, situated in St Andrew’s, was an immediate success.

“We were the first ones to come up with a concept. First of all we had the same kind of illuminated dance floor as you saw in Saturday Night Fever. We used to get what we call the ‘early market’: kids who used to have to leave by 11pm. It was the first club which had a shuttle service created especially for it. Our music policy was very strong, we used to play New Romantic music and we always had a zero tolerance policy towards trouble-makers.”

Family businesses don’t always work, but in the case of the Grima brothers, it has been a sure-fire formula.

“If you’re a close-knit family as we are, it works. Of course, you have your arguments and disagreements, and it might affect your personal relationship, but in our case, it has always blown over. The advantages outweigh the disadvantages. As honest as people can be, they can’t be as honest and loyal as family.”

What was it like growing up with a father who was such a high profile public figure in the years he was a government minister?

“You get labelled. To this day, at the age of 42, I’m still known as ‘Joe Grima’s son’. I don’t mind it obviously, but I hate it when I’m doing a programme on radio. It was hard because with politics you have more people who hate you than like you, even Labour supporters! In 1987, you could cut the tension with a knife and I tell you I never got more custom from Labourites at Raffles, anzi! For some reason, the MLP used to organise their political functions elsewhere, not at Raffles. When there was the Nationalist boycott, we were hit because we used to advertise with Xandir Malta, so we got it from both sides.”

He tells me a story which illustrates the situation perfectly. In 1984, they opened The Alley and they realised that it would not be wise to say it belonged to them, the minister’s sons, because it would be naturally boycotted by Nationalists. So they used a front man instead.

“One day we had some employees handing out flyers for Raffles. This girl looked at the flyer and said ‘Raffles? I’ll never go there,’ and she walks straight into The Alley. It’s amazing how Maltese culture works.”

Mark is very aware that people believe his father pulled a lot of strings.

“There’s a road going into the area where Raffles was and to this day people say that road was built for us, which is not true. Air Malta had a lot of complaints because they had Medisle village there and Joe Tabone had that road built so that the traffic would be diverted away from the tourist resort. But The Democrat came out with the headline, ‘For a blue-eyed boy’ just because we’re Joe Grima’s sons.”

There’s also the little matter of the actual building where Raffles was housed, which was rented from the Labour Party, but Mark points out that that’s a different story.

“The MLP gave the government the Freedom Press and in return the MLP took three buildings formerly owned by the British which were worth millions – that was the real controversy. We just happened to rent one of them.”

What’s the best lesson you’ve ever learned as a businessman?

“Think with your mind, not your heart. My mother is very humble and soft and we all have a streak of that. My father is harder and my brother takes more after him. But I take action more than he does. When I have to give someone a warning or fire him, I feel it, because I know he has a family, and most times you don’t want to do it. The second lesson is to listen to your gut feeling because sometimes you get the wrong advice from people.”

He gives me an example of when he used to run Ministry of Time (formerly Dewdrops). Because he had been out of the scene for a few years, people were telling him what kind of music he should play and what door policy he should have. Against his better judgement, he listened to them and in retrospect he realises that this was a mistake.

There were a few years of disappointments when his business ventures went wrong: Ministry of Time was also embroiled in a long, costly court battle with neighbours complaining about music being played after midnight.

With Ghal Kafè, the 24 hour cafè which he ran successfully for two years, all his hard work was ruined by a tragic incident. A Libyan man was physically thrown out by one of the security men, hit his head on the pavement and died.

“I was working that night and held his head until the ambulance came, but I could tell he was dying. After that, no matter how much I invested or tried to market it, the place had got a bad name and people were afraid to come. I’m still paying off the debts to this day.”

The Grima family must be renowned for its comebacks, because Mark was back on top again with the opening of Fuego.

Although he was constantly being told that he was crazy to open a club between two building sites (Baystreet and InterContinental were still being built at the time), he persisted. The site he chose had changed hands so many times that when he went for the change of name the Police Sergeant laughed, “not again!” Four years ago, the first salsa bar was born.

“I think we’ve inherited that resilience from both my parents. Look at my father, he’s certainly a man of stamina. They burn his house, his car and his radio, and now he’s on NET TV! We’ve had our fair share of problems.”

Mark attributes part of the success of the club to a very strict door policy.

“For example, people with earrings have to take them off. Now I had an earring for 11 years. A lot of undesirables wear earrings and a lot of ‘normal’ people wear them; I would say it’s a 70:30 ratio. The reason it works is that when you ask someone to take their earring off and they cause a fight because of it, then you have weeded out a troublemaker right there. Having said that, our dress code does change from time to time and for a while we didn’t allow men with caps because we like to keep the club smart/casual. We have our door pickers who have a lot of say in the club, and even I cannot over-rule their decision. This happens all over the world, for example in England they will just tell you ‘sorry you can’t come in’ without giving a reason.”

Can appearance really be indicative of whether someone is a trouble-maker? Mark’s instructions to his door picker are, ‘when in doubt, talk to the guy’.

“If he replies with swearing and vulgarities, there you go, you have your answer.”

Certainly, most of us look for places of entertainment where we are not going to find ourselves in the middle of a brawl, so this kind of system is welcome. If there is one thing which gets around quickly, it is the word that a club has a bad reputation.

“We have well-behaved crowds,” Mark agrees. “I think we have succeeded in branding our club because people know that they can come, enjoy themselves and not have to worry about trouble. It’s important to keep up the standards at our clubs, because incentive travel is a very crucial part of our tourist industry and those kind of clients want to come to a club which is smart.”

With the opening of the Qawra club three years ago, Fuego is the only night-club in Malta which has two branches. It is also the only club I know of which has a strict anti-sexual harassment policy.

“If you go to any club, grab someone’s behind or worse, and think you can get away with it, you won’t. If our security men see you, you’ll be banned for life. That is the first rule that we have. We want a woman to feel safe if she comes on her own.”

That’s good to know.

Some might think that playing music at a club is a matter of simply playing whatever CDs come to hand. But as Mark describes it, it’s a specific, well thought out mix of commercial Latin, pure Latin and a smattering of other types of music as well.

“We monitor the DJs to make sure they’re not too commercial. The important thing for me is that whether it is a Monday night or Saturday night, there has to be a party atmosphere. I always tell the DJ not to lose the floor, keep people dancing. We have our regulars, a nucleus of returning customers who feel that Fuego is ‘theirs’... once you lose them, you’ve had it. No matter how ‘important’ or famous a DJ thinks he is, I always make it clear that nobody’s bigger than the club. No one can become too big for their boots,” Mark emphasises.

His DJs are hand-picked. They have to be either black or Hispanic-looking to go with the theme of the clubs and they have to be good at animation, to teach people simple dance moves and get them out on the floor.

Mark demonstrated his best insight into the market when he understood that it was not enough to expose people to salsa music, you had to get people to dance to it. That means the DJs also have to be dance teachers, because the club gives free salsa classes.

“You have to spoon-feed local people about what Latin music is, so in classes we play the pure Latin, and then when we play the commercial, it is easier to listen to. You have to create your own market – you don’t get the people to the club, you have to get the club to the people.”

It is not an easy life. That very day he had come home at 6am.

“What people don’t understand is that our work doesn’t begin at night, that is extra, when we have to supervise the clubs, making sure that all the policies are adhered to. My brother and I work on a roster. During the day, we still have to run the company; there’s a lot of administration involved.”

Our lunch arrives – we had both ordered the grilled chicken Caesar salad with garlic bread on the side. The waiters here are always pleasant and efficient, which leads me to ask Mark about the problems of finding good staff.

He sighs, “It’s very difficult. We have found that it’s best to employ inexperienced people as barmen so that we can train them ourselves, teaching them how to make cocktails and so on. However, what we find is that Maltese people don’t want to work at night, they don’t want to work part-time, and there is still this perception that bar work is degrading. Even the word ‘barmaid’ still has the connotation of a prostitute in Malta, which is absolutely not true. In fact, we are asking for the laws to change so that we can employ foreigners.”

The strain of working nights can get to anyone and even Mark realises that he has to balance his life more. Now that he is a father, he tries to be at home more so that he can spend time with his three-year-old son, Morgan. It’s nice to hear that he’s a hands-on father who had no qualms about changing nappies.

Mark and his wife Carol have been married for seven years and have known each other for 17 years. He describes the amazing experience of seeing his child being born as “the happiest day of my life!”

“Sometimes it gets to me that I am an older father, because I keep thinking when I’m 60 he’ll still be a teenager. On the plus side, I am more financially secure now and can give him a better life. I love watching Manchester Utd with him. Watching them play brings tears to my eyes.”

Men and their football...!

The topic comes back to the entertainment industry and I ask Mark how much it has changed over the years.

“There was a boom in the 1980s with all the Paceville bars, now it has settled down. But in the last four years, I can count at least 11 outlets which have opened, which is a lot. In Malta, an outlet is no joke; it’s a huge investment. Customers are lucky here because they can get into any club without paying to get in. Our expenses are extraordinary, but if you start charging at the door, you’re going to lose clients.”

One thing you won’t find in his clubs, Mark stresses, is girls behind the bar showing too much flesh.

“It’s been done so many times before,” he says wearily. “Frankly, I think even men find it degrading. Once we brought Russian dancers, and the amount of negative comments I got were amazing, ‘Dawn x’ridthom?’ (what did you need them for?). So we stopped it.”

As he himself freely admits, he is no university graduate, but what he has learned through experience has stood him in good stead.

One of the most basic lessons can be seen from his curious collection of miniature toilets

“That’s to remind myself that, in the end, everyone is the same.”

After you’ve been in Malta for 29 years like Julie James has, I feel you can practically call yourself “Maltese”.

However, Julie hastens to assure me, apologetically, that she has never learned to speak our language, although she can pepper her speech with the occasional colloquial expression.

That’s OK Julie, even some Maltese people have never learned to speak Maltese...

We are at Malata, a restaurant I’ve been to several times before, but this is the first time I’ve come since the change of management. The menu is different too, more inclined towards French cuisine to reflect the nationality of the new chef.

Julie has just come from a rehearsal of Blood Brothers in which she is playing a blunt-spoken, working-class mother from Liverpool. Although Mrs Johnstone’s life is marked by poverty and tragedy, she manages to retain her sense of humour and optimistic spirit.

Born in the Midlands, in Leicester to be exact, Julie is pretty blunt-spoken and down-to-earth herself, so she has found it easy to relate to the role.

“There’s no use trying to be something that you’re not, ’coz you always get found out in the end. What you see is what you get,” is how she describes herself.

Sensible advice indeed.

Many native English speakers who have lived here a long time tend to adopt the Maltese sing-song inflection after a while without even realising it. Julie, however, has lost none of her accent.

“I can lapse into it, but my husband used to get annoyed and would tell me, ‘don’t do it, I don’t like it’. Actually I like to keep my own accent as well, but if I’m talking to someone who speaks that way, I end up doing it. Sometimes I have to catch myself from using the wrong expressions. For example, I hear myself saying ‘you go by walk’, and I say to myself, ‘No Julie, that’s really bad English’! And, of course, at the moment I’ve got this Liverpudlian thing going on,” she adds, slipping easily into Mrs Johnstone mode.

I’m always fascinated about how people end up living in Malta, and Julie’s story is just as interesting. Firstly, many people may not know that she originally trained as a dancer. Her teacher noticed that Julie had “a bit of a voice” as she modestly puts it, and for a while she did both, until eventually the singing took over from the dancing.

“Our dance teacher used to regularly bring a troupe of girls out to Malta. I originally came to Malta for six weeks when I was just 16, then a couple of us were offered jobs at the Preluna Hotel and I stayed. Of course, I’d go home in between, but my parents were quite OK about it.”

It wasn’t just the offer of a job which kept her in Malta, however. She had also met the man who is now her husband – although she insists that by that time she had already fallen in love with the island.

“I always say you either love Malta or you hate it, and I immediately liked it.”

Do you still feel the same way after all this time?

“Oh yes, although now I take it for granted. Then you see some silly little thing and you think, ‘oh yeah, that’s why I like it’. You still see cars stopped in the middle of the road to have a conversation, and you say, ‘well that’s Malta isn’t it’? Or once we were in a part of the island we didn’t know and we stopped to ask directions. The guy just got in the car with us and showed us! In England you wouldn’t even unlock the door. He said, ‘Well, I live around the corner from there so you can give me a lift.’” Julie laughs with delight as she recalls this episode.

“I just hope that Malta doesn’t lose this part of its character ‘coz that’s what people like. I also know that when returning guests walk into a hotel and the staff remember their names, they just love it. It’s like coming home and it makes them feel special.”

Julie soon made a name for herself on the local hotel circuit, first as part of a trio and then, when the other two girls dropped out, she was kept on as a solo artist. Since then she has worked steadily doing everything from lounge singing to cabaret. Then in 1996, a chance meeting with Ray Mangion led her to ActReact.

“I’d always liked drama but never had the chance to do it. When I saw one of their productions I thought ‘I’d like to do that’. We met and Ray eventually offered me the part in The Sound of Music.”

If anyone looked the part of Julie Andrews, it was certainly Julie although she assures me that it was pure coincidence that her hair was cut in the same style.

These days she is wearing her hair differently, partly to get away from the sleek bob, and partly because the role of Mrs Johnstone demanded a different look altogether.

So began Julie’s long-running relationship with ActReact. I’ve always thought it admirable that she has remained so loyal to the company.

“Well, Ray keeps me quite busy, plus I have my ‘real’ work. I also think if you spread yourself too thin you can’t give the best of yourself. Other people seem to be able to do three or four things at the same time, but I would panic. I want to be able to give 100 per cent.”

She still loves her job as a singer, especially the opportunity to work with some “lovely pianists” such as George Formosa.

“Thirty years have passed like that,” she snaps her fingers. “I don’t get tired of it because I sing standards, and I’m always introducing new songs to the repertoire. The important thing is that I’m working with a real musician, no backing tracks. I never mime unless I absolutely have to, and even then I go down kicking and screaming. With miming you have to always do it exactly the same, so how can you develop as a singer? When you’re live you can improvise and explore, put in an extra chorus or whatever. And I know the audience loves it, especially when I tell them, ‘isn’t it nice to have real people playing the instruments’? They always applaud that.”

In fact, one of the best things about ActReact musicals is that everything is live, from the orchestration to the singing – no miming there, that’s for sure.

As for Julie, anyone who has heard her belt out songs (particularly if you’ve seen her in Blood Brothers) will be amazed to learn that she has never had any formal voice training. She has a rich, deep alto voice which makes your hair stand on end. When she sings the final number Tell me it’s not true, it’s pretty hard not to start sobbing.

And for someone who has never studied drama, her acting is not to be sneezed at either.

“I remember when I did The Sound of Music, I’d go home from every rehearsal with my head spinning! What were they saying, what did they tell me? I’d try to remember all the little skills that they tell you, to look natural and not contrived. Luckily, we had lots of rehearsals so I had time to settle into it. By the time opening night came around I was absolutely raring to go on that stage; I needed to get on!”

Our lunch arrives at this point, and the presentation is lovely. Julie had ordered the strips of Irish fillet which she pronounced “gorgeous” while I had the fillet steak. Potatoes au gratin and fresh vegetables rounded off the meal.

Like most people who work nights, her body clock functions best in the evening and mornings are a bit of a struggle for her.

“I also have to keep going through the day because if I sit down and put my feet up, that’s it, I nod off.”

She manages to find time to rehearse her dialogue as well as new songs at home and often finds that by going over them in the evening, somehow in the morning she wakes up “and the words are there, in my head!”

We talk a bit more about the role of Mrs Johnstone in Blood Brothers, a part which Julie is relishing because she has such sympathy for her character.

“She’s supposed to look older than she is because of what life’s thrown at her, so it’s a role which requires maturity. When you look at some of the singers who have played her, Helen Reddy, Kiki Dee, Stephanie Lawrence they’re all older. There’s actually a line in one of the songs which says, ‘by the time I was 25, I looked like I was 42, seven hungry mouths to feed and one more nearly due’.

“She’s had a typical hard life; she had to get married, her husband was a philanderer and then he leaves her so she ends up a single parent. But she’s also got this spirit in her that won’t be beaten. When she realises she’s having twins, she agrees to give one of them up because she’s afraid they will be taken into care. She’s a good woman, and even though she didn’t make quite the right choice, she only did it for the best. It’s such a challenge to play her.”

It’s a classic human story which everyone can relate to, and explains why the musical has been such a long-running success in the West End.

In the weeks she has been rehearsing with “the boys” as she calls the young British actors who are in the musical, Julie has found herself acting quite motherly towards them even off-stage.

“The first time I met them I walked in and they were trying on their costumes, so I basically met all four of them in their knickers! Now I find myself telling them to get to bed early, and scolding them if they smoke, things like that.”

In the musical, Mrs Johnstone always seems to have an unshaken belief that things will turn out all right in the end.

Asked if she is anything like her character, Julie replies that she is usually quite upbeat and optimistic.

“I do get cross at myself if I don’t get something right because I feel a big responsibility. I am rather hard on myself, I admit. I don’t want to be half-right, I don’t want to be nearly there, I want to be there.”

Who do you rely on for an honest opinion?

“Alison (Ray’s wife) will do that; she always comes back with an armful of notes after every show. If she tells me ‘you’re getting there’ I believe her. You have to have someone like that, who will give you that kind of feedback. Sometimes you can get it from a fellow actor when you do a scene with them, you look at each other and say ‘yeah that was better than last time’.”

Julie James ends the interview with words of praise for her fellow actors.“I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself in this production, everyone is wonderful. We have such a great cast, it’s luuv-ly,” she says, and she can’t resist giving her vowels a Liverpudlian twist.

Although it has been open for barely a year, Saracino’s Café has become one of the most popular places on the island. Run by Kristina and Stefan, it is located right next to the parish church. Formerly an ironmongery, it has been lovingly renovated and made welcoming with bright furniture and colourful paintings.

The original features have been retained – a beamed ceiling and, smack in the middle of the floor, a garigor (spiral staircase) covered by heavy glass. The name of the café refers to the fact that Attard residents used to be referred to as Saracini (Saracens – which means an Arab or Muslim at the time of the Crusades) because they were, apparently, among the last Maltese to convert back to Christianity.

This cafè is a favourite with Gorg, who often drops in for coffee after taking his young son for a long walk.

Although through work I have known the quiet-spoken, unassuming Gorg for a long time, I quickly realise that I don’t really know that much about him at all.

“Did you know I’ve been married twice? These are my children,” he says proudly, showing me the photo you are seeing here.

The two eldest, Ylenia and Jean Pierre, are from his first marriage while little George came along after he married his second wife, Isabella. At a youthful-looking 65 years of age, Gorg is learning how to be a father again, although this time round he is more hands-on.

“My life has come full circle,” he says smiling, in that familiar melodious voice which so many people recognise from radio and TV.

I’d always vaguely known that Gorg had studied for the priesthood, but once again he surprises me when he tells me that he was actually ordained and served as a priest for seven years.

“If I had to write my autobiography it would be very interesting,” he chuckles.

Born in Birgu, one of 14 children (“my mother was known as ‘the one that has a lot of kids’”), it was inevitable that he would be sent to live with his grandmother, as was the custom in those days.

His father, who worked at the Drydocks, wanted his son to join the docks as well, which in those days was considered a good career choice. But Gorg immediately made known to his mother that this was not what he wanted. Always a bright child, he showed an interest in furthering his studies.

“At the age of 14, I became a border with the Theresian fathers in Bormla. At 16, I became a novice and went to study literature and philosophy in Treviso and Brescia. I continued my studies in Malta when I was 20 and was ordained. I finished my thesis in Rome and came back here. My only remorse over leaving the priesthood is because it really is a wonderful vocation.”

It was his upbringing that led him to become a priest in the first place. Like most boys in those days, he was an altar boy and then there was the influence of his grandmother who used to gently urge him to join the Dominican order.

Is it true that leaving the priesthood can be as difficult as getting an annulment?

“In my day it wasn’t easy, it is a long process which took me about two years. Personally, I think it is worse than an annulment because the questions they ask you came from as far back as the Council of Trent – this is not just a matter of deciding you’re fed up and want to leave! I think my fellow priests respected me and they didn’t want to me leave. In fact, they kept trying to dissuade me from my decision.”

We had left the menu up to the owner, Stefan, who is determined to spoil us. The first thing is some pitta bread covered with melted cheese that arrives accompanied by tuna and cheese dips.

Gorg has always loved literature and started writing plays at the age of 14. Broadcasting also entered his life at a young age. Listening to the Rediffusion at his nanna’s became a Sunday lunch ritual when everyone would have to be quiet as they listened to excerpts from operas.

After studying broadcasting at St Gabriel’s College in the UK, he worked as a freelancer with Rediffusion. Encouraged by Charles Arrigo and (then Fr) David Azzopardi, he started writing scripts and working part-time with Radio 3, which used to transmit in Italian. However, despite repeated applications to join as a full-time employee, it took him another two years to be accepted.

His “history” at Xandir Malta (and later PBS) was dotted with satisfaction, successes, disappointments and several promotions “full of sound and fury signifying nothing”. In 1993, under Roland Flamini, he was made Creative Director of TV and radio programmes but this didn’t work out because of a clash with another head of department. When Albert Marshall came along, he was made Head of Drama, and Gorg lets out a short laugh:

“Head of Drama without a budget? Without resources? These titles which don’t mean anything don’t appeal to me; just to have something to put on my biglietto di visita...” he shrugs disdainfully.

When a new frequency was made available to create a cultural radio station, Gorg Peresso grabbed the opportunity and he created the one thing of which he was the most proud: Radju Bronja. It seemed that at long last he had found his niche where he could combine his love of the Arts with his love of broadcasting.

“We used to pay close attention to the quality of our productions, we weren’t just putting programmes out on air haphazardly. I think cultural programming is an essential part of the DNA of a national station and to remove it because it is not making a profit is ridiculous.”

For, of course, that is what happened this year with the cost-cutting and restructuring at PBS – Radju Bronja got the axe.

“I spent two months feeling deeply depressed,” Gorg admits. “I had tears in my eyes every time I thought of it. It was like they had killed off a part of me. Particularly the way it was done, because we had been hearing rumours for months but they kept us dangling. We were working from one week to the next, not knowing when it would be our last.”

As for what is happening at PBS now, Gorg says that even though he knew it could never work, he would have loved nothing better than to see the restructuring plan become a success.

“I think one of the problems is that we had been talking about restructuring for too many years before it actually happened. It’s like when you take some fish out of the freezer to cook it for the next day, but then the next day you go out to eat instead, so you put it back in the fridge – then you take it out again, and so on.”

Despite the bad taste of what happened with Bronja, Gorg has now moved on. Ironically, he has become busier since he has retired. It is an advantage to be a writer in such a situation because one can work from home and continue to contribute without having to be “employed” by anyone. Throughout his career, he has done a considerable amount of translations and dramatic adaptations such as Ghada Jisbah Ukoll, which was shown last season on PBS.

About his work he has this to say:

“The artist and author have a sense of vanity, but you cannot be a god, you have to be humble. When you write something, you have to let go, it is no longer yours.”

At the moment he is working on an adaptation of Guze Chetcuti’s Nirien ta’ Mhabba, directed by Ray Calleja and produced by Audio Vision Productions Ltd (executive producer Charles Xuereb). It is a positive creative collaboration where everyone is on the same wavelength in order to bring to life this period piece set in 1950s Malta.

“This is a very claustrophobic story about a family who, after the murder of their mother, close themselves off from everyone else and nothing else matters. Chetcuti always believed that children inherit not only physical characteristics from their parents but also certain hidden flaws such as criminality. It took me about a week to get into the spirit of the story, because in his novel, Chetcuti used a lot of dialogue rather than description.

“All I ask is that I am given a free hand when I’m doing an adaptation, because sometimes from one sentence you can build a scene. I’m enjoying this drama because we have a lot of production meetings where we discuss things such as style, for example, how to go from the present day to a flashback, the things which make up the ‘grammar’ of a television production.”

We take a break from our conversation to admire the next dish: a selection of cold meats with olives, blue cheese, parmaggiano, toasted bread and artichokes.

Now seems a good time to ask about his family.

How does it feel to be a father again at a later age?

“I will have to use a cliché: kids make you young again. Of course, at first I couldn’t imagine myself going through it again – should I? Should we? The first few months were tough. My wife is much younger than I am, I was already retired so I said, OK I can look after him in the morning so you can go back to work. George has such a sweet personality, he’s always joking around. Naturally, you have to get used to the mess, you are stepping on toys all the time, you sit on the couch and hear ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’, things like that... ” but even as he is describing his household, it is with a fond exasperation, and he is laughing while rolling his eyes.

When I ask him to compare it to how it was when his older kids were growing up, he acknowledges that there is no comparison.

“Work and the problems that come with it, cuts you off from your kids in a way, while with this child, he is with me. I know that there is a certain time when I have to dedicate myself completely to him and I don’t do any work. I bathe him, feed him and put him to sleep until Isabella comes home. Now we are sending him to a nursery, which he seems to enjoy so I’m a bit freer now as well. It is a bit of deja vu I suppose.”

Gorg explains that he consulted his older children before taking the step to have another child.

“I think they realised that my love and attention towards them would not change. They are still very much a part of my life and they visit regularly. Now especially, my older son Jean Pierre has bonded so much with the little one that he has become very protective of him. George is also aware that the two older ones are different from the other people who come and visit, that they are part of the family. Right now he is trying to learn how to say their names.”

Society, on the whole, has been quite accepting of Gorg’s decisions.

“I’m very careful not to impose myself on others. If you don’t accept me because of my present and my past life, that’s OK, we will still remain friends.”

We are already full but the food keeps coming: spaghetti with vongole, delicious but much too much after all those starters.

“I love to cook, I find it very relaxing. When I was young and my mother was pregnant, yet again, and was too sick to do anything, she would give me instructions: slice an onion, chop some parsley, and so on. So I would cook for my brothers and sisters.”

His present life seems to suit easygoing Gorg, who has found just the right balance between family and work – something most of us yearn for but don’t always manage.

Before we leave he tells me a charming anecdote about his youngest child: “When I’m unable to think anymore, I get up from my computer and pace up and down with the book in my hand, reading the words aloud, trying to get inspiration on how to write the next scene. Then I notice that George has taken hold of a book as well as and is mimicking me, walking up and down and muttering under his breath.”

Another George Peresso in the making...?