Oh! What a fast life this is. Very rarely I want to hop off and join the crowd which has retired: play bridge, go for long walks, read all the books which are still accumulating in the flat, make delicate salmon and cucumber sandwiches for my friends and family and catch up with all the bits and pieces for which I never have the time. These thoughts are only momentary. I silently yawn at the very idea. I really want to die at my desk if allowed. I have already told my seniors that the books and CDs must go to my darlings. The rest can be all thrown out into a skip from the balcony.

So, the idea of a holiday mid-week, came as a relief. On Sette Giugno, yesterday that is, I thought I would have a lie-in but at 6.50am the phone rang and I jumped out of bed to answer it. It was my darling seamstress. She had now finished my curtains and could she come and hang them as later on she would be occupied with her grandchildren. Now that my plans had been hopelessly disturbed I thought I might as well make the best of the situation and asked her to come at once if she could. An efficient woman she was at the flat in no time and we stood and admired the curtains once they were up. Only for the briefest of minutes of course, since she had to dash off and no, she had no time for a quick cup of coffee.

She knows everything there is to know about curtains. She could easily make them for Buckingham Palace or Versailles. Mine are a lot more simple. All I am interested in is practicality. Frills and flounces, which have to be dusted and are hell to iron are not for me. There is always opposition from the girls anyway. Goodness knows what their homes are going to be like. They are interested in minimalism but theory is one thing and practice quite another they are going to discover. Over the years, things simply accumulate without your noticing.

But back to curtains. I am no domestic goddess as my sisters will tell you, so a few days previously I had called my good curtain woman for some advice. I didn’t dare call my sisters for fear they would mock me. In spite of one wash after another in the bath my sheers were still grey. She said: “Throw them in the machine with a little bleach.” So I said a silent prayer to St Anthony to look after them as they were merely six months old, and closing my eyes tight, I threw the first pair in. I don’t know what heathens do when they need help and can’t take recourse to someone in heaven. It is reassuring to know that someone is taking care of your sheers in the washing machine! When I slouch, as I tend to do, towards being a heathen, I think of St Anthony. Life would be unbearable without him.

Anyway, I was in no mood to muscle it out with him and make him promises of larger and larger amounts of money so just stuck to my cri de coeur and hoped he was in a good mood.

She was absolutely right once dry, my sheers glowed. Of course, this will not be for long as even with closed doors they still turn grey. I look at them and wonder, even without smoking, what our lungs must look like.

I really must not forget to mention the two pleasant evenings at St James Cavalier since I had no space last week. It’s all about Jazz in the Music Room had Nadine Axisa and three excellent musicians giving us pleasure. Nadine, of course, was in the front row when God was giving out voices, looks and sheer artistry. The jazz musicians were excellent. We had no programme of songs but I always prefer the slow, romantic ones and I cannot remember any of them at the moment. It is almost astonishing when you find out that Nadine is also a Maths and Physics graduate and works at MEPA as an Environment Protection Officer, heaven help her. How’s that for C.P. Snow’s The Two Cultures, the title of his famous book about the breakdown of communications between the Sciences and the Humanities, a title which has entered into the general currency of thought in the Western world. I find that often, scientists can also contribute to the literary world and play a musical instrument but it is less so with literary people, whose knowledge of science is usually non-existent. I have no statistics of course, just an observation.

At the concert I happened to be sitting between an English lady who recognized me and an eminent surgeon with whom I have a nodding acquaintance. At the interval I brought out my peppermints and offered them one. The English woman was quite happy to take one but the surgeon asked me if they had sugar in them. I nodded and told him I am not diabetic, not yet anyway, so he refrained. I found that an admirable case of self-restraint and wondered how our insides would compare, if there was occasion for comparison, which is highly unlikely.

Much enjoyed the Spiteri Lucas Romanza, with Julie and Ludwig. I went with my two remaining sisters, my sister-in-law and a brother-in-law who is more into Plain Chant than this sort of thing. I took a box of Baci Perugina with me to fit the mood – in a Godiva box as it was much neater to carry.

Of course there was all that lovely spaghetti music: Santa Lucia, a Neapolitan Tarantelli medley, Volare but also Vivo Per Lei, Bocelli’s optimistic ballad, Sinatra’s My Way and Bocelli and Brightman’s Time to Say Goodbye which I have on CD sung by Sarah Brightman. These were my favourite, though there were many more. Ludwig was excellent and got us to sing and clap. I believe my brother-in-law was snoozing away, and constantly had to be nudged by his wife. Sterling was one of the sponsors and Alfred Fenech, the King of Valletta, as Ludwig calls him, was there enjoying it all.

I found it touching that both in the programme and at the end of the concert the media was thanked. We give a great deal of support and it is only curteous to thank us for the space. Mark Spiteri Lucas who is responsible for the PR is very good at saying ‘thank you’, so we shall continue to support him with pleasure.

My good friend and the friend of many a successful Maltese scientist, Prof. Peter Lewis was here for a few days ‘for a rest’ though I don’t quite know a rest from what, since I get the impression he now leads a very leisurely life at Ewell West, attending concerts and enjoying eating at various restaurants.

Violinist Antoine Frendo, his former pupil at the University and myself, have been urging him to make a comeback and give a concert here at St James. Discussions are under way and we are still at the persuading stage.

I took him along to Cleland & Souchet at Portomaso where Joanne Fenech Portelli was exhibiting her paintings. The place looked most elegant with its new Christofle display cabinets and large black and white photos as well as Joanne’s many nudes. The genial Mirvat who is an expert on Lebanese cooking, is now back and has moved upstairs with all that delicious food and drink.

I have fallen out of love with the Hilton carpark years ago and hate having to descend into its nether regions because most places are no go areas for residents, staff and goodness knows whom. Still, at least this time round I found my car without having to ask for help, either from St Anthony or anyone else.

These people who keep large sums of money in their homes and are burgled, time and again had better think again. If they do not place it in a bank before the Euro comes in they are going to be in trouble. I really have no yet understood why they keep such large sums under their mattress or maybe in their freezer, though reason there must be.