Valletta – the city built by gentlemen for gentlemen. That might have been so in the 16th century, but anyone who says that the same hold true today is simply talking a load of old codswallop.

I work in Valletta most of the time and Friday was a day to remember. What an awful mess. The first thing that greets you when you park in St James’ Ditch is the sheer disgustingness of dirty water that pours out of the various kiosks that simply allow all their waste waters to dribble down to below the bastions – gorgeous. A Carnival head mask that has been strung up on a tree since March catches your eye, while trying to dodge the dog poo that has accumulated. If you’re lucky, you might even see a few heroin needles – a beautiful sight first thing in the morning.

More is to come of course. You make your way up the beautiful staircase cum toilet that leads you up to City Gate and I had to stare out a very, er... territorial bald rat that would not let me pass. Well, he did in the end anyway, which led me to yet another delight – the overwhelming smell of urine and excrement that has been left there. This staircase is supposedly cleaned regularly and is locked at night, but clearly people still get in to relieve themselves. But added to this actual problem is the fact that there is a pipe in there that has actually been cemented over, but still leaks some kind of effluent that I would not really like to take a guess at.

Forgive my seeming unction – but this has been left in this state for years on end now and no one seems to give two hoots.

Many tourists (and a lot more workers) use these stairs on a daily basis and it is downright degrading and insulting to have to hold your breath as you make a mad dash up the stairs, still trying to block your gag reflex (all the while avoiding touching the filthy banister).

Ah, up to City Gate for some respite... Not at all so. You are then greeted by the even more potent smell of horse pee, so you quickly dash round the side in an effort to get into the fresh air.

You then, in your crisp white shirt and your suit, have to battle through throngs of language students, shoppers and cruise passengers who ooh and aah at everything their tour guides point out. This of course, coupled with the fact that the whole of Malta tries to walk on the shady side of Republic Street.

In the same vein, day after day you have to listen to the same bloody street music that drones out of pan flutes, or the latest craze – mediaeval street performers – the irony being that they are not even Maltese!

And now on to my favourite part for an ear bashing – the Law Courts area. A month or so ago, I had penned an article about the removal of the commemoration plaque near the old phone box near the courts to the opposite side of the road. It was left in a mess as a bust of Pope Pius was supposed to replace it. I was assured by the mayor that work would resume very quickly to make sure everything blended in. My foot. It’s still in the same state it was before, except that the base for the bust is in place – but with no bust. The badly laid tiles on the Law Courts side are still as it was – it’s a shambles. I cast my eye over to the al fresco cafeterias whose tables are adorned with pigeon crap, while people enjoy their drinks and cappuccinos. This all goes on in the attractive setting of modern trinket hawkers selling their wares in front of the Great Siege Monument, also covered in pigeon crap...

The Law Courts

Now the fun begins, I can take the daggers out. Security at the Law Courts has been beefed up, and not before time. Ever since a judge was irked (very rightly so) when he was assaulted by an aggrieved citizen with a bag of horse crap, we now have bag scanners, metal detectors, men and women wielding hand-held detectors that look like cricket bats. All well and good. However, when a female colleague of mine entered court with me on Friday she was asked what the can in her bag was (she had already been in and out about three times without hassle at this point – it’s hot, you need to drink plenty of water not to get dehydrated – and since you can’t even buy a drink of water in court, you need to go out to get a drink).

Sorry, tangents, as I was saying – she replied that like most other women do (and some men) she was carrying a deodorant in her bag. She was told that she would have to hand it over as it was a potential danger. She replied that she had a deodorant in her bag for the past months and that she had already been in and out about three times that morning. When she asked what could be dangerous about a deodorant can, wait for it... she was told: “You could put a flame to it and set the whole courtroom on fire, hand it over!” She duly complied, all embarrassed, and had to get it back later. Farcical is the word that springs to mind.

Comino

What a beautiful little rock. The first thing that strikes you is that you see, hear and actually experience wildlife. There is nothing quite like it, it has such an effect of nothingness, that I was walking through when I heard a beautiful tenor voice ringing out Ave Maria – it was a German tourist in his triangle swimming trunks belting it out – I actually quite enjoyed it.

Comino has a magnificent fort that has recently been restored to its former glory. It is illuminated at night and makes for one hell of a sight, especially just sitting there, enjoying a drink while the sun sets. Sadly, very, very sadly, although much money has been spent on the place – there are fresh graffiti marks where people have carved their names into the stone. One understands that it is hard to keep an eye on such a place, especially with the various boat parties that cause noise and light pollution, but something really should be done about it. It’s about the only unspoilt island in our archipelago, we should try and keep it that way.