It happened like this. Way back in 1934, a couple of pranksters up in the Scottish highlands devised a ingenious hoax that would radically alter their country’s tourism fortunes forever.

Marmaduke Wetherall – a gentleman who evidently had far too much time on his hands – decided it would be most amusing to attach a model sea-serpent head to a toy submarine, and then set it afloat on Loch Ness.

The “monster” was subsequently photographed by Dr Robert Wilson, and the resulting picture – arguably the most famous Nessie photo of all time – created a sensation when it first appeared in The Daily Mail later that same year.

Almost exactly 60 years later, one of Wetherall’s accomplices, a certain Christian Spurling, admitted to the hoax; but by that time the damage had already been done. Loch Ness is now a net contributor to Scotland’s thriving tourism industry, attracting tens of thousands of hopeful monster hunters each year, and generating approximately $40 million in annual revenue. Och, aye.

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OK, I admit that the above story doesn’t really have much to do with anything, other than to illustrate how tourism can sometimes be created out of nothing at all. But there is more. Apart from Nessie, Braveheart, single malt whisky and men who wear skirts but no underwear, Scotland is also famous for something else: Golf.

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And golf, it seems, is the only thing that our tourism pundits are capable of seeing when they look to Scotland to try and learn from that tourism success story.

Golf, we were recently told by “industry sources”, would bring an extra 30,000 tourists a year. To which I cannot help but reply: excuse me, Mr Industry Sources, but while you were busy putting on the green at St Andrews, is it possible that none of you noticed a simpler, more cost effective and altogether less environmentally catastrophic gimmick with which to conjure up an instant tourism boom?

To hell with golf. The answer to all our tourism woes is much more simple than that, in fact it’s staring us right in the face. Monsters! And guess what? We don’t even have to contrive a fake photo, either. Why not? Because we already have monsters of our own... and unlike Wetherall’s Nessie snapshot, our monsters are real.

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So here it is at last: the long awaited Part Two of The Raphael Vassallo Guide To Instantly Solving All Our Tourism Problems, brought to you in conjunction with the Department of Cryptozoology at MCAST (Malta College of Audacious Scientific Tomfoolery), with a foreword by Prof. Juanito Camilleri.

Step one: instead of spending half a million on a media campaign aimed at insulting the entire population of Malta (you may have seen the billboards already: a man in a white T-shirt inviting motorists to take a closer look at his groin while saying “Brand This!”), I suggest we spread rumours about the following quasi-mythical beasts... all of which, if marketed properly, would make fantastic tourism attractions in their own right:

1: The Abominable Taxi Driver

Despite a wealth of evidence to the contrary, many sceptics doubt that this primitive ape-like hominid, long rumoured to lurk in the depths of Paceville, really exists.

The reason is that the elusive creature is never, ever anywhere to be seen when you actually need a taxi. However, at moments when no taxis are required, you can rest assured that a specimen will appear suddenly out of nowhere, and paw at its hapless victim in the dark.

This was the fate that befell Steffi von Shtruppenspiel, a young German language student who reported sighting the monster one night in July:

“I was walking past the traffic lights near the building site in St Julians, when suddenly I heard strange grunting noises coming from behind a bush. It sounded suspiciously like “Psst – taxi? You want I take you for a ride and show you my gearstick?” So I looked and saw a strange creature, very much like a man, but shorter, hairier, and with what looked like a bright gold medallion-like appendage on its chest. When I reported it to the police, they assured me that it must have been a figment of my imagination, as operators of affordable public transport have been officially extinct on the island since the French were kicked out in 1800. But I know what I saw, and unfortunately, it was real...”

2. The Polidano Polyp

Believed to have been genetically engineered by Eddie Fenech Adami in the late Jurassic period of Maltese politics, this over-inflated construction kraken is rumoured to have tentacles in literally every pie you care to name.

Photographic evidence is uncommon, as the beast is notoriously camera shy (except when one of its many projects is officially inaugurated by its humble servant, the Prime Minister, in which case rare photographs sometimes make it into the press.) However, evidence of the creature’s activities are everywhere to be seen. These include a visible wake of cranes, trucks and bulldozers at every major construction site on the island, as well as a string of retro-active MEPA building permits, which always seem to mysteriously appear some months after the unauthorised building in question is complete.

Although traditionally a land animal, recent reports suggest that the Polidano Polyp has now adapted itself to a new habitat: namely, the bottom of the sea to the southwest of the Malta Freeport. Eyewitnesses claim to have seen a great disturbance in the water, as large quantities of construction debris were unceremoniously spewed out by the creature (instead of being dumped legally in quarries, for which service it has already been handsomely paid.)

Strangely enough, however, while this phenomenon was clearly visible to the naked eye from a distance of several miles, none of the authorities concerned – from the Malta Maritime Authority to the management of the Freeport itself – seemed to notice it until the matter was pointed out to them by the usual enraged environmentalists. Even then, they continue to maintain that the Polidano Polyp is non-existent, as is their own responsibility for this monstrous offence.

3. Mater Dei Hospital

Arguably the largest Great White Elephant in cryptozoological history, this gargantuan abomination is rumoured to have grown out of all realistic proportion after gorging itself on a strict diet of Skanska contracts and numerous orders for mismatching medical equipment.

Although reports of its due completion date are often conflicting, and the character and credibility of the people presenting them sometimes suspect, the monster itself is often sighted in the vicinity of Tal-Qroqq. However, experts in the field of medical architecture have dismissed the evidence, arguing that, from eyewitnesses’ detailed descriptions, the creature in question couldn’t possibly be a hospital, because the windows are too small.

Wanted: one nutcase, no previous experience necessary

It seems that, despite my heartfelt appeal to give the poor guy a break, the demands for Francis’ head on a plate have continued unabated.

In fact, Francis has added his own voice to the chorus, writing an article in last Friday’s The Times which, had it been a Hollywood movie, would probably be entitled Death Wish I, II and III: The Omnibus Series

But who can possibly replace the irreplaceable Francis? Here are my humble suggestions:

Pluto

After his demotion as one of the nine planets orbiting our sun, Walt Disney’s top dog is currently out of a job. Meanwhile, tourism has already gone to the dogs, and we have long come round to accepting our status as Mickey Mouse country. So why not take the whole charade one step further?

But what about Pluto’s credentials, I hear you ask? Yes, indeed. Strange, though, that nobody ever asks for credentials when it comes to all our human Cabinet members. What, for instance, is Louis Galea’s previous experience in education... other than the fact that he, too, once went to school? And how about Lawrence Gonzi? We all readily accepted him as Prime (and Finance) Minister because... of his vast experience as president of the Azzjoni Kattolika? Of his career as Mizzi Group of Companies empoyee? Or was it because Eddie once said: “This is my chosen successor, in whom I am well pleased?”

But then, propose a cartoon dog as tourism minister, and everyone starts howling for a curriculum vitae (which, for the Brand Malta ignoramuses out there, is Latin for “dog’s life.”) Well, Pluto has as much experience in tourism as Gonzi has in finance, Galea has in education, Pullicino has in environmental protection, and I have in advanced aeronautics engineering.

With one significant difference: of all Walt’s lovable creations (e.g., Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Tonio Borg, etc), Pluto was the only one who never said a word. That’s right, folks: all action, no talk. Just what the tourism doctor ordered...

Tom Cruise

There are a number of reasons why Hollywood superstar-cum-Scientology nutcase Tom Cruise would make a fantastic minister for tourism.

The first and most obvious is that, as a certain Romwald Lungaro Mifsud once told us, it’s a “Mission Impossible” kind of job. Furthermore, Mr Cruise has just been dropped by Paramount Pictures for his “questionable behaviour”, a fact which immediately means two things: One, he’s available, and two, he’s a couple of cocktails short of a gala dinner. Which is great news, because let’s face it, you’d have to be completely mad to even consider accepting the position in the first place.

Oh, and one other thing: with Cruise as tourism minister, we wouldn’t even have to rename the new terminal at Pinto Wharf. How’s that for convenience?

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad

Question: What do the Iranian President and Malta’s tourism minister have in common? Answer: Most ordinary, level-headed people want them out of their job as soon as possible.

Therefore, I propose a straight swap: we get Ahma-whatever to replace Francis as tourism minister, while Iran gets Francis to replace Ahma-whatever as President. This way, not only would any threat to Israel’s continued existence be automatically ruled out forever (Francis? Destroy a country? Never!), but we would also finally get some long overdue action in the hospitality and leisure sector.

And what form will this action take? Simple: we’ll build our own nuclear weapons capability, and wipe all competing tourism destinations clean off the Mediterranean map.

And finally, Lara Croft

Let’s face it, with Lara as tourism minister even I might start attending all those boring tourism press conferences for a change. And who knows? I might actually learn something useful...