I think I am suffering from chocolitis or it is perhaps chocolateitis. I can actually look at a chocolate in the face without wanting to jam it down my throat in a split second. Of course this chocolate malaise will soon end and I will be opening the remaining boxes and devouring each one in good time… and soon after that I shall lament the fact that I had not ‘staggered’ my Christmas presents and made them last until around Lent. My way is certainly not the right way: rupturing each silver paper cover deftly and popping the chocolate, without thinking, into my mouth, often totally unaware that I have done so. I should be helping myself politely to one or two chocolates in the evening when, after supper I get this urge for something delicious. All these conflicting emotions are hard to bear. One moment I make a resolution to stop eating all these lovely things which are bound to block my arteries and the next I don’t want the indulging to stop – ever.

Conflict is part of the human condition and I also have an eccentric relationship with boxes, notebooks and writing paper. Paperchase, that paper nirvana in London, has been a haunt of mine since the ’70 when I first discovered it in Tottenham Court Road. This branch has now expanded into three floors of glorious cards, writing paper, boxes and wrapping paper with matching bags and a million other sometimes quite useless but amusing objects. Since I first stepped into it all those years ago it has acquired a Caffé Nero on the first floor, in addition to its own café on the top floor. I can spend a couple of hours in Paperchase just browsing around, restraining myself and, in between, sitting on the leather sofas of Caffé Nero sipping a cappuccino. I like to be let lose there for a couple of hours alone as even if I go with someone who also gets the fuzzies in this sort of environment, I feel guilty lingering for too long at the birthday card stand or taking ages to decide over some purchase or another. I have to constantly stop myself from buying boxes whose cost is going to be a lot more than the actual present. Of course this marrying of present to expensive wrapping rarely happens for when I return home to spread my purchases on the bed and admire them, I get this collectors’ feeling of not wanting to part with anything. I want to keep the boxes and wrapping paper and gift bags for myself… and the same goes for the beautiful writing paper and cards. I don’t want to part with any of them. They are too beautiful to be enjoyed for just a few hours and then be thrown into a monotonous grey recycling bag once the present is opened.

My daughters have long known about this fetish for paper items and from time to time give me a box of lovely cards, a notebook or luxury notepaper as a present urging me to use them… only to discover, years later, that they are still in the drawers of the Chinese desk, untouched. I simply like admiring them now and again, as if they are some work of art. I love them as much as I dislike back-to-front baseball caps – and those who wear them. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to use them gradually for to whom shall I bequeath them if I ever get round to making a will? My daughters haven’t put ink to paper since their thank you notes for wedding presents were sent out. They are tethered to an umbilical cord of techno-communication. Notepaper seems to them a vestige of Victoriana. But if even Dr Gonzi messaged his ex-ministers to tell them that they were no longer wanted in the cabinet instead of sending them a formal letter, possibly hand delivered, and got away with that kind of behaviour, how can I expect my daughters to write notes and letters, no matter how fabulous the paper?

There has been much eating out and launches and lunches but I shall only write briefly about the latest two events that I had the pleasure to attend. By the way, is there anyone who has not made a resolution to lose weight or eat healthier? Didn’t think so. I did too, of course, and this time I am serious… less wine, less chocolate… more walking. But before following up this resolution I was constrained to eat more than usual, simply because I had had more invitations which included food.

One pleasant event was a tasting lunch at the Paranga, which has its feet in the waters of St George’s Bay. This was more than a still or sparkling affair. (When did fizzy water suddenly become sparkling and therefore more expensive?) I enjoyed what was provided, knowing full well that a tough resolution was soon to be made. The very thought of giving up a substantial amount of food for the sake of good health if for nothing else, gave me palpitations.

At the Paranga I was sitting opposite the General Manager of the InterConti Malta, Giuseppe Vincelli. I had spoken all too briefly to the Food & Beverage Manager, a Franco-Italian by the name of Angelo Zuccala, both new names. The occasion was the launching of the main Paranga menu which is being offered this Winter. To go through my favourites in detail would involve an inordinate display of gluttony, but do remember it was a tasting menu so portions were small. We tried seven delicious dishes and a look at the menu induced an instant good mood. But I am not going to make your mouth water by giving you the full title of each dish. Signor Vincelli was charming, as Italians, if they are not in a traffic jam, or have fallen out of love, often are. I wish I had taken one of my numerous notebooks with me as he was full of information and precious tips of how to cook this and prepare that. He learnt it all from his mamma but did not look like a mummy’s boy to me. He is simply a food lover who I suspect would only purchase a bottle of olive oil if it was not extra virgin, with a silver stopper, a silk sash and four medals.

My absolute favourites were the Timballo di zucchini con crema di pomodoro e mozzarella filante; the Zuppetta di gamberi profumate alla menta con crustini dorati and the Zuppa di fagioli borlotti con cozze, the latter comforting and nutritious, for the aching throat or diminished appetite – perhaps even as a ‘flu deterent. None of the seven dishes are too fattening for the ‘body conscious’ who can keep their virtue intact by not indulging in the exquisite Torta di mela servuta calda accompaniata con gelato alla vaniglia, which was our dessert. Thank goodness I had not yet made my New Year resolutions until after the Paranga lunch so could enjoy it all with a clear conscience. Paranga is open for lunch and dinner on Saturdays and Sundays for dinner only from Monday to Friday.

I also attended the Awards Gala dinner held at the Grandmaster’s Suite, Hilton Malta. This was a grand affair as it always is and I was cross with myself for not wearing a full length evening dress as the invitation specifically specified Black Tie. But I only discovered this on my way there. I never have the time – or patience – to look at invitations properly. At least I turned up on the right day and correct place.

Nobody is against a little vulgar display on particular occasions but we were spared any vulgarity on this special evening which was beautifully organized by Lisa Grech and her small team. Let me grab this opportunity to tell you what I don’t like when it comes to events. Any sculpture made of ice, butter and even chocolate cannot ever hope to redeem themselves in my eyes, no matter where they are displayed. What a waste of talent and resources. Chefs should spend their time refining their dishes instead. Perhaps these displays are not as bad as the edible sculptures in the Middle Ages. I read somewhere that a favourite wedding subject was a grossly pregnant woman in the act of childbirth, modelled in marzipan. Hard to beat for vulgarity. A more tasteful display had taken place at a banquet in Lille in 1433 when 28 musicians, each with a different instrument, emerged from a giant pie merrily playing. We were spared anything like this at the Grandmaster’s Suite. We had DJ Francalanza who entertained guests throughout the evening. I am not at all acquainted with DJs but I have to say that at the mention of a DJ anywhere I know that the music is not going to be my kind of music and bound to be louder than it should… and this is my only gripe in an otherwise most pleasant evening. I would have preferred a pianist myself but DJs seem to be all the rage and I tend to dislike anything that is all the rage. I will go on making a plea for less noise including noisy music in restaurants and dining events.

It is unnecessary to say that on such an evening the food came as near to perfection as possible. The menu was written in plain English: none of this symphonie de something caressed with this and nestling in that. The pressed lobster and fois gras terrine with its delicate trimmings was my favourite dish. This was followed by roasted saddle of rabbit with jus and so on which was a change from the traditional way of cooking rabbit here – which I also love. I was thinking, while taking a bite at the saddle of rabbit that rabbits can be delicious as well as cute. These two dishes and a dessert would have sufficed but this was a gala dinner and so the main dish – a pan roasted fillet of beef set on an artichoke pumpkin bean cassoulet and other bits and pieces, followed… tender and rare and beautifully presented. But I am not a beef eater anymore so enjoyed a few mouthfuls with the thyme fondant potato and veal jus and, much against my will, left the rest of the beef. Dessert at this point was an indulgence too may but was I going to miss the double chocolate tart with an apple and lemon grass mousse, prune and Armagnac ice-cream? How could I, I ate it one spoonful after another and it was utterly delicious. Joe Vella and his team make imaginative use of quality ingredients. This meal was a blissful treat. I did not have to wade through the four courses but easily glide through them accompanied by pleasant conversation. Italo Rota and Philip Manduca gave an added buzz to the evening since as far as I am concerned there was no buzz whatsoever to be had from the music – no Chopin, no Lecuona, not one single romantic song and of course no Piaf or Brel. But everything else more than made up for it.

Lisa was hoping that everyone would be out on the dance floor boogeying but it was a long evening and people wanted to get back to their quilts. Marsovin provided some excellent wines including their Cassar de Malte. The speeches were short and to the point and Lisa Grech in silver, yummy mummy to Oliver, looked as glam as ever. The British High Commissioner Louise Stanton wore shimmering gold and a large smile and was, as always, in a happy mood.

After this came Suzy’s delicious Christmas lunch. Are you surprised I simply had to make a resolution which included eating less.

Without making my thoughts known to anyone I secretly drank a cup to Franco Debono on Christmas day. I find the way he conducted himself showed courage and respect for those who voted for him. He has backbone something which cannot be said for so many who represent us in Parliament.