For the last few years, we’ve spent New Year’s Eve abroad, because somehow in Malta we never used to find quite what we were looking for in terms of the right atmosphere, and we would end up feeling vaguely disappointed.

This year we stayed here, and on hearing about the Floriana street party, we crossed our fingers and decided we would give it a try.

All I can say is, hats off to Nigel Holland, the town’s determined mayor. Despite a number of obstacles thrown his way (lack of all-night public transport, not enough police available), he managed to recreate that magical ingredient of people coming together to celebrate, which is what we always enjoy in other parts of Europe.

Although I realise that the bus drivers and police officers were standing their ground because there seemed to be a lack of agreement over who would pay them, I think it’s a shame that such an event almost didn’t happen. In fact, there was so little advertising (presumably because of the disputes) that many people didn’t even know about it. Whenever I mentioned it, I got blank stares, and people were asking me “but who told you that there is going to be a street party?” At one point I started to feel strangely off kilter – was I the only one who had heard about this mysterious event? Would we end up in the middle of St Anne’s Street at the stroke of midnight, foolishly alone, looking in vain for a party that never was? I had an image of us ushering in 2010 with an almighty argument – “you should have checked”, “no, YOU should have checked!”

The street party was starting to remind me of those underground rave parties in the 1980s, which used to be held at secret locations you only heard about through word of mouth.

Then last week, news broke about the quibbling, and although people now knew about it, the general verdict was, “it’s not going to happen”. However, everyone underestimated Mr Holland, who persevered and, through sheer bloody mindedness, made it happen. He used wardens instead of police, and as for transport, well many people did what we did. We left our car at Floriana in the afternoon, and took the bus to get there in the evening.

As Nigel Holland rightly argued, any local council is entitled to hold a national event, and closing off St Anne’s Street was not going to create chaos because there are two other arterial roads to get into and out of Valletta.

The organisers were hoping for 10,000 people and although I cannot say if this number was reached, the turnout was impressive. Remarkably, by the next morning, St Anne’s Street had been cleared of the litter. What was even more significant was that it wasn’t just families and couples our age that flocked to the event. There were many young people who got into the spirit of things by showing up in glittery hats and feather boas. Some girls were dressed up to the nines in party dresses while the men wore their smart suits and each group created their own little “mini party” laughing, singing and toasting the New Year in.

The minute we joined the throng we knew we had chosen well, because the air crackled with excitement. Just as you know when you walk into a room that the night is going to be a dud, this time, as the song goes, tonight was going to be a good night.

A large part of the success of the evening was definitely due to the entertainment provided. Everyone knew the words to the familiar songs by Miriam Christine, Charlene and Natasha Grima and the Spiteri Lucas band, so there we all were, singing along to tunes like Volare and Xemx wisq sabiha, with arms around each other and silly grins on our faces. The comic songs by Joe Demicoli and Augusto Cardinale also struck the right note.

I think the street party also succeeded because there was so much positive energy. Looking at the smiling faces, the relaxed attitude, the children giddy with happiness at being allowed up so late and complete strangers dancing with each other in the street, I realised that this is Malta as we all want it to be. For one night, we were all united in enjoying ourselves and the divisions that often threaten to disrupt this country were nowhere to be seen.

This is what people really want, I thought suddenly. We want to be one nation. Most of us don’t really care any more about the never-ending political power struggle, the trading of insults and the wearying tit-for-tat about what happened in the 80s v what happened in the 60s. It occurred to me that while ‘the people’ have moved on, the politicians have been left behind to quarrel among themselves, like spoiled brats who refuse to join in the merriment while everyone else is having fun.

A similar awareness had come over me as I was answering phones for l-Istrina, which was such a resounding success. President George Abela believed we could do it, and the Maltese people responded, swept away by his optimism, by gladly and generously donating to charity without expecting anything in return.

In fact, it is President Abela who has read the mood of the country best and, refreshingly enough, he leads by example. Speaking during a TV breakfast show, Ray Attard, one of the presenters of L-Istrina, said that on that day, the President was personally handing out sandwiches to all the volunteers.

After hearing so many platitudes from every quarter, it is actions such as this, which speak so much louder than words.

Capital what?

In complete contrast to Floriana, Valletta on New Year’s Eve was inexplicably dead, except for a few restaurants and outdoor cafes, which were packed. Some had clearly been pre-booked for the occasion with a set menu, while the others could not cope with the demand of people looking for somewhere to eat.

There were very few places you could just drop into for a drink and a light snack. In any other capital city this would be unthinkable on such a night, when so many thousands were in the area. We wandered around for an hour (like a lot of other people) and then resigned ourselves to buying something from one of the kiosks in Floriana.

I don’t know whether this was a deliberate decision by the business community in the city, but it did not make sense to me. Had they opened, they would have definitely done well, as the spillover from Floriana was considerable and it would have added immeasurably to the atmosphere. Or is Valletta only allowed to come alive during Notte Bianca (and next week’s Citta Magica)? And what is it with these Italian names anyway…did Berlusconi invade us when I wasn’t looking?

Hopefully, next year Nigel Holland will have more support and Valletta mayor Alexei Dingli will ensure that even our capital celebrates New Year’s Eve in style.

The girl is mine

“I’ve won her. That’s my girl.”

These were the words a distraught Maltese mother is reported to have uttered, after the child’s Scottish father kidnapped her while mother and daughter were on a visit to Scotland. While the mother may be technically correct, because she was granted custody of the child in what was apparently a bitter separation, the choice of words made me wince.

Won her? Was she the grand prize at some village fair, like a stuffed teddy bear or something? As for the use of the word “my” in this context, it makes me grind my teeth – once you have children together, the child “belongs” to both parents, so this sense of selfish proprietorship some mothers often use should really stop. Fathers are not just the sperm donors, you know.

Having said that, I wish people would stop talking about children as if they were belongings or possessions. This isn’t like the division of property (I’ll take the sofa, and you can keep the wardrobe). This is a small, vulnerable human being we are talking about, who is torn in two because of a sense of divided loyalty. In this case, the father is also being self-centred because you cannot just snatch a child away from her mother like that. The poignancy of it all was driven home by the child’s words to her mother, “Daddy said you left us”.

How cruel.

Is it any wonder that so many children of separated parents are cynical about marriage?

Should we be surprised that, sometimes, these children who have watched their parents tear each other to pieces, grow up to be emotionally unstable adults who have difficulty forming relationships?

My wish for 2010 is for any parents fighting over child custody to take a deep breath and really think about what they are doing to their children. Ultimately, the children are the ones who are scarred the most by all the vicious fighting. And while the bickering parents might feel triumphant every time they score a small ‘victory’ over their estranged spouse, perhaps they should just pause a bit and look into the eyes of their children and they will see the hurt they are inflicting.

So next time you are about to let rip in front of your children about how terrible their mother/father is, do the decent thing and bite your tongue. It might be galling for you at first, but if, as so many parents claim, their children are “everything” to them, it should not be that hard.

Happy New Year.

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