I'll bet if you ask 100 Maltese people which season they prefer, 75 would reply winter.

This fact was underlined the other day when I posed the question to an old friend, who replied as above. He then went on to seriously question my sanity for saying that I actually prefer the summer months. He incredulously enquired: "So you like to sweat?" Not particularly, I replied, but I do like blue skies and sunshine... even quite hot sunshine.

I used to think that a strong preference for the cooler, wetter winter months was the almost exclusive preserve of the elderly, not any more. My 17-year-old niece expressed herself thus: "Thank goodness the bloody summer heat is behind us for another year but God knows what will happen when global warming really kicks in." Ah those two magic words "global warming". And no, I'm not saying it isn't happening. The experts insist that it most certainly is. Now it may just be me but... I really don't find recent summers any hotter or more oppressive than they have always been.

And I don't just prefer summer for the swimming. As a young man I swam in the sea almost daily during the months June to October, but I haven't taken a dip in the sea for more than 20 years. This, plus the fact that I hardly ever visit beaches, especially at weekends, may to some people make my huge preference for summer heat seem all the more implausible. And it's not just the overcrowding, think Comino, or the ignorant peasants who insist on blasting all within a square kilometre with heavy-metal music (if you can call it music) from a strategically sited ghetto-blaster. I just prefer warmer weather... full stop.

Some time back I wrote something of a rant about the disastrous new seating arrangements at our national theatre... Teatru Manoel. Since then, I have had people coming up to me in the street saying they couldn't agree more and what do we have to do to get them to revert to the old, workable, seating arrangements. I have no idea; how does one convince a parastatal quango to rectify a cock-up? For a start, they would deny it was a cock-up; then once they realised the stupidity of that, they would claim it wasn't their cock-up, but the fault of a previous quango. Back to square one.

I am told that the whole mess is actually the work of one individual who thought he knew best. I was even told his name, but it means absolutely nothing to me. All I do know is that this person obviously knows bugger-all about theatre and this one in particular. However, there is a silver lining: since abandoning Teatru Manoel I have attended a few productions at theatres where the comfort of their patrons is not something to be ignored. Masquerade's Blue Box is one such example. It has comfortable seating with a decent amount of leg room, plus excellent sight lines, nobody should ever complain of a poor seat at that theatre.

You can also say the same for the little theatre at Spazju Kreattiv or St James theatre in Castille Square. A very comfortable place to watch a play. So, we are not actually missing attending Teatru Manoel. And, until they get their act together and restore the central aisle, they won't be seeing us... or quite a few other former habitual attendees, from what I hear. It's their loss...