Well, I made it out of Malta alive. But man...that place is spooky. I think the lady at the Tourist Information Office put a curse on me and all I did was ask the way to the post office.
Should you visit, stay out of the churches unless you have strong nerves. I've never seen so many works of devotional art with such convincing renderings of blood and gore. The typical Maltese altarpiece looks like a still from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. A full day of this makes one jumpy.
Oh, and I have to mention that after I sent the last message from the Internet Cafe-cum-Opium Den, to pay my fee I first had to wake up the proprietress, who had fallen asleep on a sofa in the corner with a lit cigarette between her fingers and one shoe falling off.
I used half a bottle of hand sanitizer after touching that keyboard.
Anyhow, now that I'm calmer I feel compelled to clarify that I don't actually mind what my guest writers wrote. Well, I mind a little. I mind that they were often funnier than I am. Also, I mind that they felt compelled to mention the almond-shaped space between my toes, when they know I'm quite sensitive about that.
But now, really...how could you be a regular reader of this blog and think that I'm a big fan of Queen? Cookies, if you've been around this joint longer than a month you know I'm the kind of pretentious git who thinks Die Fledermaus is pop music.
Anyway, we're halfway through this little scoot across the sea and you can see people starting to go a little nuts. The Yanks have stopped trying to be right and proper around the Brits, and the Brits are starting to let their hair down. Tonight a lady from Milton Keynes distinctly said "Shit!" when her evening wrap got caught in the elevator doors.
Last night there was a deck dance, with a live orchestra. It's always an interesting thing to watch folks in their eighties do the jitterbug, but watching them shimmy on a rocking ship near a swimming pool is positively fascinating, especially after cocktails and dinner. It feels sort of nice to be the universal strong shoulder, and I led several worn-out matrons to their cabins (leaving them at the door).
It's time to sleep. I've taken to leaving the door of my balcony open at night so I can drop off to the sound of the water going past. I think I'll miss that more than anything.
But I'm also missing a Certain Person like mad. You get attached to somebody, it feels weird to go two weeks without them. On the other hand...it's nice to have somebody to go home to.
Dolores says hi. Or would, I'm sure, if I could find her. I hope she's not still in Malta.