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Letters to a Sister :23

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I went to Bangkok for a couple of days. Husband was working there, so I decided to tag along.

We arrived Thursday night, COMPLETELY exhausted. It was a bad moment, 10 hours into the flight to Singapore, when I thought, “Ah, two more hours and we’ll be there and I can get to the hotel and sleep…” then realised that we weren’t doing that and we were catching another flight after we landed. Felt awful. I was flying premium economy (on airmiles – which is why I went via Singapore, direct flights get booked up) so the seat wasn’t tiny but it was so noisy. Didn’t sleep at all.

Then the lady next to me fell asleep and I needed the loo but didn’t like to wake her. I figured the arm rests were pretty wide, I could stand on them and climb over her without waking her. I had forgotten that I was near the front of the plane and about 100 people would be watching me. Embarrassing.

Anyway, flight to Bangkok (2 hours) seemed completely insignificant, more like a taxi ride. Going through customs was okay but long.

There was a sign at passport control, telling people that Thailand is a Buddhist country and the things that are disrespectful/illegal (like wearing a tee shirt with a picture of Buddha on it, buying a Buddha head, having a tattoo of Buddha.) I thought it was a good idea – it’s easy to cause offence by mistake.  Decided at that point to not get the tattoo after all, I know you’ll be disappointed but I didn’t want to offend anyone.

Hotel is lovely. Quite plain, but very clean and luxurious. We had a nap for a couple of hours, then went for a walk. It reminds me a lot of Xian, lots of people being busy, quite a dirty place but with an ‘honest’ feel to it – nothing pretentious. By the time we went to dinner, I had got over the long journey and had decided it WAS worth coming.    Dinner was nice, just ate normal food in hotel restaurant – too tired to be adventurous.

Went to bed about 8pm, slept really well for two hours, rest of the night bit of a struggle. (I think we are 7 hours ahead of UK time.)

     Friday morning, husband went to work early (was in the office at 7:30 am. ) I went back to sleep until 8:30. Then I decided to be brave and go to breakfast on my own. I hate doing stuff like that! I was standing in the lobby looking lost when a man asked if he could help. I said I just wanted a pastry and a coffee, not a full breakfast. He told me I could go and get a pastry from the buffet and he would bring me a take-out coffee. I sat in the drawing room – big comfy sofas, lots of dark wood – and ate my pastry. Much nicer than being in scary dining room on my own. I went to give nice man my room number but he said he didn’t really need it for just a pastry and a coffee. What a nice man! I like this hotel – St Regis, Bangkok.

I went for a walk to see some Buddhist stuff. Not quite brave enough to use train or taxi on my own, so just walked. Everyone here speaks Thai, which sounds like Mandarin but is completely different and the writing looks like squiggles. Weather is cloudy/rainy/hot and humid. Walked for hours, brilliantly interesting. Lots of small industry – people carving doors, welding, etc. Everyone very friendly, feels safe here. Found some Chinese people to talk to. Not many foreigners apart from in the tourist attractions.

It rained hard, more rain than I’ve ever seen before, was paddling as I walked, the water went right over my shoes, was glad I was wearing short trousers. I had an umbrella but it did very little to stop the rain, which gushed down the edges and splattered me as I walked. It was warm though, too hot for a coat. I rather liked it. Husband’s map disintegrated so I’ll have to try and find him another one before he finds it. There was a covered walkway, so some of the way was relatively dry.

There are lots of elephant statues everywhere. I went to Golden Mount, which is a man-made hill with a Buddhist temple on top. Had very good views of Bangkok. Also had a coffee shop near the top, it seemed slightly incongruous to see Buddhist monks in their orange robes, drinking in a coffee shop.

      Saturday we got a taxi to a floating market (two hours out of Bangkok.) It was really interesting, so glad it didn’t rain. There were lots of stalls around the edge of the river. If you showed any interest in anything, they put out a hook and towed your boat in! There were also floating stalls and boats selling snacks. Not sure how they managed to deep fry dumplings on a boat, but they did!

It was really crowded, sometimes the boats got jammed and had to be pushed apart. Lots of colour and smells and noise. Everyone is meant to turn off their motor when they enter the market and use paddles but our boatman didn’t, which spoilt it a bit.

Afterwards we were offered the chance to go and ride on an elephant. It was very tempting, I would love to do that. I just had this feeling though that the elephants wouldn’t be kept very well and that possibly it was cruel. I felt I didn’t want to ride on an abused elephant. It would have been upsetting to see, I like elephants, so we declined.

Had lunch at hotel then decided to go to Royal Palace. Arrived just after it shut, tried to blag way inside, failed. Walked around a bit. Lots of big photos of royal family on various buildings. The Thai people are very patriotic, we saw several cars with “Long live the king” as bumper stickers. I also read that it’s a huge insult if foreigners don’t stand up for the national anthem when it’s played in cinemas.

Went to Wat Pho, the oldest and biggest temple in Bangkok. I expect if you had not recently been around several other temples, it would be rather spectacular. I’m afraid it just felt like ‘another museum’ for me. The art was amazing but I am a bit beyond being amazed by temple art now.

Tried to get water boat back to hotel but it was all a bit confusing and we were tired. Got a taxi. They all refused to do it by meter and wanted 300 baht to take us (always good to negotiate fares in Bangkok before a trip, especially the tuk-tuks, which are well known as rip-off men.) Decided that as 300 baht is only £6, we would take one anyway.

Sunday, early trip to airport. Seems like I arrived a week ago. I like Bangkok. The people were all friendly and smiled a lot and I felt very safe walking around on my own. I probably wouldn’t feel so comfortable with young children – you did have to be aware all the time. (I was nearly run over by a motorbike at one point. I was on the path and he came up behind me to avoid the traffic. He smiled and called “sorry, sorry” so I didn’t really mind, but I was glad I wasn’t walking with a child.)

Maybe I will try to come for longer next time….

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Letters to a Sister : 22

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So, I was asked if I would consider helping with the Sunday School. Actually, it’s not called Sunday School, it’s called Boulders, but everyone knows what I mean if I give it the old fashioned title. If it happens, it will be hugely exciting. I did help with the group about a year ago, before I was ill. It was tremendous fun, I (and I think the kids) enjoyed it immensely. This might be my second chance.

When we were children, did you enjoy it? Mum and Dad dutifully sent us every week, but I think for me it was a bit too much like school. I did learn though, much of my Bible knowledge today is based on what I learnt as a child in those classes, despite my main aim being to kick off the shoe of the teacher when she crossed her legs. I remember one teacher who I loved because she let us draw stick-men instead of writing the story. We were simple souls.

Of course, if I am the teacher, I can be as imaginative as I want. Last year I taught about the plagues in Egypt, Moses, Pharaoh, God leading his people to the promised land. I was very keen that it shouldn’t be like school, a ‘sit down and write’ lesson. So I made it as real as I could. I felt it was important to source some of the plagues. Husband (somewhat reluctantly, I must say) helped with this.

First was blood – I did wonder about asking cousin the nurse if she could get me some but thought that maybe there would be health risks with using human blood. So we used food colouring and coloured some water red. It was more pink to be honest. Fear the children may now think all Jewish people were anaemic.

Next was frogs. I tried the local ponds but they were very hard to catch. Father-in-law came up trumps. Apparently his pond had too many and he needed to lose some. Gave me a tupperware box full of bouncing amphibians. I put them in the garage in a very big box covered in netting with a ‘pond’ in an empty ice cream container. Was getting excited now.

Flies were easier than you might think – my window sills had a good supply of dead ones that could be put into an envelope. The joys of living on farm land. I decided the smaller ones could double up as gnats.

Locusts were also easily sorted. The local ‘exotic pets’ shop sold them in boxes as food for the lizards and things. They were alive (apparently lizards and things do not like to eat dead things.) We put them into another big crate in the garage. You would be amazed by how much green stuff a locust can eat. We had about twenty of them. Husband then got rather enthusiastic. He ‘decorated’ the crate to make a nice environment for them. Lots of leaves and branches, areas of soil, etc.

The boils were lipstick spots with ‘tumours’ of lumps of cold porridge. The hail was crushed ice cubes. The dead animals were found in my daughter’s long forgotten farm set in the loft. The darkness was a big blanket everyone could hide under.

Death was harder, we had to just act that. Even I felt that using a corpse might be going too far. And be illegal. And damage the children beyond repair.

Anyway, we had a terrific time. We learned about the story, then made a short film, using mobile phones. It would probably win some Oscars if I released it. I will send you a copy.

Afterwards, the frogs went into my pond (still see them occasionally) and the rest of the stuff went back into cupboards.

The locusts were a problem. They had grown huge (we only had them a week) and husband had bonded with them. Super. Son 1 did suggest we could release them into crops next door but that was clearly wrong. Eventually we found someone with a big lizard thing which ate big locusts, so we gave them to him. Think husband was rather sad but we coped.

Am very much hoping it happens. Husband has banned me from teaching about Noah’s Ark. But I think it has potential.

Take care,
Anne x

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Letters to a Sister : 21

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So, Mum took me for a ‘treat’ this week. We had lunch at Burswood, which is a lovely stately home. It is now used as a healing centre (unexpected.) I was told there would be a quick, half hour service, then we’d have lunch.

I didnt realise it is also a hospital, so we had coffee with people in pyjamas. Feeling somewhat awkward by this point, sipped my coffee and tried to look as if I was visiting a patient.

We went with an old lady who used to work there. Everyone greeted her and asked if she’d seen Daisy yet. She kept telling them that no, she hadn’t yet, but she would pop in before she left. Eventually, in the bookshop she saw Daisy and introduced me. Daisy is a stuffed sheep. It was that kind of day.

The service lasted one hour, fifteen minutes. At the end, everyone – absolutely everyone- went forward to be prayed for by the healers. I stayed in my pew feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Mum appeared to be asking her ‘healer’ for directions to somewhere. There was lots of arm waving.

We then had lunch, which was lovely. We came home ( after we had gone to say goodbye to Daisy).

The last treat mum took me on, we went to a cafe run by disabled people. We were the only customers and we drank coffee in an empty room while a man ( who I assume/hope was a patient) shouted at us.  I have requested that we don’t have anymore treats for a while. I need recovery time.

We took the boys back to uni, I can hardly believe the Summer is over. I will miss them loads. Maybe not the relationship advice though. This was very evident even as we drove Son 2 back.
Husband remarked, “It’ll be just us tomorrow.”
I lovingly replied, “Yes, it will be nice to have some time together.”
Voice from back said, “She’s been practising that sentence all week: YES, it will be nice….. Yes, it WILL be nice……”

When we later had a slight disagreement over the route, there were sounds of son shooting himself on the back seat.

However, most of the trip went to plan. There was bit of delay when we realised that Son 1 had given us the wrong postcode, so we couldn’t find his new house to drop off his stuff. It then transpired that actually, he had given us the wrong road name as well. Easy mistake, apparently. We found each other eventually.

Another slight mishap was sorting bags of bedding. We thought all was finished when Son 2 phoned to say that we had left him with three duvets and no pillows. One was the duvet with no feathers, so perhaps that was not such a problem. More of a problem for Son 1 who was left with four pillows and no duvet. Did a quick shopping trip before we left him.

We then spent the night at Premier Inn before the long drive home. I really like Premier Inn. They are clean and have comfortable beds, the sort of food that you actually feel like eating and you don’t pay for a lot of stuff that you don’t want. Excellent idea by someone.

We got home to a calm house and happy animals – Mum had housesat for us. I have now moved the outside kittens to the garden. They have been free during the night (when there are practically no cars) but I’ve been keeping them secure during the day. Have decided they are probably big enough now to be free all the time. They have grown noticeably thicker coats than Mungo, who we’re keeping inside as a house cat.

We did have one incident when Midge climbed a tree and couldn’t get down. It was really interesting to watch his Mum go up and get him. She kept going to him, then showing him which branches to jump onto to get down. She got very cross when he ignored her and went even higher – she chased up after him and told him off. There seemed to be a lot of biting of legs involved. Perhaps I should have tried that as a parenting technique.

Take care,
Anne x

PS. Mum has been told by the doctor to drink less tea. She has rationed herself to three cups per day. They are the biggest cups I have ever seen, I think she must have gone to a ‘super-size mug’ shop. Not sure that’s quite what the doctor meant. I will let you have that conversation with her. Ax

 

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Letters to a Sister :20

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I finished writing my novel. This is big and very scary. It is actually my second one. The first I wrote years ago but was too scared to do anything with it so I put it in a filing cabinet. I found it again a year ago, read it, decided it was good and tried to get it published. This is when I discovered that trying to get a first book published when you are a normal, non-famous person, is rather hard. It is, I assume, like trying to be an actress or singer. The ability seems to be a minor factor, who you know (nobody in my case) and your ability to ‘sell’ seems much more important.

No publishers in the UK will take manuscripts from new writers, so first you have to find an agent. The initial approach is a covering letter. This involves a lot of sweat, tears, many rewrites while you try to adopt a casually witty style. I clearly never got it right because my first book remains in the filing cabinet. I was something of a literary snob. I felt that if my work was good enough, someone would pay me to publish it, there was no way I would self-publish. I am less of a snob now, I just want my book to be read. If no one likes my covering letter (and it does seem to be this rather than the actual book that is important) then I shall publish it myself. I will let you know how I get on.

On a completely unrelated topic, have you ever cooked with quinoa? I keep seeing it on tele but have never actually tried it. Am thinking of having a try. This fills my family with dread. I do tend to have passions for things in the kitchen. There was the time my mother-in-law gave me a rather nifty garlic press, the sort where you don’t do any peeling or chopping, you just squeeze the bulb through the grill. Immensely satisfying. We had garlic, a lot of it, with everything for a while. That phase did not get too many complaints. The next one did.

I discovered couscous. It was when I was teaching, had three children at different schools, was stressed and exhausted. The thought of a carbohydrate that required no peeling of potatoes or straining of rice was wonderful. There is after all a limit to how many frozen chips you can serve in a week. So I started adding couscous to most meals. The family complained, but they tend to complain a lot, so I ignored them. Looking back, I did perhaps over do it a bit.

The real low point was when it overlapped with my chilli phase. I grew little red chillies from seeds on my kitchen window sill. They were very pretty and I felt rather trendy adding them to dishes. Again, I did perhaps overdo it. Anyway, the meal which has gone down in family history was a chicken casserole, cooked on a day that had gone particularly badly. Teaching had been stressful, collecting the family from their respective schools had been a hassle, I was tired, had reports to write, just wanted dinner to be cooked, eaten and forgotten. It has never been forgotten.

I added too much chilli to the casserole, it was completely inedible. Never mind, I thought, I will add some couscous, that might dilute it a bit. It did not, it was now just burning hot and thick. My next brainwave, one that I really ought to copyright, was to add milk. Please don’t ask me why, but I had this idea that adding milk would neutralise the chilli. I think I was getting in a muddle with adding it to tomato sauce to neutralise the acid (which DOES work.) Anyway, I served the family a sort of hot chilli porridge. They say they can still remember the moment, my angry eyes flashing, them all trying to not say or do anything wrong and being faced with a plate of hot (in the spicy sense) porridge. As I said, a real low point in my culinary experience.

Of course, when I sat down and tried it I realised it was ghastly, impossible to eat and announced we were throwing it all away. Much to the relief of my children. I cannot remember now what we did eat that night but I don’t think any of them will ever forget that dish. I bet Mary Berry has never tried it. Maybe I will write a recipe book next.

Take care,
Anne x

Refugee Crisis

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I admire all those kind people who are offering spare rooms or rental cottages to the refugees. We have all seen the pictures and I doubt anyone is unmoved. How can we ignore those families desperate enough to risk their lives to try and find somewhere safe to live? To see children who have drowned, children who look like my own boys did at that age, is too horrible for words. My heart weeps for them. But, I have a problem.

Whilst all the above is true, completely true, why do we find it so easy to ignore other people in dire need? Why have these immigrants touched us when so many others have not? Why am I moved almost to tears at a photograph of a small boy lying dead in the sea, when I have watched film after film of children in Africa who are wasting away for want of food and clean water? What is the difference?

These are not rhetorical questions, I really would like to know the answer. I am mystified by my reaction and yet I see it multiplied time and again in the media. Is it because these people have actually arrived at our door, are a step away from being in the UK? Is it because the children resemble so closely my own, so I can relate to them more easily than to those who look different? I do not know.

An interesting element in all this is that we were told about these very same refugees months and months ago, when the war first broke out in Syria. I was invited by charities such as Tearfund and Save the Children to send money to help provide food and shelter for these same children. And I did, I dutifully sent off something to help. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t wonder if I could have a couple living in my spare room. What has changed?

Do you think it is the media attention? Am I just being manipulated into feeling things that otherwise would pass me by? I do not think so. I think it is good that their plight has been brought to our attention. It is easy to live in our cocoons of comfort and fail to notice those who need our help.

However, I do think that we need to use our brains here, to react emotionally but also to behave sensibly. Is it better to home refugees in the UK or to provide safe places in their own land? I do not know. I do know that there are several charities who have been working since the crisis began to try and do just that. It is easy to ignore them and to think that we know best, we know what to do.

I don’t have any answers here but I do think we all need to think about these questions. What actually makes a Syrian child touch us when an African one does not? Do we somehow value one over the other? I do hope not.

Letters to a Sister : 19

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Have you seen on facebook that people often include a ‘past event’, “this day five years ago I was….” ? As you know, being an IT dinosaur, I only got fb fairly recently, so I don’t have any such gems to offer. It did make me start thinking though, about where I was a year ago.

A year ago, life was really rather difficult. I was a couple of months post op and everything was hard work. Did I ever tell you the details of my op? (Look away now if you’re squeamish!) They shaved my hair, cut a window into my skull, cut through my brain to the centre and took out the rather annoying cyst (which would have killed me if left alone.) They then patched me up with some titanium and stitches and sent me on my way. Pretty amazing really. Also amazing that I now look normal, have hair again and don’t sit in the corner dribbling (no more than I used to, anyway.)

The thing is, I look normal, but inside I am different. When I saw my first post op MRI, I asked what the black line was that went through my brain. I was told that was the gap, where the knife went. I did a bit of research. Apparently, as I understand it, scar tissue in the brain never heals, it just sits there, blocking the flow of neurons that allow us to think. However, the brain is pretty spectacular. It cannot use the same pathways, so it makes new ones. Gradually it learns to rethink, to redo all the things that it used to do.

When I say gradually, I mean gradually, very very slowly. Enough to pull out your hair (if you have enough left) slowly. The first time I tied shoe laces it was like being three years old again, I just could not make different hands do different things. While I was still in hospital, before they decided whether I was well enough to go home, they took me to a kitchen and asked me to cook a plate of pasta. It is, by far, the hardest thing I have ever cooked. Just filling the pan with enough water, remembering to light the hob, timing the pasta when it was boiling. Oh, the effort, the mental strain. It was exhausting, I slept deeply for an hour afterwards. But I did it, passed the test, was allowed home.

As time went on, everything improved. Now, a year later, most things are (roughly) back to normal. The point is (I do have a point, trust me) unless I used my brain, tried to do things like tying laces, kept going even though it was difficult, the brain would never make those new pathways. I had to attempt it before I could do it, the ability came second. Okay, hold that thought.

Now, quick subject change. I have been reading in the Bible about all the ‘gifts’, the things that Christians are meant to be good at. Things like forgiveness, self-control, patience. I have to admit, I’m pretty rubbish at all of them. Much nicer to have a quick shout at someone when they’re annoying or avoid the people who I think are nasty than do all that christian stuff. Plus, when I do pray, ask God to “help me to forgive Stacey because she’s a nasty piece of work and really I would like to slap her face,” I do not feel especially flooded with forgiveness. I still want to slap her face, so I avoid her.

However, it has been bothering me lately that actually, these behaviours are not optional extras. God does not say that when we are christians, if we feel like it, we should love and forgive the nice people we come across. It’s kinda in the sign-up sheet. If I claim to be a christian I have to be different, a better person than I would be if I weren’t one. So what to do?

Well, I have realised recently, that just like my brain had to start doing things to be able to do them (if you see what I mean) so I have to put these things into practice for them to be real. Sitting on my chair and asking God to ‘help me forgive’ and then waiting for me to feel like I had, just doesn’t work. I never felt like that. No, I had to ask God to help me, then trust that he had and actually start to behave and think like he had. I didn’t know if I could cook pasta until I did it. It was hard and I made some mistakes. Once I started behaving like I could, the skill caught up, now it’s easy. If I ask for the ability to forgive, then I have to start behaving like I have forgiven them, stop thinking about slapping them, start saying things that show I have forgiven them. Then the ability and the feelings, will catch up.

Okay, lecture over. But do you agree? Do you think that might be right?

Take care,
Anne x

Letters to a Sister : 18

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Okay, so I have a problem. A church/christian related problem, but I guess it could apply to work or schools just as well. It’s about Aid Agencies/Charities.

Now, I think you’ll agree, there are a lot. Wherever you go, there seems to be an opportunity, if not almost an obligation, to give to poor people. When there is a disaster, like the earthquake in Nepal, the High Street is full of people with buckets or selling sad looking cakes, all eager to part you from your money and send it to those in need. The motives behind all this bucket waving are undoubtedly good. My problem is, are the agencies that actually receive the money the most efficient?

I started this saying it was a church problem because from what I’ve seen, churches are chock full of well meaning people who want to help alleviate suffering (which is good) and so start a charity. Not so good. Most people do not have the first idea how to best run an aid agency, however well motivated they are. I have laid out my feelings about this very clearly in the article ‘How to Choose an Aid Agency’.

My problem is that when someone, who is very nice, very Godly, very caring, comes to church and gives a plea for money, what should we do? My gut feeling is that I should stand on my seat and shout, “Don’t give him any money! He’s a nice bloke but a large percentage of the money will be wasted.”

I have learned, over the years (with much help from my family) that following my natural instincts is not always right. So I don’t. I sit there, fuming as I hear how his tiny organisation is working in 57 different countries. And I do nothing. I do not stand on my chair. I do not even approach him afterwards and ask him just how, exactly, his little charity ever checks that the money is being spent appropriately – does he live on an aeroplane travelling between countries, looking for fraud or misspent cash? Nope, I do nothing. Because I am not really sure what the appropriate response should be.

You see, these people ARE good people. They see a need and want to help. They probably do help a lot of people. My point is, if the same money went to a bigger, better run agency (like Tearfund or Oxfam, someone part of the DEC) then so many MORE people would be helped. By asking for money, they are diverting that giving from other places. They are, in effect, costing people lives. Yes, they might help 100 people. But if Tearfund could save 150, they have wasted 50 lives. It makes me angry. Too angry to trust myself to tackle it actually.

I know that God sometimes uses the people who are available, rather than those who are the best. However, there ARE good agencies out there. There are people who know how to provide aid in developing countries. To set up a small, inefficient agency is not kind, it is short-sighted. To continue running one, rather than handing it over to a larger agency, becoming part of something better, feels egotistical.

Imagine this: Someone comes to church and during a hymn they fall over, having a heart attack. I feel desperately sorry for them, I want to help, they are in a lot of pain. I also have my ABC first aid card. So I rush forward and offer to help. I don’t really know exactly what to do, but I have some knowledge and I want to help. Plus, I am better than nothing. There is a doctor at the back of the church. The doctor also begins to walk to the front. But my friends say, “Don’t worry, Anne is helping him.” The people know me, they know I am kind, so they want to support what I am doing. They ask the doctor to stand back, so I have room to work. They help to pass me the things I ask for. But at some point, shouldn’t someone say, “Get out of the way Anne, there is a doctor here and they are better at this than you are.”

At what point is it right to criticise a person or a charity that is making mistakes? Yes, they are kind, yes they are Godly, yes, they are honest. But if there are better, more professional options out there, shouldn’t we lovingly tell them to butt out? I honestly don’t know. What do you think?

Take care,
Anne x

The full version of this can be read at: https://anneethompson.com/christian-tearfund-materials-and-poems/a-problem/

The link to my article is:

How to choose an Aid Agency/ Charity

 

Letters to a Sister : 17

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Letter 17

We travelled home from Malta on Tuesday. Malta airport has a grand piano next to the Costa. No one was playing it so I asked Son 2 if he would.
At first he refused so I reminded him that I had sat through HOURS of school concerts when he could only play three out-of-tune notes on a cello and he owed me. Owed me big time. He relented and played a range of popular stuff (like the theme to ‘Game of Thrones’ and ‘Chasing Cars’.) Bored people waiting for flights were all cheered up, some filmed him on their phones and lots of people clapped. Proud mummy moment. They tend to be rare.

On the flight, we sat in front of the boys. They were over the wing, next to the emergency exit. I heard the stewardess check they were over eighteen and were happy to operate the emergency door if necessary. They assured her they were fine. When she had gone I heard them discussing strategy. M told Son 2 that he would be in charge of the door and Son 2 could organise the passengers. They then wondered aloud if maybe they should have a practise before we took off. I knew they were messing about but the woman next to them sounded very nervous when she told them to not touch it, there was no need to practise. I do hope she wasn’t a nervous flyer. She might be now.
Every time there was turbulence I heard them say, “What do you think, should we open it now?”
Poor woman. I hid in my magazine and pretended I didn’t know them. Sometimes I choose to not rescue the world from my family.

It was Nephew’s wedding. Seems like yesterday that I was helping to feed him mush and trying to stop him putting his fingers into electricity sockets.
Daughter came home so she could travel with us. Was somewhat perturbed by the amount of ‘dirty uni stuff’ strewn around ‘her’ room. Am not sure she was comforted by their explanations of how, now she has moved out, it is not HER room anymore and they are thinking of renting it to a lodger.

She did also comment on the conversation topics during dinner. She is right. I am out numbered and have lost control. They informed me that I always told them when growing up that, “I am not like other mothers” and now they can be proud of the fact that they are, “not like other families.” Great.

The wedding was lovely. Lots of family laughing together, the boys and their cousin were ushers and they all looked very handsome. My brother managed to fix my hat with pieces of paper taken from the church pew so that it no longer fell over my eyes when I let go of it. I am not really a ‘hat person’. The reception venue was beautiful, the food was delicious and the speeches were funny (and not too long.) Then there was dancing. The following day, most of the family met up for breakfast….. best to not mention those who were suffering from ‘possible food allergies’ having drunk too much the night before…..

Take care,
Anne
PS. I updated/finished my blog about Malta and Gozo. You can find it under ‘Travel’ if you’re interested.

Gozo, Malta

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Continuation of holiday diary.

Arrived at ferry terminal in good time. They leave every 45 minutes, so only had to wait about 10 minutes but in the hot sun it felt like forever. Was surprised by how big and near Gozo looked – like a peninsula across the bay.
Son 2 gave directions but the other two quite vocal. Conversations like:
Son: Take the next right.
R: This one, this one, turn right now.
Husband: I’m not going up that one, it’s too narrow. Right, which way now?
M:I think that’s wrong anyway.
Son: It’s not wrong, I know where we are exactly. Probably. Okay, if there’s a roundabout take 3rd exit. But there wont be, roundabouts are only on the map, they never exist in real life here.

Also hard to see ‘no entry’ signs as the sun has faded them all.
Gozo has more flat roofed houses and domed churches. Very pretty.
Met villa man in square and went to villa. ‘Panorama’ in Xaghra (pronounced ‘Shara’. My family never managed that.) We booked it through James Villas but it has its own website.
Villa very luxurious. It’s set on the edge of the hill with views across a huge valley towards the citadel at Victoria.

Drove down winding road to nearest big supermarket. A Lidl. Very stressful. No brands I recognised, hard to find everything we needed, very limited choice. M noticed maggots all over eggs. Not good experience.

Walked from villa into centre of Xaghra, about 10 minutes unless you got lost. Several people sitting outside chatting. Square has a few restaurants to choose from.

We ate at Oleander. Very friendly and welcoming. Food nice, especially the baked brie starter served on figs and walnuts. Delicious. Husband and M raved over the tomato, capers, olives and peppers bruschetta. Son 2 agreed it was delicious ( and he doesn’t even like capers, olives or peppers. Isn’t very keen on bruschetta either.) All too full to eat our main courses. Had lemoncello shots then walked home. Didn’t get lost.

Wednesday: Lazy day. Unpacked, did washing. Cooked pancakes and bacon – all takes ages in unfamiliar kitchen. Kitchen is beautiful but rather lacking in equipment. Used salad bowl to make batter. Only coffee maker seems to be a Nespresso machine ( but no capsules) or a cracked cafetiere which I don’t fancy using. Think maybe a dog mauled it at some point.
Pool boy came. He was about 70.
Boys found some toy boats and had races with them in indoor pool. So glad the sophistication of the villa has affected them.
Got cinema room working, watched a Mandarin dvd.
Horrid lunch. Hate Lidl.

Played ‘Game of Thrones’ board game. I still don’t understand the rules. Much testosterone fuelled arguing and making of alliances. Was a very long game. Lucky we weren’t in a beautiful villa with views across a valley full of sunshine. R hibernated somewhere. Wise girl.
Of course, the best thing of all is that long after the game FINALLY ended, it could be discussed at length, each move analysed, much advice given. Shoot me someone.

Strolled into town. Picturesque square/church rather spoiled by extensive building work. Found a small supermarket 5 minutes walk from villa. It sold everything that I had tried to find in Lidl, many with recognised brands. (I hate Lidl.) It opens at 6am, so ideal for buying stuff before breakfast.

Ate at Oleander again. No one really enjoyed their meal. Maybe it’s just too hot to enjoy eating.

Thursday: Lazed, swam, ice creams. The ice creams were like rocks so turned down the freezer to 1.
Pizza for lunch. Tasted mainly of plastic. ( Lidl).

Drove to Xlendi. Parked in car park behind the shops (everywhere we went was much less crowded than resorts in the UK. There are not many spaces in the car parks but there are always some.)

The shops and cafes run along the waterfront. It was very crowded with a shingle beach. There were buoys marking where was safe to swim (easy to get run over by a boat when swimming in Gozo.) We walked along a rock wall to some steps down into the sea. Swam/snorkelled. Mainly saw small shoals of fish. Water really salty ( stung eyes) and very deep – the only way out was up the steps

Drive home was difficult, winding roads and lack of signs. Apparently they were designed to be confusing because the island was raided so many times. They succeeded.

Ate in DVenue, another restaurant in the square. They had a good fresh fish platter. Nice meals.

Walked back to villa and watched Harry Potter (not my choice) in cinema room. This is a long room built under the pool, so is dark and cool. It has black leather sofas that recline and a big screen and sound system. Note to self: never allow husband to install a fancy sound system. He has it loud enough for the whole town to hear. Claims base is set too high.

Friday: Walked to local shop and bought local honey, eggs and milk. Made pancakes. There is also a bread van that comes from the local bakery and drives around the town honking its horn at about 10 every morning. Stops in various places. Nice crusty bread.

After lunch, went for a drive. Drove to Dwejra Bay. Beautiful. Rocks down to deep blue water, Azure Window (a big hole in the rock which was very crowded with people taking photos), several ice cream vans, stalls selling tourist tat from Africa, St Anne’s chapel (more modern than expected.) You could look down onto the Inland Sea. This used to be a huge cave but the roof fell in, so now it’s a giant rock pool surrounded by cafes and full of boats for hire and divers. Took photos.

Drove through St Lawrences. Took photo of church, which was very ornate, lots of red and gold. All the churches here have a basket of material next to the door, so you can cover your shoulders.

Drove back to Xaghra via Ghasri, Zebbug, Xwejni Bay, Marsalforn. You can imagine how my family pronounce these names.

Saw interesting rock formations and salt pans but was told I had exceeded my photograph limit and the car was not stopping.

Getting into Xaghra a challenge due to closed roads but no helpful diversion signs. Also, Gozo DOES have cul de sac/no-through-road signs, because I have seen some. However it obviously did not buy enough because mostly they are unmarked and you just have to turn round when you get to the end.

Got home eventually. Ate several ice creams. Still not losing weight.

Played Game of Thrones with the males. Husband’s turns are like advert breaks in the US – you can write diary, read a book, cook a three course meal and still not miss any play. Boys had coded talks to discuss the rules in secret (like I would’ve cared.) R sunbathed and talked to the boyfriend.

Ate at DVenue again. Finished with complimentary lemoncello shots. Weekends get busier, so we booked a table for Sunday.

Saturday: Quick breakfast, then drove back to Dwejra Bay. Worried about hair being dry so put suncream in it. R asked me why my hair was blue.

Walked down some steep steps from the first car park to a cove where Fungus Rock is ( big rock where they used to collect a plant. Which apparently was not a fungus.) Water wonderfully deep, you could just float around wearing a snorkel, lost in an underwater world. The route into the water was via sharp rocks, so we wore swimming shoes ( bought for about £5 from Amazon before we came and they worked really well.) Saw rocks and seaweed and shoals of fish. Son 2 asked me if I knew my hair was blue.

Bacon and egg lunch at villa.

I stupidly said, ” The rocks look much nearer in the water than they really are.”
Males then discussed/argued about (for hours) the refraction index of water. M used breadsticks to illustrate. Argument somewhat weakened when breadstick went in his eye.

Played G of T. Each move took 27 hours.

Have noticed that no one listens to me. I think they honestly do not hear me, have grown accustomed to just tuning out my voice. Have started to speak with Scottish accent. This makes them all stop and stare at me in surprise ( not sure they actually listen to what I say but at least I now have their attention.)

Watched Pitch Perfect in cinema room. Still not my choice but not as bad as you might think.

Cooked steaks (horrible) and had them with red wine (nice) and salad (okay) in fancy dining room/wine cellar which has been carved out of the rock below the villa. Very atmospheric.

(Hair no longer blue. But suncream made it very wiry, was not a good idea.)

Sunday : Made pancake batter then couldn’t light hob. No gas. Annoying. Husband checked barbecue outside and managed to light it. Took ages to heat up but then worked fine. Was rather lovely to eat breakfast outside, overlooking the valley. Sent text to villa man who changed gas bottle later that morning.

There is a small dog who wanders along the ridge and peers at us. Doesn’t seem to understand French or Mandarin. Everyone has given him a different name.

Had cold shower. I have problems with the taps here. You sort of have to push them up to turn on then wiggle them left to get warm water. Sometimes works, sometimes doesn’t. No one else has this problem so it must be me.

Walked to church. Service was in progress but other people were going in so I slipped into the back. Was incredibly hot in there. Very full church, lots of families. No order of service sheet or hymn books or Bibles. Service all in Maltese, was like listening to Arabic, couldn’t understand anything. After 10 minutes, with sweat trickling down my back, I gave up and slipped out again. I’m glad I went – I don’t know how else to make Sundays different – but there seemed little point in staying long. Pretty church though, painted ceilings.

Husband went to cake shop, Cafe Reale. There is an Italian man who owns it. He gets up early every morning and bakes wonderful cakes. We tried a selection.

From about 11:30 to after 12 each day, there is lots of canon fire/fireworks across the valley. R suggested they are the midday canons and the Maltese are not very good time keepers. Husband suggested that maybe a bird had got lost and strayed across Gozo and we were hearing the hunters. (Hunting is a problem here, there are not many birds left now.)

Played G of T. Each move took 29 hours. Clearly one major difference between the genders is that females can decide future moves DURING someone else’s turn, hence taking much less time when it’s time for their move. Plus they don’t actually care that much.

R had washing machine disaster. Now has lots of clothes that match her yellow sundress. Boys played her lots of songs with the word “yellow” in. I’m sure they were trying to make her feel better.

Dinner at DVenue. Good again.

Saw a blue light on a roof. Told R they have blue stars in Gozo.

Monday : Husband went to buy water and milk. Hard to find full fat milk here. Today bought 2.5% fat. I think the darker the blue of the carton, the higher the fat content. But not necessarily.

Discussed family chores as husband has decided everyone should help (that idea went so well last holiday.) R and M responsible for all dishwasher duties. They immediately formed a trade union and appointed R as spokesperson. Spent some time discussing terms and conditions with husband, who tried to instigate penalty clauses but R told him it contravened European law. So glad he started this. Son 2 (in charge of rubbish disposal) kept offering to strike in support of R and M.

After lunch walked to square. Full of dusty roadworks, so continued round the corner to a little cafe. Had ice creams and coffee. ( I had Malteaser ice cream – clearly from Malta.) Hot walk back to villa.

Went to Victoria as R wanted to buy gifts (yaay shopping, my favourite.) Very windy. Told a storm was coming, 110 lightening strikes in Tunisia, apparently. Shops all rushing to get their displays inside.

We went to Maldonado Bistro. They didn’t open until 7pm but kindly let us go in early and have drinks while we waited.
Son 2 used his clever phone to translate the menu from English into Maltese and Mandarin. Helpful. The menu had 12 different bruschettas. This kept family occupied for 50 minutes (just the choosing bit. You may have not noticed but my family enjoys negotiating/discussing/persuading. Strong opinions. Not my genes.) R tried a kinnie, which is advertised everywhere here. It’s a bitter orange drink. Very bitter.

Bruschettas were huge when they arrived, half a loaf. Very nice. Great atmosphere (down in a wine cellar) and friendly service.

Only problem was toilets which Son 2 informed me were clean but built as stalls and the dividing partition was below his eye level. But he is very tall. Good restaurant, definitely recommend a visit. info@maldonado.com.mt

Drove home. Streets pretty at night. Saw several blue lights on poles. Boys told R it was an alien invasion.

Tuesday: Son 2 complained he had not slept due to M being in charge of air conditioning. He said it was practically snowing in their room and he might have pneumonia.

Drove to Xewkija (pronounced shewkeeya”. But not by my family.) Saw the third biggest dome in Europe ( except one in Malta also claims this. One is higher and one is wider, so there is some dispute. Sounds like my family.) The rotunda is nice, quite simple inside, apart from the massive dome. It was built over a smaller, more ornate church, which they moved to the side by numbering all the stones and moving them individually. It is now a side chapel.

The main church has some good modern art, including two statues made of papier-maché by Alfred Camilleri Cauchi. I like papier-maché, made a rather fine mask when I was at Junior School. Not that it really compares.

Went to small supermarket next to rotunda (husband has developed a peach addiction) started to absolutely pour with rain, ran to car, soaked.

Drove home through Victoria, which is like the moving staircases in Hogwarts in Harry Potter books – whichever way you go in you can never find the correct route out.

Cleaners at villa. Were very thorough, even found two towels husband had hidden in wardrobe in attempt to get extras. J asked them for blankets.
Lunch. Thunder storm.

Males decided they wanted to build sandcastles on Ramla beach. As it was cloudy and cool, R and I decided to walk there. Started to follow road signs, then realised that they directed traffic along major roads so followed map instead. Reached a ridge where we could see beach but it was unclear how to get down to it. By this time the sun had reappeared and it was very hot. Two stray dogs joined us, happy to have some company and walked with us, waiting at every bend for us to catch up. We ignored them but they came anyway, was rather nice. Took an hour to reach beach (nice walk if not sunny.)
Found males in far corner of beach building Venice. Drove home.

Swam. Pool very cold when full of rainwater. Ate ice creams, which are still too hard. Realised the “fast freeze” button had been left on by previous guests.

Wednesday: After breakfast, drove to Victoria. Walked to citadel. Great views, could see all around island. Went into the battery, which led to the silos (huge grain storage areas, like great caves.) Very interesting. The silos are connected by a dark narrow tunnel (from when they were turned into a reservoir) so now you can walk right into them. Son 2 and R sang a chant, harmonising with their echoes. Was magical.

Then saw the rooms used as WW2 shelters. They were under the reservoirs, so if they’d been hit, everyone would’ve drowned. Not such a good idea.

Didn’t pay for the museum. Didn’t pay for the prison, but did put Son2 into the stocks outside. Didn’t see a Christmas tree ornament to buy. But did see some traditional lace. Shop owner said it was the last of her stock as all her suppliers were now in their eighties and younger women wont sell their work because it earns about 50p an hour. Seemed too mean to buy any.

Had lunch back in Xaghra at Cafe Reale. They have the BEST iced coffee. Still not losing weight.

Males decided to return to beach, we stayed here to swim but then the pool man arrived so we couldn’t. Annoying.

Males returned late, very happy, had built a brilliant castle and had been joined by another family (somewhat younger, so they could pretend they were building it for the children.) Also helped by ‘Steve the tiler’ from Australia who had used his building skills to good effect. M had heaved heavy boulders to protect it, Son 2 had applied a more scientific approach and incorporated some thatch to increase structural support. M rather disparaging of the thatch. It was slightly surprising how long three adult males could discuss a sandcastle for. Husband did suggest a post dinner drive to show me and R but unfortunately drank too much Cisk and was over the alcohol limit. Such a shame.

Nice dinner again at DVenue. Every Wednesday evening at 9pm in July and August a drama group performs in the square. It has an excellent sound system but I suspect the performance appeals mostly to their family members.

Afterwards the choirboys played football using the church doorway as a goal. Excellent use of space.

Looked across the valley. All the towns are now full of blue lights on poles. Apparently they represent Mary ( not aliens) and I assume are ready for the 15th, which is Assumption Day. There is a strong Catholic presence in Malta.

Thursday : Husband booked a boat for Friday afternoon, Xlendi Watersports, €80, 4 adults, 2 hours.

Drove to Calypso’s cave. This is where Ulysses was put under a spell by the witch Calypso when returning from the Trojan war (if you enjoy Homer.) It was confusing to find on maps as there’s also a viewpoint and you can’t tell which is on the road. Followed signs. There was a small boutique where an elderly lady (possibly Calypso) was selling clothes, followed signs along a walkway. Brilliant view of Ramla beach and out to sea. No cave. Searched around a bit (while husband checked sandcastle with zoom on camera). Found some disused steps and some scaffolding holding up a rock. I think Calypso’s cave has collapsed. Shame.

Went back to square for more iced coffee with cream at Cafe Reale.

Watched building work and cars narrowly missing each other. I must say, Gozo has a LOT of building work, they seem to be rebuilding the whole island.

Back to villa in time for 12 noonish canons. Gozo also has a lot of canons.

Went to the salt pans at Xwejni Bay. Very interesting. Shallow pools , cut by hand, to collect seawater. When it dries they harvest the salt crystals and sell it (Gozo sea salt.)

Walked around Qolla-L-Bajda. Weird rock erosion and a cave. White clay cliffs eroding fast, beach littered with great chunks of fallen cliff. Cove interesting but a bit smelly.

Evening meal in Marsalforn. Ate in Menqa L’Antika, which had good reviews but either we were unlucky and went on a day when they had staffing problems or they wrote them themselves. Good menu but food didn’t really match descriptions.

Malta

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Extracts from a holiday diary: Malta
August 2015

Some names changed to protect identity. I have no idea why……..

Saturday: Taxi at 5am. Always stressful as everyone has set alarm for 4:30, knowing it will take half an hour to get ready. Lots of tension over bathroom space. Except for Mario. He had decided it wasn’t worth going to bed. Husband gave him a 3am deadline for being packed ( visions of him falling asleep, not packed, at 3:30.) I just love the whole ‘male territory’ thing.

Taxi and flights okay.
Mario announced in taxi he has a note on his phone: ” Reminder to future self. Rae does not need a window seat. In 2010 she had a window seat and she shut the blind and went to sleep.”

We flew with British Airways. R had the window seat.

Landed in Malta. Hired car through Avis, a Mazda 6. A very battered Mazda 6. As we left the airport, understood why it was battered. No one stops at junctions, you just have to try hard to avoid them.

Son 2 map read. Not easy as map had no road names and there were lots of unexpected one-way roads. Also roundabouts were marked on map but did not appear to actually exist. R and M gave regular input, husband ignored most directions. No idea how Son 2 remained calm ( this is why I REFUSE to be the map reader.)

Malta has lots of flat roofed buildings made of pale limestone. Reminded me of being in Palestine ( not that I’ve actually ever been to Palestine.)

Arrived at Meridien Hotel. Nice lobby. Had drinks while they prepared our rooms and looked at views, which are brilliant, across a bay to a church.
Rooms nice. Walked around town and bought water ( water in Malta tastes horrid, though is safe to use for ice, washing salads, cleaning teeth, unless you are particularly sensitive.) Even at 6:30 pm, it was really hot, sweaty within minutes.

Ate in Villa Restaurant, which is part of the hotel. Meals around €30 per head for starter and mains. Very nice. We sat on a veranda overlooking water, tiny lights in trees, beautiful. R told me that next to the sea you don’t get mosquitos so wont be bitten. This is not true.

Sunday: Breakfast. Amazing buffet, had pretty much everything. Need to lose weight before nephews wedding or will need bigger dress – was not a good start.
Family sat and chatted to each other on fb.
Planned day.

Hotel is at St Julian ( which explains why I couldn’t find it on map in Valletta. Another reason why I no longer map read.)
Valletta has a Crusaders fort. Caught bus. Very easy as Valletta is end of the line. Tickets cost €2 each and are valid for two hours (so you can get on and off buses with the same ticket within that time.)

Valletta was interesting, busy and hot. More limestone flat roofed buildings, flags, cafes, gift shops. Malta has lots of Festa – each town has a Saint and one weekend each year they decorate the town, have a parade, let off fireworks and are generally festive.
We looked round the free bits of the fort because the bits you pay for are basically museums and we don’t much like museums. Plus we could see lots just from the free bits. Great views. Loud canons at midday.

Fort built in 1556 by the knights from the Order of St John. Later, in 1798, Napoleon invaded and kicked out the knights. The Order still exist today – in the UK they are St John Ambulance Brigade, though the order itself is based in Rome and answers only to the Pope. ( Good book, ‘Malta and Gozo’ by Juliet Rix explains it all.)

All hot, so decided to go to Mac D’s for lunch. Got enticed into a cafe by man on the door. Had nice lunch in warm air conditioned dining room ( was less hot but not really cool.) Prices in menu differed from prices advertised outside but not by much ( worth always checking though!) Food nice and cheap. Toilets nasty. Service friendly. V rude American lady made a fuss because her margherita pizza had tomato sauce, not fresh tomatoes. When she left, waiter laughed and raised his hands!

Went round the Grand Masters Palace. Cool painted ceilings and suits of armour. Lots of ‘Do Not Touch’ signs. ( If you’re tempted to try on a helmet when no one is looking, don’t bother – they’re glued onto the modals.) Weapons room had lots of weapons ( not unexpectedly, you might think) and was very hot.

Got bus back to St Julian. Friendly lady on bus told me that you can buy a weekly ticket for €21. Actually, everyone on Malta is friendly. Apart from the rude American lady. And some journalists who were waiting outside the Courthouse with tv cameras and who wouldn’t tell me who was inside ( they just said “criminals” when I asked. So I took photo of them instead.)

Son 2 informed me his shoe ( just one) is too big so he was wearing three pairs of socks. Sounded both hot and high impact on the laundry front. Bought him a shoe insole.
Walked to next bay and checked out restaurants. Everyone seemed very young and trendy ( am informed that the use of word “trendy” proves that I am old.) Ate ice creams next to sea.
Swam in hotel pool.

Walked around bay to Eat restaurant ( not part of the UK fast food chain.) V nice starter. R and I had cocktails which looked nice but mine was fairly low alcohol. Main courses okay but not great. When bill came, waitress said their credit card machine didn’t work. M ( the economist) informed me this was a scam. Either that or she was a bit daft to not tell us at the beginning as we may not have been carrying enough cash.

Monday: Nice breakfast. Family communicated by mobiles again. Might take a book tomorrow.

Drove to Mdina and Rabat. Mdina is the walled city within Rabat. Son 2 in charge of map again. Lorry ahead of us hit a tree branch which then fell and blocked the road. Son made up detour. Arrived in Mdina, which was surprising as Son admitted that at no point was he sure which road we were on. Did not stop him making decisive decisions at every junction, we were fooled. Apart from M, who labelled him the ‘Helen Keller of map readers’.

M requested that we not walk around in the midday sun. We arrived in Mdina at 11:50. It was hot. He hardly mentioned it at all.

Walked to St Paul’s grotto in Rabat. It started to rain. Was only about five drops but all males complained. Fear we may be holidaying in Sahara next year.

M complained that the name ‘Rabat’ is stolen from Morocco and St Pauls Cathedral is stolen from London. Walked around muttering about looking for the Maltese Eiffel tower and Statue of Liberty. We ignored him.

St Paul’s grotto was interesting, cool and dark, especially the catacombs. Not good if you don’t like confined spaces but excellent otherwise. Some of the best stuff is down narrow unmarked tunnels, so worth taking a boy with a clever phone or a torch. Tall males complain a lot.

Used toilets in museum. Nasty. Toilets in Malta also rarely have paper, so worth carrying your own supply.
Bought cushion cover for my collection. Has Maltese cross on it. Happy.

Ate lunch in Bottegin, Palazzo Xara in Rabat. Was okay and cheap.

Drove home. Got thoroughly lost. R took over map reading and took us in a big circle past some bamboo. Fired her and reinstated Son 2/Helen Keller, who took us all around the coast. Was scenic if not exactly direct.

Played new board game in the bar. I never actually understood the rules but everyone else seemed to enjoy it. Drank beers ( which helped.)

Tuesday: Breakfast at 9 (8 for me, am keeping to UK time. Mainly because it annoys the males.)
Husband collected a plateful of Maltese food ( pickled herrings, pea pastries, cheese). Ate a few mouthfuls, then collected a plateful of English breakfast food to ‘dilute’ it with. Told him he’s getting portly. He did not appreciate feedback.

Didn’t go to the Hypogeum in Paola as you have to book and there are no vacant slots for the next 20 years.

Drove to Hagar Qim to look at Mnajdra temples. Arrived 11:55. M hardly mentioned “midday sun” at all. There was an interesting 4D film before the monument ( my kind of history, short, informative and no long boring information boards to read.) Temples were unusual. And hot.

Drove back to St Julian with no detours. Son 2 told us, ” it helps if you know where you are when you start.” Explains a lot.

Checked out and ate lunch in hotel lobby. Nice food.

R said she needed to recharge all her electronics as her plug converters didn’t fit any of the sockets in her room. We pointed out that Malta has the same electricity as UK so she didn’t need any converters. R went quiet. Briefly.

Drove to ferry at Cirkewwa. I cannot begin to tell you how my family pronounce the names here…….