When I sat down and started this blog of sorts, I vowed that I would not be updating it daily, but rather leave it to vent my frustrations online. Therefore, today, in yet another bout of helpless boredom, I will be fulfilling my Sunday obligation and attending to my duties as a Maltese Blogger.

What can I write about today?

Got it.

The festa, the twice yearly event where the pjazza has to be closed off, so that these devout Catholics may gently whisper their beautiful poetry at a kartapesta statue outside the church building, while the fidili inside are trying to listen to the qari. So that they can erect their strange, fire spitting contraptions while we poor people have to walk even further to a bus stage that is already in the Kingdom of Far, Far Away.

To top it all up, the driver will still want to frequent the bar that’s near the venda, which means that we poor injuranti who can’t drive a bus will have to wait.

And then some more waiting.

I love waiting.

Do you?

The highlight of the festa was definitely the pjancier, where the musical programme had to stop for half an hour while we were treated to the ramblings of a presenter who had to finish all, yes all of his eloquent, hollow, sentences with “Socjeta Muzikali Karmelitana Banda Queen Victoria taz-Zurrieq”, or something of the sort.

The best bit was when Nejxis, the sindku, said that he had been a pilastru of the youth committee.

Yes, dear Ignatius, you may have been instrumental in the sorry history of a sorry band club, but pillars, I’m afraid, don’t say they’re pillars.

Pillars, dear Natius, do not speak. And I’m afraid mayors shouldn’t go bouncing up and down in the Marc ta’ Filghodu.

Can I go now?

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