T - four days

T – four days

That’s it, final four days till our much anticipated trip to Morocco, and I for one simply can’t wait! The mountains, the desert, the markets and the Atlantic all await our arrival, as for the first time ever; I shall travel outside Europe and into the unknown. A new continent, a new culture, new food and new traditions all wait to welcome me, as I look forward to indulging in the Moroccan way of life.

My golden rule while travelling is simply that the use of the net is prohibited. I probably will occasionally use the Vodafone website to sms my girlfriend and parents, but that is about it, and this only means that I will have no way of finding out the Manchester United vs Manchester City game, a match I am gutted to be missing, however Morocco is a good enough reason. Due to the lack of internet my blog will not be updated, so a chunch of pages will be added on my arrival back home.

I have an outline or a vague idea of what I’ll be doing in Morocco, but Eddy is the main man with the plan, so literally anything can happen. My only few targets were the desert, mountains and the ocean, the rest is all just a bit of a surprise. I’m never one to not try something new, so I am sure to taste some strange food and try my hand at camel riding or something of the sort. Africa is a place which has always fascinated me, but as yet eluded me, so this offers me a chance to make my first footprint in the diverse continent. Though Morocco is a small section of the mass of land, early footsteps are what it’s all about.

Another thing I’m looking forward to is the actual travelling. We have booked flights to Madrid, and will drive it down the centre of Spain all the way to Gibraltar. A trip to the Santiago Benabeu is due, which is never a bad thing. I’ve always wanted to go to Spain, and a seven hour drive is just the way to do it. In Spain we will also indulge in the curious meal of bull’s balls, something I can’t wait to dig into. Spanish culture at its finest, followed by the Arabian culture of the people of Morocco. Bring it on.

After a first night in Gibraltar with ape’s for company, a ferry will take us across the channel in the corner of the Med sea. Traveling between continents by boat is just the perfect way to do it. The panoramic views will offer Europe on one end, and Africa on the other, and that will allow for some unique photographic moments. Sadly my camera is below standard, but as they say it’s never about the dog in the fight, but the fight on the dog, still a slick SLR would be an investment. Our first night will be in tangier, which precedes a six hour train ride to Fes. That is basically all I know about the trip, and that is the last point of civilization before the desert and mountain visits. All that will be followed by a trip up the Atlantic coast, and a first dip into the great ocean. Stepstonning one town to the other until we reach Tangier again, and our ferry takes us back across to our home continent of Europe.

The cities of Fes, Marrakesh, Rabat and Casablanca are on the horizon, and shanty rattling trains will take us to our destinations, where we will be greeted by the friendly, yet curious people of the great North African coast. God knows what they will try to sell us, so I must allow room in my rucksack for the diverse souvenirs on offer in the labyrinths of markets Morocco offers.

In all honesty I have no clue as to what to expect from anything, and these little thoughts are nothing but insignificant ideas. Having no expectations means that there will be no disappointments and the number one aim is to relax and enjoy everything on offer.

* * * * *

5 stars: I’d give more if I could. Stunning acting, beautiful language, interesting scripts and creative scenery. It is difficult to exaggerate the excellence of Quentin Tarantino’s latest film Inglourious Basterds. It is quite simply his masterpiece.

Set in Nazi Occupied France, Tarantino wows his audiences by starting the film with the entry line of “Once upon a time… in Nazi occupied France”. The story takes us from French cow country, to the city lights of Paris and perverses the history books to create what one may call a Jewish Dream. A series of twists and bends take us on a roller coaster ride of Tarantino’s thoughts, and his eye for detail and scenic depth allow us to enjoy the beauty of each precise shot and scene, whether it is outdoor or indoor.

The acting is second to none, straight off the top drawer. Typically, a host of guest actors, and foreign talent are on display, and the multi tongued Christopher Waltz shows offers a lesson in acting throughout the film. Bradd Pitt would be the first eye catcher on the all star line up, however his role is rather cameo when compared to the superb Waltz. Tarantino uses his critical eye throughout the film and his controlling nature as a director ensures all thoughts, even the details one would call insignificant, are portrayed majestically.

The use of language is perhaps the film’s most interesting characteristic three languages are used and this adds reality and urgency to the script, and also respects the different languages of our union. English should not be the only language at our cinemas and all films set in other countries should use the original language, as it is simply unfair to replace cultures with a global language. One thing that annoys me personally is seeing foreign accents represent languages, this is simply ridiculous, and though the temptation might have been irresistible, Tarantino still ensures all languages are respected and this is the film’s highlight.

A brainchild of a genius, a masterpiece of a true great, this film is certainly one to watch for all cinema lovers.

C'est magnifique.
Masterpiece would be an understatement

Slung

Slung

So you’re sitting there comfortably having a chat with your best friend, oblivious to anything else that’s happening around you. Little do you know that any minute now you are going to be flung into the air violently by two cables attached to the metal ball you are sitting in. Suddenly, all of St Julian’s air rushes down your body, and you clench onto the two sticks like there’s no tomorrow.

Life and thoughts are rushing through your body squashing against the roof of your skull as an air bubble would in a turned over bottle of water. And that’s exactly what happens next, your body is turned over and you are left facing the ground, from the safe distance of 70 meters. Objects look too tiny to describe, almost microscopic, and there you are, dangling.

The level of discomfort comforts you as your only form of venting is to yell and curse under your breath. Finally as the ball slows down and reaches its climax, your only way is down, and trusts me that’s all you want to do. Fortunately, the ball moves slowly downwards, increasing your anxiety levels because all you want to do is reach land level again. But if you’re anything like me, and love the adrenaline, you would accept the chance to go again, with no break in between.

Here we go again, the wind, the rush, the noise, the dizzy heights and the comforting discomforts. Only the second time round, it appears slower as your body can now cope with the accelerating forces. Now you can simply enjoy the view of Malta from 70 m and spot new things you’ve never known about the city. Amazing.
Seeing the video later makes you re livew the moment, but little do you know that the forces ridicule your face. You are sat there going through the paces, and watching the video later is hilarious. Being a short ride, the adrenaline never stops, where as in sky diving you are calmed down as you parachute downwards after the free fall. The pumping adrenaline rushes through your body as you walk home. The fun never stops.

The Phantom Goal

The phantom goal

There’s never a dull moment in Neil Warnock’s life. Many have heard of the Crystal Palace manager not through his tactics or any remarkable achievement, but simply due to his constant misfortune and whining. Everybody remembers the West Ham United and Carlos Tevez saga, when the Irons were adjudged to be playing Tevez illegally. According to Mr. Warnock, this was the reason his Shellief United were relegated form the Premier League two seasons ago. He ignored the fact that United had only managed 10 wins all season.

Unfortunately, in Warnock’s life lightning does strike twice. His constant bickering and whining never got him places with Sheffield, and it certainly didn’t gain him any sympathy from the FA. Last weekend, as his Crystal Palace side travelled to Bristol in search of three points, on loan West Ham United striker scored a powerful volley on the 38th minute, but such as is Warnock’s luck, the ball never hit the net, and hit the underlying frame inside the goal and bounced straight out. As the players celebrated, all match officials failed to see the net move and linesman Rob Shoebridge awarded a goal kick after much confusion. As it would be, Palace lost the game by the odd goal. Warnock said he feels “sorry” for the officials after having made such a bizarre mistake, but in truth hardly anyone feels sorry for Warnock himself, and we can await further non stop whining and bickering from the 60 year old tactician. Hard lines Warrie, but thanks for providing such great entertainment again!

As one would expect, this saga would obviously burst the door open for more discussions on goal line technology. A couple of sensors inside the goal post would help, but frankly many of us live for football’s disagreements and controversial incidents. Unprofessional as it may be, it is what makes football our sport, and its imperfections make it perfect. According to Warnock “We can put a man on the moon, time serves of 100 miles per hour at Wimbledon, yet we cannot place a couple of sensors in a net to show when a goal has been scored”. Many of us would agree with Warnock, but seeing his fury makes it all worthwhile.

Arse-nil

What a great start by Arsenal: thumping six past an embarrassed Everton, and storming clear on day one. Obviously, this means Arsenal are now amongst the favorites. Opening day victories however always deceive. Newcastle United held eventual champions United to a one all draw at Old Trafford last season, yet look where they ended up. Sadly for all you Gunners, Arsenal’s victory won’t serve too much. Granted, the north Londoners won’t get relegated any time soon, but they’ll sooner do that than win the league. I still don’t rate Arsenal. Fourth is what they should expect, and six goals haven’t changed my mind. If, for once, they can maintain consistency, then I will eat my own words, however this season I can’t see the Gunners finishing above fourth. When Arsenal are in form they are the team to beat, dazzling their opponents with quick swash buckling smooth football. Everton were suckered into this, however how will they cope once a team bus is parallel parked between the goal posts? I would sincerely wish Arsenal do keep their form up and offer more excitement to the league, however, typically, their form will slide come the New Year. Wenger still has time for more signings, and I believe there is still one vital piece missing in his jigsaw puzzle.

Mifsud no-go

Contrary to reports, Michael Mifsud has not joined the City revolution, Valletta City that is. The little mosquito is currently without a club, and his brace against Georgia has turned many a head in the Championship. Valletta tried to sign him, but failed. Mifsud is sadly beyond our standards and has admitted "At this stage of my career, I have no intention of returning to Maltese football". This is bad news for local football, however anyone with half a brain would agree with his choice. Malta is benefitting through its finest footballing export, and the national team is better with Mifsud training as a full time professional in England.
Championship club Newcastle have been linked with our star, and should Ian Dowie re join the Magpies any time soon, Mifsud will surely follow suit, as it was Dowie who signed him during his time at Coventry. Mifsud still has plenty to offer, and Newcastle United would be lucky to have such a striker to replace Oba Martins with.

The wait is over

The wait is finally over

A barren dry summer has finally ended. Like villagers in the Sahara, we waited patiently for the cruel drought to end. No world cup, no European championship, not one drop of football all summer. The summer break took ages to pass, until finally the familiar sound of fans’ roaring was heard as Wembley welcomed Chelsea and Manchester United for the season’s curtain opener. We were teased in summer by the confederations cup and the under 21’s and 19s tournaments, but finally the cruel teasing is over, and the centre stage is open at last.

After a break in life, we always have high expectations. We imagine that Fiats will no longer mean trouble, taxes won’t exist and referees will perform miracles and let our teams win fairly. Sadly, the latter was proved to be a myth last Sunday as United lost in the charity shield against Chelsea after a dodgy goal from Frank Lampard. Elbowing your opponents full back out of the equation really does make life easier, doesn’t it Mike!

Ups and downs

Sadly for the Tigers I think their fairytale is coming to an abrupt end. After soaring to the dizzy heights of a European cup place early last season, Hull City seemed to have suffered altitude sickness as they soon plummeted down to the basement of the league, narrowing saving themselves from relegation. Phil Brown has the marketing skills of a kid and last team’s squad proved to be weak and shallow. Time’s up for the tired tigers, and their den in the championship looks warm and welcoming, as opposed to the dangerous fighting ground of the Premier League. It’s a Survival of the fittest, and sadly, time’s up for the tigers.

Portsmouth too seems in dire straits. Having lost key players in Crouch and Johnson, the southerners seem to be struggling to balance the books, and this season things can only get worse for the blues. Paul Hart has been appointed as manager, and his tactics last year seemed a little negative and naive. Survival will again be their aim; however the bookies are favoring them for the drop. Play up Pompey!
Burnley may be feeling like the kings of the bunch following their play off promotion last season; however they too might soon feel the blues. Their squad is full of power and aggression, which is vital for any championship team, and that’s the problem. The clarets failed to strengthen their squad in pre season, and they might head straight back down a tier. A fighting spirit needs to be maintained, and I’m sure they will represent the premier league with their typical bite and pride.

Premier League summit

Predicting the relegated trio is an absolute nightmare, but if that’s tough, then predicting the eventual champions is even worse. Manchester United topped the pile last term, however their squad seems weaker than before, while Chelsea’s on the other hand looks stronger. Players like Michael Essien and Joe Cole will seem like new signings for the blues, and their games will be won in midfield. Liverpool and United’s midfield’s got weakened with summer sales, and this season is where the blue’s can really pounce. Having just won the charity shield, boss Carlo Angellotti is hungry as ever to wrap his hands around the ears of the Barclay’s Premier League trophy come the end of the season.

Big Four Party

Perhaps the weakest team of the big four seems to be arsenal yet again. They failed to lure anyone to the club, and still have typical injury worries. Wenger’s kids yet again lack maturity and experience, and this can cause more trouble. Its been five season without a trophy in north London, and some fans are becoming inpatient. Sales of Adebayor and Kolo Toure have only raised the arch on certain eyebrows, and Arsenal’s main aim should yet again be Champions League qualification. This really can be a season where Everton, Spurs or Villa can gatecrash the big four’s party, however Arsene Wenger’s experience and ability might keep the demons away.
An all new exiting season is about to kick off, and we can all fasten our seat belts for what will surely be yet another exiting year of Barclay’s Premier League football. Let the games (and mind games) begin!

The power of a goal

The power of a goal

There really is no way to describe it. Some say it’s better than drugs, while others say it’s better than sex. Scoring a goal in 11 a-side football is an amazing high. It’s as if you combined the healthy effects of all the drugs in the world and put them into one single magical moment. Whether it’s a spectacular overhead kick, a 30 yard belter, penalty, free kick or simple tap in the feeling is simply amazing.

My moment of magic came last Saturday the 8th of August as I made my squad debut for the newly formed Swieqi United FC. Representing your hometown is all about pride, and coming on as a substitute against Mtarfa quite simply made my day. Little did I know that within 10 minutes of my introduction I would produce the game’s turning point. An extremely decent ball was threaded to me from centre park and I found myself just inside the penalty area in a frozen moment. In truth the action happened extremely fast, but analyzing the details and the mental processes, it felt like an eternity. As I received the ball other forwards yelled for it, but I had only one intention: beating the keeper with a well placed shot. Thankfully that’s exactly what I did. The outstretched goalie had no chance as the ball bowled into the far corner and I wheeled away to celebrate my first goal for Swieqi United FC.

Prior to the match Matt and I jokingly commented that my celebration should match my role at the club, and I would click and air-camera symbolizing the fact that I am the clubs Official Photographer and Journalist. The high that followed the goal was like no other. I felt like a king, and even though United lost the game, nothing could turn my frown upside down. It was my moment, and every goal, no matter how simple, should be celebrated. This goal was scored in front of a handful of people in a dodgy stadium, and It felt wonderful. One can only imagine what Wayne Rooney must feel when he belts home a 30 yarder in front of 70, 000 screaming fans, each one of them idolizing our mean forward.

As it would be, however, that would be my only goal for Swieqi United, as due to restricted squad sizes I did not make the official team. Gutted as I was, I had no choice but to accept the fact that I will forever have a 100% record for my hometown: 20 minutes of football played, one goal scored! Best of luck to all the boys at Swieqi, I look forward to forming a part of the club as part of the committee and being the official journalist and photographer of my hometown’s football team. Up the Orange!

Ramblin'

Ramblin’

Aren’t fat filled bar burgers the best food in the world? A bun stuffed with eggs, bacon and a burger the size of every obese man in the US really does the trick for me, and they are best coming fresh out of a shanty shop in the middle of nowhere where oil runs down the walls and the floors are coated in a sticky layer of years of dirt building up creating a stratigraphy of schmuck, detergents and even more schmuck. Scraping through that would require more than a jackhammer, but that’s where the best food is made, served alongside the fattest of chips, which look more like yellow stones drizzled with black pepper and dirty salt. When it comes to chips, size does matter. In these places, plates and cutlery are simply a theory, and the chips come in a paper bag which was probably used to carry the morning groceries. The whole meal is generally placed in a card box, where oil patches create a pattern that would make cubism look like kids’ stuff. The box would be heavy, even after the meal is stuffed down your neck, as the layers of dirt give great mass to the object. A massive belch and a gassy coke (in the oldskool glass bottle please) follow the food into your mouth, and even though you probably gained enough weight to last a week, and shortened your lifespan by a few months at least, the satisfaction is immense. I’ll have another one please, Peppi

Kitted out

After being dipped into the culture of our capital city, I felt inspired to buy the Valletta City football shirt, and what an adventure that turned out to be. Matt Done, Lara and I headed to St. Julian’s to check out a sports shop, but they were fresh out of kits, so in true Matt & Mark fashion we all zoomed down to the airport to try our luck in the upstairs shop. Our plan was to ask for permission to buy from the upstairs section of the airport, near the departure gates, but we knew it was a long shot, especially after Brian, a mate of ours who works at the airport as a soldier, told us we have a zero percent chance of getting it without a boarding pass. But in the words of the great Peter Paul from Tribali we never gave up. We thought we’d give it a shot. At first the security guards scoffed at the request, however as soon as he found out I wanted a Valletta kit he was quick to offer his services and made a few calls to check the prospect out. Being Maltese, he stuck to his word, and soon had his friend running upstairs with my money to fetch my new kit. And what a kit, proud white, with enough sponsors to render the sleeves as billboards, and a fantastic fit too! After this incident I can heap further praise to the citizens of Valletta, as they truly are one of a kind. Whoever said Maltese weren’t helpful and customer service doesn’t exist, were probably 100% correct, unless you support the right football team!

What Physics?

Another incredible thing happened to me this week, when me and my mates went down to St Martins for our weekly spot of football. A fun game unfolded with lots of action, but one thing in particular stood out: if hitting the post in football is considered “unlucky” then what the hell do you say when your shot pinballs off both posts? It defies the laws of physics, and I still can’t believe my luck today!
Staying on topic, I finally began training with Swieqi United this week and took a photo of Swieqi United’s first ever goal in an 11 aside friendly match against Haq Ghaxaq. When the Orange reach the Champions League final, my pic will surely be famous, and I will be typing this on my new golden key board, or from my iphone while sitting in my jet! Best of luck to Swieqi, lets climb up the table and do my home city proud!

Two games coming up: Friday’s encounter with Mdina Knights, and Saturday’s clash with Mtarfa, in a game where I should be playing in the centre of midfield. Up the Orange!

That’s all the blabbing and rambling for this week, but I will take a second to mention Adam Done’s foundation of Chickens (I have no idea why or what he was on about really, but the guy now owes me two beers for this and skydiving!!)

Sir Bobby Robson 1933 - 2009

Sir Bobby Robson 1933-2009

Sir Bobby Robson departed a saddened football world last Friday, leaving a gaping hole in the game. Sir Bobby left a massive print in our lives, and will be remembered by all as a man who made time for everyone. He was the perfect gentleman, and men like him are an absolute rarity in the modern game.

Tributes to Sir Bobby flew in from all over the world, and the respectful man will have a special place reserved on the touchline of a pitch, somewhere amongst the very best in heaven. His passion and love for the game was felt by the world, and it rubbed off on many key figures. He changed our game forever and introduced a whole new concept of man management. His endless patience, calm nature and fantastic tactical eye made him one of the best managers around, and managers of his calibre are hard to come by, if not impossible.

Fortunately for us, Robson was one of the few who had the mettle to travel and ply his trade abroad, and the continent of Europe was blessed to have his talent grace pitch sides. A true gentle man, a tactical genius, and an ultimate fighter, Sir Bobby was an example to everyone, and certainly will always be missed. His talent reached all corners of the world, and fortunately for us his ways did not stop at football. Despite having been diagnosed with cancer, Sir Bobby kept on fighting, and did not ever show any signs of giving up. He used his situation as a positive thing, and set up The Sir Bobby Robson foundation in order to raise money for the early detection of cancer. That was the type of man he was, always willing to help others and bring the best out of people. There wasn’t a bad bone in the gentleman, and everyone should use Sir Bobby as the perfect example. A man who never could say no, and a man who would never give up. His sheer determination was a blessing for everyone around him, and his presence served to lift populations wherever he went.
Sir Bobby was respected by the world, and Friday 31st July will always be remembered as the day football stopped in its tracks. The great man had departed us, and for once our busy world was still. Rivalries are forgotten, hatchets are buried, as the world unites to give a great man the send off he deserves.

As a testament to his special attitude towards life, one needs not look far to find evidence of his beliefs and his optimistic character. After being diagnosed with cancer, Sir Bobby simply said “I am going to die sooner rather than later. But then everyone has to go sometime and I have enjoyed every minute." Words of a true hero. His dignity carried him around everywhere, and even in his last public appearance his work never stopped as on the 26th of July he attended a match between England and the West Germany team that defeated them in the Italia 1990 semi final, a game which Sir Bobby overlook as manager of the Three Lions. He was hailed as England’s best ever manager.

No words can comfort his loved ones, but thousands have sent in their own personal memories of the great man:

“Bobby’s passing is a very sad loss to the game” – Sir Alex Ferguson

“He was someone who was extremely well liked by everyone” – Denis Law

“Sir Bobby was a wonderful man, a real gentleman” – Fabio Capello

“He will be sadly missed by everyone, not just by people in the football world but from all walks of life” – Alan Shearer

“He was a great player and manager in his own right, but as a person he was just fantastic - he always had time for everyone” – Bryan Robson

“Football has lost one of its' true greats” – Steve Bruce

“Quite simply Sir Bobby Robson was 'Mr. Football'.” – Niall Quinn

“He was a wonderful ambassador for football and he will be greatly missed by everyone in the game." – David Moyes

“I admired him on so many levels and for so many reasons” – Roy Hodgson

“He was like a father figure to me and I am going to miss him” – Kieron Dyer

“He has been a great ambassador for football in general and I pay my respects to him. He is a big loss for us” – Gianfranco Zola

Goodbye, but not Farwell, Sir Bobby.

Lil tal Belt

Lil tal Belt

Far away trumpets can be heard. As we approach the sound grows and colorful lights approach us. A carnival of balloons greets us and snow falls all around us. Confetti of white and blue create a soft surface on the ground as local kids build confetti-men out of the fallen snow-like papers. Men and women jump up and down in sync, cheering as fans would do a victory, cheering the freedom and the beauty of the local festa’.

A marching band approaches, splitting the public like a river as it passes through the scores of smiling locals, each wearing a proud face chanting in praise. Following the crowd is a huge statue, making its way through the streets of the capital, resting heavily on the shoulders of eight strong men, dedicated to the cause. St. Dominick is to be hoisted in front of the cathedral as the final piece of the puzzle.

As it is hoisted up in front of the Cathedral, the people cheer as Brazilians did when Dunga won the world cup, lifting the trophy is as special as lifting the statue to these people. The pride, the passion and the belief that these people are free.
The people of Valletta are proud; this is their day, their moment, and their celebration. The religious views of the feast are hardly observed today, as foul language can still be heard among the locals, and copious amounts of alcohol is served to each punter at the local bar. Still it’s all part of the fun, and ancient city going back to its roots in the most modern way possible. This is their evening; many have emerged in fancy night dresses to commemorate the occasion, the celebration of Malta’s oldest basilica.

They have prepared for months for this night, saving up paper cut outs to make confetti, stocking the bars with local brews, decorating the glorious wide streets with traditional colors and materials which hang from one roof to the other. The band goes through its paces, and the locals like what they are hearing as they sing with pride. These citizens are privileged. They belong to Malta’s capital city, and are the children of hard working men and woman, descending from years and years of more hard work. This is Malta’s capital, and these are Malta’s people. Our capital was built as a result of hard working locals who hauled massive bricks to form great barriers which kept us safe from foreign strange invaders. Many emperors desired Valletta, but few could be so privileged. Her people are her emperors, and in their hands our city is safe. Traditions will always be observed and churches will always be respected. It was these locals who drove the French our according to legend, and it was these locals who helped the British keep the Nazi’s at bay in the 20th century.

Battle scars still remain visible, but serve as a testament to those who lost their lives fighting to save our capital. Valetta has seen many a terrible day as bombs fell from the skies, but tonight all of that can be forgotten. The victory was ours, and the locals have earned their right to party the night away and enjoy their traditional celebrations. The Valletta locals are like no other. You can smell their pride and can tell they are honored to live in Valetta by the way their heads are held up high. Many fled the City in times of peril, but many stayed on to fight for freedom. Even in modern day economic battles, many still flee the expenses of the city, but those who stay know they simply cannot abandon ship. The City needs them, and they need the City.

Valletta’s football badge symbolizes the city’s pride. A lion on a red background indicates pride and passion, while a golden crown shows the fact that the citizens are the kings, and no government or invader can ever take that away. This is Valletta, our capital city and it must be respected. Lil tal Belt, hadt ma jista’ ghalik.

Quicksand

Quicksand

Like quicksand it rapidly grows, spreading to different corners getting messier as its surface area increases. A slosh of bodies mix, a stench of beer and sweat engulfs the area while cigarette smoke creates a foggy haze. Heat radiates out of the epicenter and the stench intensifies.

As each minute passes more bodies are swallowed, dragged in effortlessly as they struggle to maintain balance and are powerless to the moshpit's suction power and strength. Heads bang, bodies smash, backs collide as limps tangle and digits tumble on each other. The world spins in motion creating a washing machine effect as more bodies tumble and spin, getting more soaked as each revolution is completed.

As confusion sets in, the guitarist still strokes his chords and yells rhyming lyrics through the microphone, pumping our brains with all sorts of indie and ska tunes. Our feet lose control as we move to the ever hanging beat. Some call it dancing; others simply call it muckin’ about. Each song pumps more energy into our veins and increases the levels of adrenaline running through our sweaty bodies.

The brief pauses only serve as a pit stop to refuel our engines and find our place on the grid. More chords are struck and drums are beat, and more bodies fly in the quicksand, gaining velocity with each beat and verse. The moshpit spares no victims, as beer cans serve as fountain bases showering everyone in warm, sticky lager. Our bodies are coated in a layer of thick glue and our surviving clothes stick themselves to our backs.

The rifffs, dolls for idols and no snow also are at fault. One amazing song after the other, maintaining a unique vibe that can only be enjoyed by a select few. Despite being surrounded by strangers one is not alone as each soul is tuned into the same wave and each brain is in sync with the beat and music created by the masters on stage. And what masters, we idolize them for one evening wishing each song would never end and the night can last forever.

The rain of beer is ever continuous and re hydrates us in every ironic way possible. The group is in harmony, and any fallen soldier is quickly hoisted back to his feet to carry on his round of spinning and charging. Each cell is re charged after each wave and in this world is every man to himself. Survival of the fittest at its best, the power of local indie music.

Ancient Postcard

Ancient Postcard

The majestic city of Valetta is fast approaching. The massive fortified walls, sculpturesque churches, red and white flags, impenetrable gates overlooked by menacing gun posts guarding deep shelters and vast labyrinths of complicated streets carved out of strong, white stones.

I feel like a foreign invader as I stroke my way through the water on my single, small and insignificant canoe. From this distance the city looks well protected and safe. The red and white flag reminds me that someone else owns the city, a force far bigger than mine. Surrounded by nothing but dark blue water I feel lost as I float with my feet stretched and my hands behind my head. Valetta looks far from welcoming as the gun posts glare at me, and the bastions ensure no one can enter the bowels of the ancient city. Fort St Elmo stands proudly at the point of Mt. Sciberras, keeping a watchful eye out for any intruders or unwelcomed people. Valletta looks static and calm, but as the history books recall, it is a bomb ready to go off and can be turned into a battling ram within minutes as it explodes to life with a collage of colour, smoke and fire while lead cannon balls plummet to earth from the height of massive walls so high birds make homes in its cracks.

Each stroke I take takes me closer, and as I paddle away reality hits me. The grand harbor, whose depths are unknown to man, separates me from the beautiful city. The guns have been silenced for years and the gates and bastions make for good museums. The only explosion of action one will see today is during the tradition Festa’, and instead of angry Knights keeping you safe, you are welcomed and comforted by a platoon of warm and loving locals, ready to offer a cold drink on your arrival into their beautiful ancient homes, passed on from generation to the next since Grandmaster La Valette’s commission.

The hustle and bustle of Malta’s capital can’t be detected from here. Not one car is visible on the road, only waves of heat licking the surface creating a haze which makes reality hard to accept or locate adding to the mystical nature of the world’s most beautiful city. The gun posts are empty apart from the barman and a few local punters ready to share a pint and recall great stories of the city as it survived war after war after war. A karozzin shows itself through the haze and the red and white flag blows proudly in the wind, boasting pride as each corner dances in the strong Mediterranean breeze.

The curved churches’ roof tops offer a picturesque landscape and add a pink balance to the scene and the high catholic crosses send out a strong message. No technology is visible, besides the rusted barrels of loud guns, and carved out holes for gun men wanting to warn off foreign invaders. The beautiful city lies in fine force on this blistering day where the sun will leave no prisoners.

The view from my canoe is intimidating as the tall walls stare down on the deep blue sea and soon time tells me to make my way back, ready to enjoy another beautiful Mediterranean evening with my comrades on the beach, living the life left possible buy our brave and cunning ancestors, many of which laid their life for our joy and benefits.

Mardy Bum

Well now then Mardy Bum
I've seen your frown
And it's like looking down the barrel of a gun
And it goes off
And out come all these words
Oh there's a very pleasant side to you
A side I much prefer
It's one that laughs and jokes around
Remember cuddles in the kitchen
Yeah, to get things off the ground
And it was up, up and away
Oh, but it's right hard to remember
That on a day like today when you're all argumentative
And you've got the face on

Well now then Mardy Bum
Oh I'm in trouble again, aren't I
I thought as much
Cause you turned over there
Pulling that silent disappointment face
The one that I can't bear

Why can't we just laugh and joke around
Remember cuddles in the kitchen
Yeah, to get things off the ground
And it was up, up and away
Oh, but it's right hard to remember
That on a day like today when you're all argumentative
And you've got the face on

And yeah I'm sorry I was late
but I missed the train
And then the traffic was a state
And I can't be arsed to carry on in this debate
That reoccurs, oh when you say I don't care
but of course I do, yet I clearly do!

So laugh and joke around
Remember cuddles in the kitchen
Yeah, to get things off the ground
And it was up, up and away
Oh, but it's right hard to remember
That on a day like today when you're all argumentative
And you've got the face on

Blabbin

Blabbin’

It’s been a rather uneventful week here in mark-land. The week sees me work an 8.30 – 5.30 daily shift at EF language school where I teach English to foreigners. Fun as it may be, working till 5.30 and at times 7 takes it out of you easily.

Despite that, good news was flying in from everywhere this week which kept my spirits on an all time high as not only did me Eddy and Pravin book our tickets to Morocco, but Ruthie passed her flying exams, and did extremely well!

Tuesday saw me embark on a wicked journey as I tuned into the Arctic Monkeys for the very first time. Needless to say, they are a decent group, and songs like Mardy Bum, 505 and When the Sun Goes Down rank high on my playlist. Some wicked tunes for the summer, as the temperatures soar to above 40 this weekend here in Mala.

Ruthie’s results were excellent and certainly prove that hard work makes anything possible. Her being away was never going to be easy, but grades like those show there is light at the end of a very, very long tunnel. More exams coming up in 3 months, best of luck to my baby.

One of my longest standing dreams has always been to travel to Africa. Africa has always fascinated me in any way, and has been my holy grail since I was young. A month ago, eddy and pravin offered me the chance to join them in a trip down to Morocco, and there was no way I could say no to that. Morocco seems to have a bit f everything: the Atlantic, the Atlas Mountains, the African Desert, plenty of markets and the list goes on and on. This really is going to be the summer of my dreams, sky diving, a holiday with Ruth and morocco are things that could be on anyone’s bucket list.

The trip will start on Saturday the 17^th September when me and the boys will jet off to Madrid, where a rental car will be waiting for us to take us down to Gibraltar, south of Spain. From there we will hop onto a ferry and finally arrive at our first destination: Tangier, north Morocco. It’s anyone’s guess what step is next, and I certainly look forward to planning the holiday of a lifetime. Bring on Morocco.

Prior to the trip, Ruthie will make her way down to Malta for my birthday weekend. Sadly she won’t be here on my actual birthday, and it’s the first time we will be apart for the last 5 or so years. Her coming has always given me something to look forward to, and lots of things are in the pipelines for her summer holiday down here.

Perhaps the most curious night of the week had to be our trip to the cinema on Wednesday as a whole group of us decided to scar our brains and watch Sacha Baron Cohen’s latest Bruno. I still have disturbing mental images flashing through my mind from time to time…

All that would be classified as uneventful, but being the weekend, the real stuff will soon kick off. A decent Friday night saw us head down to the beach for an early morning dip, and today I will do another thing I’ve always wanted to do: canoeing. Strangely enough, I’ve never sat ina canoe and I look forward to an action packed afternoon, followed by eddy’s party Puro, which kicks off at 7 o’clock tonight.

An exciting weekend awaits, but my sights are currently set on the end of august when ruthie finally flies down, and on the end of September, when a dream of mine will finally come true.

Water's Way

Water’s way

As my search for adrenaline continues, my mates and I decided to hit a local beach, Riviera, to check out the surf. Now, none of us actually surfs, but each one of us would absolutely love to have a crack at some 10 foot waves found in Hawaii. Sadly, in Malta you’ll have more chance finding a gold Rolex than a 10 foot wave.

Another of my top goals this summer is to surf, or wind surf. A cousin of mine has offered to take me, but this weekend it was time to test my swimming strength in the dangerous currents of Ghajn Tuffieha bay, aka Riviera: My favorite local beach, which offers stunning views and smooth silky copper sand for comfort.

What we discovered when taking our initial jumps is that in the sea, it really is the water’s way. Deep sea under currents ensure your swimming capabilities are seriously diminished, and large waves breaking in your face doesn’t exactly help your case. We were equipped with jablo filled body boards, and looked as happy as kids in an adventure park as we hit the first waves. Attempting these with no board was a tough job, and I soon found myself attempting an underwater Dutch roll after a mountain of water smashed my way. Back flips, front flips and corkscrews quickly followed, and I had soon swallowed enough water to fill my belly up for the day.

The sight of a mammoth (by our standard) wave coming towards you makes you feel rather insignificant. For a few moments, you are powerless as the water pushes you towards the beach. White foam surrounds you and dizziness does tend to follow a curly corkscrew. Quick reflexes are required in order to shake off the dizziness and prepare for the next wave, and one thing I noticed is that the next wave always seems bigger.

By this time I managed to grab a body board, and set myself in position to body surf the bay. Trying to outrun a wave is impossible, and when it eventually catches up to you, it takes you and your body board swiftly down the bay, knocking into people and picking up more water, and sand along the way. The speeds you pick up seem Ferrari-like as you are extremely close to the surface, and again you are powerless, a victim of the wicked wave that takes you from your location to any destination it chooses. You finally open your eyes and realize you’re now beached, and like a whale can’t believe what just happened to you. Time to go again, and again and again! This may not be surfing, but boy, it never gets old. As I type this I can still taste the salt in my mouth and it feels like I’ve just got back from eating a well cooked sword fish down at the local restaurant. Awesome (or gnarly to stick with surfing clichés)

Body surfing is kids stuff really, and investing in a nice short board would be the ideal thing to do, but that’s just another thing on my ever growing bucket list.

Skim boarding was up next on the agenda as Pablo, Tommy, JD and I were determined we would make maximum use of the powerful and wonderful waves. Jumping on a skim board is not exactly as easy as it looks, as I found out on my first attempt. I started off brilliantly, and smoothly glided over the sand until my balance gave up and threw me straight on my back side, much to the delight of the onlookers. As we tried more and more, the crowds gathered and I soon felt like I was David Beckham, minus the good looks, spice girl and oh, infinite amounts of hard cash.

If only everyday was as rough as today in Malta. If that had been the case then football wouldn’t exist in my world, and my buddies would have to stop me from talking about surfing too much, not Manchester United or the World Cup!

Freedom of Flight

My first official blog:

After the all important introduction its time to post my first official piece of work. As mentioned earlier, my dream was realised when Ruth and I went skydiving with the Red Devils crew in Bournemouth. This blog is dedicated to my Ruthie... thanks for a wicked afternoon, and for simply being my best friend and girl!:)

Freedom of flight

the plane ride feels surreal, like a dream. All my thoughts drowned out by the noises and rattles of the twin engine aircraft. I look outside and all I see is white space. I look ahead and I see my dream, my baby, my angel. Doors burst open. You hobble along to the door space and sit there for what seems like forever. Suddenly I blink and your gone, sucked out into the 160mph wind...

My turn next. Here we go, wow im flying. I struggle to breathe as tears fil my goggles restricting my view. And what a view. Heaven? 20 seconds of free fall feel like forever surounded by a magnificent and comforting baby blue, above a white blanket of alpine white. 120mph feel like a dream.

White cloud engulfs me. I am alone and insignificant plumitting down to the massive mass that is our world. Suddenly something tugs me back, rapidly and 120mph reduces to far less. The feeling of amazement set in. Im no longer in a rush or in a wind tunnel. Im sitting down now, lookig down on a world. The air is my sofa as I have time to soak it all in faster than a sponge does water. I am flying, relaxing and feeling good. The moment feels like a dream, one which never seems to have an ending. I can breathe, think and talk. No restraints, no complaints... Just freedom, complete freedom. The earth looks peacefull, no people, just glorious green and brillianly blue skies. I am free, in every sense of the word.

I look out for you as I fly and spot another bed spread. Is that your parachute?

The air sofa comforts me like a cot but then, just like that its almost over. The tiny objects from abover grow rapidy, humans are visible, trees are no longer blankets of green and buildings show me that civilisation does exist. The harsh ground accelerates towards us as I life my feet ready to land. I am helpless and powerless. Just like a dream, its out of my hands and there is nothing I can do but yell wicked as my feet touch the soft turf once more.

The last I saw you your whole body hung off a plane and I know you were smiling. Like an angel you flew till you landed safely on the drop zone. Suddenly you greet me with a kiss and a smile which lets me know im safe. As you do so you awaken me from my deep sleep, but really I've gone from one dream to another. Your smile lets me know in safe, safe because you are safe.

The moment is over, and our memory is etched with it forever. We went through blue, white and glorious green. What a joy ride, what a thrill, what perfection. Dropping to earth like angels from heaven, and I can't wait to do it all again!

Virgin

Sunday 19th was an inspirational day. As my friends and I checked out the surf at one of the local beaches, I finally decided to annoy internet users with my very own blog. I am a self confessed virgin to all this, although I do have my very own sports column in the local newspaper the maltatoday.

The aims of this blog are simple: short stories about the random and cool stuff I get up to, and my very first official blog will take me back to last week when me and my girlfriend Ruth jumped out of a plane to tick off my ultimate goal in life: Skydiving.

I titled my blog PinstripeS because I like stripes, and pinstripes fascinate me. the P and S are both capital to show a "P.S." which is a common tool while writing letters in any language.

... anyways, enough with the boring paperwork, time to get down to business and show what my life really is all about.