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.