Divine Sunday

The absence of a car means I do not get out much during the week. Sunday is indeed my day of rest where I indulge in what I have never been able to achieve back in the UK.



Each Sunday I drag dad out to the car boot sale in Birgu. Amongst the domestic trash one can sometimes find a gem (dad insists most of what I buy is still trash) such as the large old luggage with wooden frame I bought (Victorian says the vendor. Rubbish says my dad) that is in need of some TLC.



Then it's off to the main city square to sit at a table outside, sip a cappuccino and look at life go by. Invariably I would already have bought the local newspapers and flick through them without a thought in the world. Pure bliss.



Notice above the lovely wrought iron work on one of the buildings in the main square. This week I came across an old friend of mine who had organised my first one man exhibition in Malta and he happened to mention that the building once belonged to his aunt. She had left it to the local band club to use as their premises. He suggested I go past the entrance and climb the stairs to see the beautifully decorated interiors on the piano nobile. I will.