Waiting for a speedboat

You know how it is. Windless, cloudless, sunny.

Malta isn't renowned for it's beaches so you have to put up with gravel, boulders, smoothed slippery rocks and general inaccessibility compared to places more conducive to paddling and swimming. Not that either is insurmountable but neither are quite as easy as other places make them. A trip on a bus to paddle isn't quite what we're used to but sitting and dangling the feet is not a bad thing in itself.

This afternoon we wandered around to Spinola Bay, all of a ten minute lethargic stroll. At the head of the bay is a concrete pier, over which one can dangle one's feet, unless the tide's not playing.

At the back of the pier there's a broken bit that suits the butt and is of such a height that feet dangling is an easy option. As long as you can cope with all the phoneaholics spreading themselves around you. Fortunately few are attired such that dangling their feet is an option as it looks like most of them are poured into whatever they call trousers. I'd have thought getting your legs wet in them would need surgical attention.

Anyway, they're fine as long as they use their phones or devices for any of the myriad of functions that do not involve actually speaking. In physical close up interpersonal conversation with someone a few feet away they are barely heard. However, the whine of some awful tune is suddenly exchanged for the whine of some awful voice at an awful volume. I'd have thought that technology would let you talk normally on your device, either that or they just feel the need to draw attention to some great sadness in their poor lives, at least that's what their interminable whining would seem to imply.

I have digressed. In the quiet time I spent dangling my feet in the not so cool Mediterranean of Spinola Bay I became aware of another of the drawbacks encountered in this part of the world.

You could find that your lower legs begin to exhibit signs of the effects of coastal erosion.

There is no, zilch, zero movement of the sea's surface. It just sits there unmolested by wind and untroubled by tide.

You are not immediately aware of such a thing, unencountered before in my experience, of having your feet dangling a few inches below the surface which after a period of time leads to the level of that surface etching itself into your lower leg. Once the tightening of the skin at the sea/air interface is recognised for what it is you either have to move your legs about or hope a speedboat passes.

It was so hot this afternoon that even the speedboats that did pass were doing so at a shameful rate. This meant moving. Note the cloud. It wasn't quite as cloudless as my opening line may have led you to believe. Please forgive my lack of accuracy.

The move, when it finally came, inevitably led to the Gelateria.
Friday's are so good, aren't they?
Even last ones.