Entries from November 2006 ↓

I’m back selling stuff, actually trafficking in human beings, and it’s like a drug. I’m building my library of self-help books and this weekend found a fantastic second-hand copy of “The Gentle Art of Salesmanship” (selling for one pence on Amazon) that was written twenty years ago by a man called Harry Turner.

“A selling career … is good for your health, can make you rich, possiby famous, and offers unrivalled opportunities for world travel, good food, fine wine and sexual encounters undreamed of by quantity surveyors even in Slough.”

“If you are the unfortunate possessor of a strong Lancashire, Yorkshire, Birmingham or Liverpool accent, you should ony embark on a sales career if you remain in your own region among people who speak as hideously as you.”

They don’t make self-help books like that any more …

Croatia is out of bounds for the time-being because of their claim that St. Paul landed on the island of Mljet. Any self-respecting Malteser knows that this is not only outlandish, but quite possibly an infringement of intellectual property rights. St. Paul landed in Malta. It was on TV.

My Maltese copyright lawyer girlfriend has therefore said no, with a snarl.

So this Christmas we’re back to the rock for the third time this year, to indulge at the most indulgent period of the year (although allegedly the Maltese don’t need much help - they’re apparently the fattest, shortest and laziest of EU citizens).

Having shifted back to the private sector (and loving it) I’ve lost half my holiday rights for 2007. I’m coming back soon after Christmas, with the missus staying longer, but not long enough to transmute into a short, fat, lazy Malt. Well, not fat or lazy.

And while I’m at it, I must draw your attention to Malta Calling, my new favourite read, and the book I should have written when I spent most of the time just talking about it.

When you first buy a house, it’s exciting. The first eighty percent of boxes get unpacked, the fancy-smelling soaps get housed on their appropriate sinks and a new coffee machine takes pride of place on the carefully selected kitchen surface.

Weekends one and two are identified by the constant climbing stairs, unpacking, repacking and throwing out.

Then comes the rest. The joy of choosing curtains (I use the word “joy” loosely, but I hope the sentiment is understood) gets overtaken by the realisation that for every curtain you need a curtain rail, rawl plugs and endless hours in the DIY store. Light fittings need transformers and there’s a difference between wattage and voltage. Depending on who you speak to, your parquet flooring should either be treated with lots of wax or lots of water, or no water at all but a special soap that you can only buy in the Netherlands.

The bookshelves don’t build themselves and the procrastinating over spending thousands on massively-overpriced storage solutions means that every flat surface, including beds and floors, is used as a wardrobe.

I’m shutting my eyes and hoping that when I get back from my Christmas holidays, it will all have taken care of itself.