Terminal Velocity

I was surprisingly calm and relaxed, as Gaetano clipped his harness to my suit in preparation for the imminent sky dive – the very first from my end.

Sitting in a crowded Cessna, waiting to jump, I can’t recall any particular thoughts. Gaetano explained that quite a few people have second thoughts and go back on land on the very same plane they took off some minutes before.

Hanging out of the plane is Antonio, camera in hand. He is assigned the task of recording the whole experience. He motions me to smile as Gaetano and I prepare ourselves for flight. Suddenly, with no warning at all we are out of the plane. A double somersault into the air produces a sudden adrenaline rush that makes me realise I have just jumped out of a plane, approximately 4200m above the ground.


As the wind hits my face, whilst experience the downward falling sensation, I am laughing and screaming, with Antonio obligingly capturing every moment on camera. I had been looking forward to the free falling sensation, parachute closed, accelerating to terminal velocity, around 120 miles per hour. Freefall is such a stupendous sense of freedom. Flying through the air, you can do what you like with your body – fly forward, back-up, sideways, flip and twist. There are absolutely no limits as to which direction you can move your body. A veritable sensation of total freedom of movement.

Is this what birds feel when they are flying?, I think to myself.
Suddenly the reverie is broken when the parachute opens and I am yanked up. It doesn't even occur to me that I am 'safe'. It didn't even enter my mind, for a second, that the parachute wouldn't open.

From then on the sensation is the same as the ones I had in previous paragliding experiences, which nevertheless are exhilarating and adrenaline pumping. Circling above the airfield we take our time to land, enjoying the view of Palermo beneath us.

Bracing myself in the position I was instructed to, Gaetano skillfully maneuvers us into a soft and graceful landing.

I am still laughing when I realise that all my plans to scream Geronimo whilst jumping off the plane were fruitless as in the excitement of it all, I forgot totally about it and just laughed and screamed my way down.

Geronimo will have to wait till the next jump.

Survival Instinct

An eight-day trip to the Swedish Arctic wilderness set in a pristine environment we so sadly lack promised to be the trip of a lifetime, and it certainly didn’t disappoint. Let’s face it, such a Challenge is not something that is frequently experienced by the likes of us Mediterranean people, whose familiarity with icy conditions is more likely to be a short encounter with the freezers in a supermarket. The threat of frostbite, lack of sleep, no contact with other human beings apart from those involved in the Challenge, no internet, mobile phones or other creature comforts we are so used to in our day to day lives, would prove to be the real challenge.




A cabin with no running water and electricity was our base. We were all assigned duties, from cooking, cleaning and washing up to ensuring that there was a plentiful supply of firewood to fuel the centrally located stove which kept the cabin warm. The first three days were spent cross-country skiing, dog sledding and snowmobiling as well as preparing for the survival stage.

Dog sledding lived up to my expectations though I would have enjoyed spending more time with these strong animals. Very playful and craving attention, once they are harnessed they get into work mode. Six dogs pull a sledge carrying two people, one of whom steers and keeps the sledge’s balance. Every so often the sledges stop and the dogs take the opportunity to cool down by lying in the snow, nuzzling their noses against the cold ice. By the end of the day, they are all tired and almost fall asleep immediately in their ‘cabins’ on the truck.

Bluetooth, was the name of this loveable dog, who was always up for a kiss and a cuddle

If dog sledding was the best way to experience a true wilderness, completely dependent on the dogs with no noise except for the odd bark, then the snow mobile was the modern version of this sort of travel, with more adrenaline flowing, especially when pressing down the throttle at full speed while going up a hill, whose summit is just a straight line, with a huge unknown behind it. I must admit I had a whale of a time negotiating my way through forests, frozen lakes and undulating tracks. The only downer was the sound of the engine and the smell of fuel, a stark contrast to the unspoilt terrain we were travelling through.



At higher altitudes, near a weather station


Having never put on skis in my life, the prospect of spending a couple of hours picking myself up and untangling myself from a set of skis was admittedly very daunting. While quite a few people encouraged me, telling me that cross country skiing was much easier than downhill skiing, I still had visions of myself hugging a tree or being buried headfirst in the snow after a failed attempt to tackle some minor slope.

Happily, I managed quite well though I did have some very unceremonious falls, which required the assistance of my friends to get back on my feet. I enjoyed the experience so much, that I set off on the survival part of the journey, on skis, at night, carrying a heavy backpack and reaching the destination with a huge smile on my face.


Survival instinct

I guess that deep down inside each and every one of us there is a survival instinct that comes into play whenever we find ourselves outside our comfort zone. Although I have been on expeditions, I still had my reservations as to whether I would cope with the cold, lack of sleep and basic facilities. Each night I would crash into my sleeping bag with aching muscles only to be woken up a few hours later to carry out fire duties with my buddy. I found it very hard to go back to sleep, mostly due to the uncomfortable terrain and the cold.

Removing tree branches to build a shelter, made of trees and snow

We were all busy working on the construction of the snow hole, which saw us pile as much snow as possible into a heap at least two metres high, that would be big enough for 20 Challengers to sleep in. Although many hours were spent working on the snow hole, we sadly never managed to spend the night there. Due to heavy snowfall, the construction collapsed. Three people, including myself, who were working inside at the time, found themselves buried in the snow albeit for a very short time and were lucky enough to suffer very slight injuries and able to continue the Challenge after having been given the all clear by doctors.

Digging into the snowhole a few minutes before it collapsed


The Challenge is now over and some of us are struggling to get back into our old routines. There were many lessons to be learnt from this trip. Apart from giving me the opportunity to learn new skills, it has shown me how much we take what we have in our lives for granted and that we can really get by with few things and still be content.

We left Malta as acquaintances but came back as friends. We supported each other when the going was tough, shared a hearty laugh and a silent tear when it was needed. The best part of it all is that our effort will help the voiceless abandoned animals to lead a better life.

London Duathlon 2010 - A Beginner's Perspective

I must admit I was regretting my decision to sign up for the London Duathlon – The thought of participating in the worlds’ largest Duathlon seemed a good idea at the time of registration, now it was very daunting. The race is held in the spectacular Richmond Park, which is the largest open space in London covering almost 1,000 hectares (2,500 acres), and is home to a huge array of wildlife, including hundreds of deer.

Negative thoughts were racing through my head as I attempted to assemble my bike in a small corner of my London hotel’s lobby. “The room is too small for the bike” the receptionist told me when checking in. Great! With every single guest and hotel employee, that happened to be in the lobby at that point in time, starting at me like I was some kind of alien, hands covered in grease, I kept staring at my bike as if it were the first time I was looking at it. Bolts, springs and pieces of bike looked totally unfamiliar. Getting all hot and bothered and almost in tears I phoned my training buddy Cyp in an attempt to share my frustration rather than anything else. What could he do miles away back home in Malta. Having vented my frustration on a totally amused Cyp, I went back to assembling the bike. Half an hour later I gave it to the hotel staff who promised they would look after it for me until I was assigned my room.

Knowing that there are travel restrictions for bikes, I decide to trace my travel route for race day that afternoon and would also give me the opportunity to collect my Race number and pack. It takes me about an hour to get to Richmond Park. The roads are littered with signs advising drivers that roads in the Park would be closed the following day. I start to get pre-race nerves as I find myself approaching the ‘Race Village’ as it is called.

The area is a hive of activity, the transition area is being setup, banners raised, fellow athletes are forming a line to register and volunteers and busy giving directions and offering assistance to lost athletes like me! Race day planning is essential, so that racking of bike, warm up, hydration and focus can be achieved so that one can put in their best performance.

Collecting my race pack, I eagerly open the envelope to find the race number, security wristband to be worn from Registration until equipment is collected after the race, bike and helmet stickers to be fixed to the equipment before going into transition and the electronic timing chip to be worn on the ankle throughout the event. My number is 2421. I can’t believe I am taking part in my first international race!

The butterflies have gone up from my stomach to my mouth. My major concern is the bike. What if I have not assembled it properly and it breaks down half way? What if my tyres burst and I can’t repair them, thus ruining the whole event for me. These are things that could happen in every race so I try to banish these negative thoughts from my head.

Although the allocated time for my start is 11:25 I know I will wake up early anyway and would also need to allow for travel time, so I head back to the hotel with every intention of an early night. I still needed to unpack and prepare my kit for the following day. Checking into my room, to my horror I find I have a slow puncture. I try to repair it but seems to get worse. In tears I go down to the lobby and ask the receptionist, who looks amusedly at me, whether there was an open bike shop in the vicinity. I am in luck, he advises, after phoning the shop he found on his database, as they are open. I rush up to my room to get the bike, catch a taxi and go to the bike shop who fixes my puncture in no time. Wheel sorted I feel a bit more confident as I find my way back to the hotel. Neverthless the excitment, tension and nerves are on the increase.

Having eaten a plate of pasta giving me enough carbs in preparation for the race, I settle down to watch some television, to keep my mind off things. Surprisingly sleep soon takes over and I sleep a restful slumber all night, waking up when the first, of six alarms go off the same morning. Having ensured that all my kit is prepared, my race numbers are in my bag and I have a forced breakfast I set off to Waterloo station to catch my train. I see a few cyclists, which all look like pros, making me feel like an amateur which in all honesty I am.

The train journey seems never ending. More cyclists join along the way. Most of them are travelling in groups and are chatting animatedly. I never cease to be amazed at the good spirits some athletes have before a race – something that I always which I can achieve – but most of the times the butterflies take over and I clam up. I feel much better at having gone to check the venue the previous afternoon. All I need to do now is get to the transition area, rack my bike, warm up and get ready to roll!!

To my relief, I find a bike mechanic who is offering a mini-service for £15 – I quickly put myself in the queue. I am definitely not going to hold back from paying £15, if anything for my peace of mind. Twenty minutes later my bike has been seen to and fine tuned for the race.

Having fixed all the stickers, labels, race numbers etc to my paraphernalia I queue up to rack my bike. Prior to entering the transition area I am vetted thoroughly – my helmet checked to ensure it conforms to European Safety Standards – once this has been verified, I am waved in, by a very cheerful steward.

Finding my way through the transition/racking area I find my rack and start setting up my bike and belongings – helmet on handle bars, bottle of energy drink in bottle cage, rest of belonging neatly put aside so as not to be in the way.

A variety of emotions re gong thorough me – pride and excitement at being part of such a major event, loneliness as I am alone with no one to encourage, reassure me or share my excitement, no support from my friends who are there when I race in Malta and worry that I have bitten more than I could or should have chewed. Since I still have enough time before I start warming up I keep my mind off things by taking photos of the surroundings and go through the race route map provided knowing full well that I would forget the mental picture I tried to place in my mind. I just hoped that I would not be too far back from any competitors so that I could follow them.

The amount of carb drinks I drank throughout the morning had their effect and I find myself in the queue to the little girls’ room …..well outdoor mobile toilets to be exact. I strike a conversation with a fellow female athlete only to realize that we had ‘spoken’ to each other on Facebook the previous week. How strange is that – to find each other amidst the 2,500 or so participants. What was uncanny was the fact that we shared the same birth date! Three visits to the bathroom and a good warm up session later it is time to start queuing up. Participants are batched in groups of fifty and started off every ten minutes. Everything is working like clockwork. The organisation is amazing. Controlling so many athletes is no joke!

Finger on the Garmin start button, my legs are ready to run. Prior to starting us off, the steward gives us some words of encouragement and gives us a boisterous send off.

Finally the race is on!

Most of the athletes in my group shoot off but I pace myself knowing that I had to cope with a 10k run, a 20k cycle and a 5k run. It will be a long morning but I just pick up a steady pace and try to focus on my breathing. I want to enjoy the scenery as it is not every day that I can run in Richmond Park in glorious sunny weather. The sunny and warm weather has drawn a large number of crowds, some supporting friends and family others just absorbing the atmosphere.

I am quite surprised that my tension has gone away and I find myself enjoying every minute of it. Perhaps the fact that I don’t need to work on an improved time, that I am the only Maltese doing this race helps. No pressure. Each step that I make will take me closer to the finish line. The temperature is quite hot and water stations are very welcoming. Manned by people of every shape, size and age they all have one thing in common – enthusiasm and support towards all athletes. A simple “way to go”, or “come on love” can really motivate me. With a smile on my face (I realize this after seeing the photos) I keep running along.

Reaching the transition area, I start hoping that I find my bike, after all there are thousands of them, in one piece without any flat tyres. I must admit that the cycling leg is always my favourite in multi sport events. I just love shooting out of the transition area, even though my legs would still be unaccustomed to the change. The course is not at easy as I thought it would be. The wind is blowing form the opposite direction causing further resistance whilst negotiating some steep inclines.

There is some stiff competition between other cyclists as they zoom past me, granting expletives that would not give them any prizes for camaraderie. I find myself ‘competing’ against a young slightly overweight but nevertheless strong cyclist, who to my dismay breezes past me in the hills. I manage to fly past him in the flat surfaces and it becomes a sort of duel between us. I push hard as I want to beat him. I focus on my pace and the ‘duel’ ends in my favour having reached the transition area well ahead of him.

Changing quickly into my running shoes, my legs feel like jelly. The adrenaline is pumping. I admit that I can’t wait to get to the finish line to savour those few seconds of glory of having finished a race that I never even knew of until a few weeks before. As I run my last few kilometers I am delighted to see deer, totally unfazed with all the activity surrounding them. The race instructions had warned us to be careful of any deer that might shoot out onto the road but this one just happily munching away on the lush green grass.

With each step I was getting closer to the finish line. I found myself overtaking exhausted runners. I kept visualizing the finish line, but as soon as I could actually see it I felt a surge of energy running through my body.

As I sprinted into the finish line, amidst the cheers of strangers, I made sure I savoured every second of that moment.

I had successfully completed the world’s largest Duathlon in 2 hours 37 mins.

Proudly wearing my finisher’s medal I walked to my bike with the biggest smile ever. Wanting to share this moment with my friends, I shyly asked a fellow athlete to take my photos with my Blackberry. Uploading it on Facebook within seconds I was happy that technology allowed me to share this moment in real time!

Hellfire Hill

The sound of church clock in the early hours of the morning always brings back memories of my first day at school – or rather the anticipation of. Having woken up well before it was time to don my uniform for the very first time, many thoughts raced through my mind.

Fast forward some thirty years and the feeling is still the same. The butterflies are still same – the adrenaline released due to nervousness. My bag is packed. My racing uniform ready to be worn.

Sunday 29th August. Hellfire Extreme Triathlon would take place in the rugged terrain of Majjistral Park in Golden Bay. The Challenge consisting of a 1 kilometre swim, 20 kilometre cycle and an 11 kilometre run sounds relatively mild......on paper. In reality it is Malta’s toughest triathlon event, testing even the most hardened of athletes’ limits.

Having gone through the route prior to the event I was fully aware that this was not going to be a walk in the park. I knew that I would probably be the last one in. Not finishing was not something I wanted to consider and I tried to brush away such thoughts when they tried to edge into my mind. Having said that I really did not wish to finish the race only to find a bored Euchar from B’Kara St. Joseph waiting to clock me in. Realistically I estimated my finish time to be around 5 hours.

The start of the race, scheduled for 830am, could not arrive to soon. I tried to put in some fuel in my stomach but quite frankly energy bars are not exactly tasty and conjure up images of the food I feed my horse (am assuming here, just in case one thinks I might have actually tasted it) and the energy drinks all taste disgusting. But I need fuel to get the engine going so I make the effort and fuel up.

It is time to go. Walking down to the beach, the waves caused by the Force 6 winds seem much bigger than they looked from the transition area. Countdown starts.

Hitting the start button on my GPS we battle the waves just to get into the water and head a couple of metres away from the beach towards the marker buoy. I try to follow Danica Bonello Spiteri’s advice and not to push to much keeping in mind that I had to cycle and run as well. Battling the waves, I moved foward slowly.

The motion of the waves caused my stomach to churn and started feeling sick. Wishing I had taken some motion sickness pills, I try to think pleasant thoughts. I reach the marker buoy and start the second part of the first leg. I am sort of relieved to see that there are other swimmers next to me. I keep on, trying to keep a steady pace. Keeping my head in the water is difficult as I start feeling sick. As I am close to the waterline a huge wave hits me from the back. I feel pinned down for just enough time to think to myself "ok this is not good' when suddenly I am out of the water gasping for air and trying to keep my goggles over my eyes. Thankfully I have only a few paces to get myself out of the water and proceed up the steps towards the transition area to get ready for the bike leg.

From the transition area I can hear fellow athletes, taking part in the relay, cheering me on. I push myself up the stairs, still battling the motion sickness. The sun is now beating upon us. I pour water over my head before donning my helmet. I run out of the transition area, shouting out my number, and proceeding on the bike. I know I am in for a tough one having covered the route previously. I am not an offroad cyclist and I want to make sure I don’t injure myself as this could potentially disrupt my participation in the Sprint Triathlon and London Duathlon races in the coming weeks.


I head towards to soil banks that lead to Majjistral Park which lead me to the first offroad bit – a steep ramp. I get off my bike, there is no point attempting this one and risking the race in the first few minutes of the bike leg. Knowing that there would be a possibility of coming across the faster athletes heading towards the transition area I make sure I stay to the left as per our instructions.


Heading towards the cliff edge I meet Etienne Bonello heading down, first lap nearly completed. In his fast pace he finds the time to encourage me. I keep cycling as much as I can, getting off the bike when the offroad becomes too much. Reaching the tarmac road that leads to Popeye Village, I stand on the pedals and head down at a fast speed, hoping that no dog comes rushing to greet or attack me from the nearby fields.




Shouting my number to the marshal I start making my way up Hellfire Hill. “You may need to dismount and either carry or push the bike up the hill (feel free to disregard our suggestion)” said the race briefing document – I took up the suggestion and pushed my bike up the hill.

Back on the saddle and cycling up the hill towards the road that leads to Manikata my thoughts go back to last year’s Lifecycle Challlenge where cycling up hills, albeit not offroad ones, were the order of the day. A bout of nostalgia hit me but this was Hellfire Challenge and there was no time for nostalgia. Heading back towards the transition area I am faced with another tough downhill offroad, I attempt to tackle it but a slight twist saw the pedal embedded in my shin so I decided to play it safe and run down the hill. Next obstacle was a rubble wall which I had to first get my bike over then myself to continue the race. Following the well placed signs I soon reach the road that lead to the transition area. I was on tarmac so I was happy. I took the opportunity to increase the speed and cycled towards the gantry at around 30kms per hour.

Motivated by the loud claps and cheers I proceed towards the second lap of the route, which proves to be more difficult as fatigue and the intense heat set in. Coming across faster cyclists battling their way towards the end of the loop makes me realise that I have a long way to go. I am dreading the run knowing that will be my weakest point. Muttering to myself “focus, focus”, I cycle on determined to finish what I had started earlier on in the day. I did not relish having to go up Hellfire hill another time nor carrying my bike over the rubble wall but this is what made the Challenge what it was.

Two hours have passed since I started the bike leg when I make it to the transition area and prepare for what is my living nightmare – an 11 kilometre run, two laps around the clay slopes in the Riviera Martinique area. Pouring water over my head I run out of the transition area and attempt to pick up a slow and steady pace. The heat is unbearable. I keep trying to pour water over my head but it dries up immediately.

If there is one thing that gets to me psychologically is having to do a circuit or loop more than once. I’d rather go a further distance to make up the mileage rather than having to go round a circuit twice – naturally this is part of what makes a route tough I guess.

Nearing the Riviera carpark a marshall, who has obviously never taken part in any kind of sport except perhaps fast food guzzling, looks at me and asks me if I am the last one. My positive response generates a loud groan and an “oh no, I have to wait longer here?” from this marshal. Having been brought up to be polite as much as possible coupled with the fact that I needed every ounce of energy I choose to ignore him although deep down I think to myself that perhaps I was biting more than I could chew.

Neverthless, I plodded on. I reached the dreaded hill that leads towards the clay slopes. I start walking at a fast pace, knowing very well that any extra effort would not get me anywhere. Looking at my GPS I know that I still have a long way to go. Trying to banish negative thoughts from my mind I take one pace at a time. Following the signs I slowly make it to Lippija Tower. Having come across Danica Bonello Spiteri, she encourages me on, encouraging me and motivating me by remindimg me that from this point on the rest is flat or downhill. I pick up a pace, slowing down at times to drink from the small bottles attached to my belt. The drink is disgustingly hot but keeping hydrated is imperative.

Slowly but surely I find myself near the car park and head towards the transition area. Cheered on by my friends my motivation increases but lasts only a few minutes when I find myself running alone. Going up the hill, for the second time, I am very much aware that I will be the last one in and if I am lucky there will be some people left to welcome me at the finish line. Perhaps it might sound pathetic but I really did not want to finish this on my own.

Having been swimming, cycling and running for the past three hours my back starts to hurt and so do my heels. I drag my feet in a semi-walk/run, trying to estimate what time I would arrive at the finish. Looking at my watch I can't even figure out how much it is going to take me but at this point in time finishing is my main concern. The marshals have gone from their previous station. I feel so alone in the world. I mutter to myself that failing, giving up is not an option. I feel like crying but that would be wasted energy. I start humming to myself, whatever the song was I have no recollection.

Suddenly I hear the sound of someone running. I don’t really take notice immediately thinking that the heat must be playing tricks on me. But the sound is close to me so I look back and to my astonishment I see my friend Chris running behind me, bottle of water in hand and a big smile on his face. Having completed his cycle part of the relay he decides to come and join me. Egging me on, we pick up a pace. We are met by a marshall who is obliged to wait for me so that he can take my number to ensure that I did actually cover the route. Having someone running next to me I feel motivated and pick up a steadier pace. The end is getting closer and closer.

Reaching the clay slopes I am even more surprised to find my training buddy Cyprian waiting for me, ready to run with me. He has just completed the full route, and on the previous day completed the 10k Trail run but he joins Chris to push me to the finish. Shortly after I find Donatelle Callus and her dog BenG. Donatelle urges me to keep on fighting, whilst BenG just looks at me with his gorgeous eyes. This show of support from my friends brings tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. I owe it to them to push myself. In the car park I find Rachel Galea on a bicycle cycling at a pace next to me. “Pace yourself, keep this rate, come on, and you will complete the challenge in less than 4 hours” Cyp tells me. I slow down to try and conserve energy. BenG runs next to me, looking at me and keeping my pace, he knows he must not run fast and keeps close to me. It is incredible how intelligent dogs are!

With every step I take I am closer to the finish. Keeping an eye on my GPS I realise that achieving an-under 4 hour timing is actually possible. I try to save my energy as I get on to the main road and head towards the finish line. One last burst of energy is all I have and I use it to sprint into the finish line where surprisingly I find a crowd of people cheering me on.

I look at my watch – 3 hours 54 minutes and 53 seconds. I did it. I completed the Hellfire Extreme Triathlon.

What happens next, I must admit, is a bit of a blur. A bottle of cold water is thrust into my hand. My heart rate is over 170 beats per minute and much as I try to slow it down I am not successful. I am aware of someone leading me to a chair and giving me water and electrolytes to restore the depleted salts. Removing my muddied shoes, I give me feet a well deserved breather. My heart is now beating at an acceptable rate and I am already feeling much better. As I walk over to where the pasta is being served, fellow athletes come over to congratulate me, some surprised at my determination. I am further surprised when I am presented with an award for my determination in a form of hamper full of isotonic drinks, which will definitely come in handy.

Being presented with an award for determination


Posing happily with my dirtied bike after successfully completing the Challenge

Much as I was looking forward to the pasta lunch my stomach can only take liquids and I have to force myself to eat a few mouthfuls of penne. The adrenaline is still pumping in my veins. All I want is cold water and an ice cream!

My friends - Thank you, I wouldn't have done it in such a time without you!

Left to Right - Cyp Dalli, Donatelle Callus, BenG Callus, Chris Shultz, Rachel Galea

As the organising team, who have done a wonderful job, start dismantling the place, the Hellfire Extreme Triathlon is well and truly over. The satisfaction of completing the race was immense, the pride at being given a prize for showing determination was great but the best part of it all was the show of support by my friends and fellow athletes.

A huge thank you goes to the organistation team – Nathan & Deirdre Farrugia and Antonello Gauci as well as all the volunteers that contributed towards the success of the event!

The Living Years

“I wasn't there that morning

When my Father passed away

I didn't get to tell him

All the things I had to say”

The Living Years, Mike & The Mechanics

This song could not be more appropriate.

In the early hours of that morning, thirteen years ago, when he passed on to a better life, I dreamt about him. I could see his smiling face telling me that everything was going to be all right. When I woke up I knew he was in a better place.

Daddy had been considered to be a confirmed bachelor for many years. That is until he met my mother. I came into his life when he should have probably been preparing to be come a grandfather. Although Daddy’s image of little girls was that flowery dresses, pig tails and a ladylike demeanour, he soon enough realised that I was not going to be such. Whilst I never really caused any serious trouble, I never knew how to stand still. If there was some degree of disappointment at my tom boyishness he hid it well. I am sure it amused him to buy me toy trucks for my birthday or my enthusiasm to run out and play football.

Daddy graduated as a lawyer but practiced as a notary all his life, gaining a wealth of experience. Gaining respect from peers and clients alike he was generous with his time. Patient, never tiring of explaining the same advice over and over again just to make sure that he was understood. He took pleasure in mentoring and guiding newly graduated lawyers and notaries, helping them make their way in the legal world.

Streetwise yet embracing strong principles he instilled in me values that I try to follow in my day to day life. Discipline and respect towards others was something that he made sure I learnt at a very young age even though my rebellious nature made it quite difficult for him to get it through to my young hard head. His experience in life gave him a wealth of wisdom that I sorely miss, especially when I need advice on career paths or choices that need to be made in life.

Over the years we had our fair share of arguments, but then again which teenager with a rebellious streak wouldn't? But I know that, never for a second, did he stop loving me and giving all his energies to ensure that I was successful in life.

It is a pity that he was not around to see me graduate, to see me successfuly complete Challenges like Kilimajaro and Lifecycle, that he wiill not be there to give me away when I get married. But he is with me in spirit and I know he is watching over me.

Today, thirteen years since he left us, I can truly appreciate all his efforts, all his patience and all his hard work......

.........I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Dedicated to my father, Notary Dr. Joseph Vella Galea LL.D, 27th February 1997

Rush Hour

Their hands clutching at their steering wheels, with a grip that would strangle the strongest of men, they drive at a snail’s pace on the ‘fast’ lane.

Then, suddenly, shock horror. They are forced to stop at a roundabout or stop sign.

Reluctantly, gingerly, they slowly release their grip on the steering wheel, and in slow motion put their hands on the gear leaver. Releasing the gear they wait for their slot to proceed on their journey.

In what seems like an eternity, and several missed opportunities, they eventually put the car in first gear. Quickly, in a flash, their murderous grip is back on the steering wheel.

Chin sticking out dangerously close to the wheel they proceed at a snail’s pace, blissfully unaware of the fact that should, God forbid, they have an accident they are at more risk of being seriously injured than if they had to keep a safe distance from the wheel.

Totally oblivious of the fact that such driving causes frustration and is potentially dangerous these people lurk on our roads making rush hour even more unbearable than usual.

Yes, you guessed right. I experienced a tad too many of these drivers this morning.

Now wait. Don’t get me wrong, I do not condone reckless driving but extremes are bad on both ends. If you are not confident to push the pedal a bit harder keeping within the specified legal limit, that is fine, but get out of the way!

Don’t be selfish and block other drivers’ way. The outer lane is for overtaking, so it should be kept free. Driving at 5 kilometres per hour on a road that has a limit of 60 kilometres per hour is bound to cause frustration and irritation.

Let us be realistic, blocking someone from overtaking, especially when on their way to work in the morning or home in the evening, is extremely frustrating. And please do not come and tell me that it is not. If you don’t find it frustrating then you are either living an illusion or else have the luxury of taking things calmly and not rushing to get to work on time or getting home in time to feed the family etc etc

I was very pleased to read that the Ministry of Justice and Home Affairs will be imposing a €100 fine on those found driving in reserved lanes or those blocking traffic by driving on the outside lane when not overtaking.

What needs to be seen is whether this will be enforced or not.

One lives in hope!

Drive carefully and safely!