There is no better place than the Island of Malta, if one wants to allow one's mind to drfit away and go wherever it will take you. After all, that's what holiday's are all about.

 

50 THINGS MY BROTHER TAUGHT ME.
As I sit here in my hotel room with views to nowhere in particular across the Med, I am at that point in my annual holiday where that things starts happening again.  Sometimes – when we have the luxury of a fortnight away – it doesn’t start to manifest itself until day ten or even later, but this visitation came upon me early.  Indeed, I suspect that these thoughts were stirring in my hidden consciousness even before I stepped on the plane.
I am speaking of the deep thoughts.  The thoughts about life, the meaning of life, what I have done with my life, where my life is going – that sort of thing.  Only when the ringing of the telephone and the incessant tide of emails abates does the mind have the opportunity to go wherever it wants to take you, and in my experience a sun lounger beside the sea is as good as place as anywhere for this to happen.
You see I have been thinking about Tony.  He would have been 58 on the last day of this month if he had survived his twenties, but Tony like so many of his generation, was not destined to become fully grown and ripened. He was never to know marriage or have children. He troubled and difficult life was swallowed up by the grave (or was it a crematorium) a whole lifetime ago it seems.
Ours was a troubled relationship – caused more than anything else by the four years of so that separated our births. His friends were not my friends; his life was not my life.  But as his younger sibling and room-mate by necessity for many a year – indeed from birth until I was about fifteen - we did converse from time to time.  And it is as I have allowed my mind to wander where it wants to take me – the ocean crashing next me on Malta’s eastern coast - I am reminded of all the things he may have taught me.  I say may, simply because I am not sure that he did.  I suspect some of his little pearls of wisdom and anecdotes came from other sources – but there you go. Indeed, as you will see below, just because he taught them to me, it does not mean they were true.  Indeed. I now know that most of them weren’t. 
I now find myself compiling a list of 50 things he may have taught me and having reached number 15, I suspect it might not be as many as I thought.  Perhaps the list will close at twenty. Here are the first five.
1. The Financial Times is the colour it is because an operative fell into the machinery and his blood turned the pages pink.
2. If you fold a £1 note (remember them) a certain way you can see the queen’s derriere.
3. In Spain you can fry an egg on the roof of a car.
4. That the American’s have satellites that can read the writing on a discarded cigarette packet from outer space.
5. That when we say “the sky was like a yellow duster” it is a simile.
There were others too but these had to do with sick and poo; the staple diet of all pre-pubescent boys.
I have written about Tony before, but never to thank him for the truths and the utter rubbish he passed on to me, his rival, the young pretender.  I now find myself thinking of him almost every day and it is over 30 years since he left us. I think I love him now as I could not then.
………….and this is why I think holidays are so important

 

50 THINGS MY BROTHER TAUGHT ME.

As I sit here in my hotel room with views to nowhere in particular across the Med, I am at that point in my annual holiday where that thing starts happening again. Sometimes – when we have the luxury of a fortnight away – it doesn’t start to manifest itself until day ten or even later, but this visitation came upon me early. Indeed, I suspect that these thoughts were stirring in my hidden consciousness even before I stepped on the plane. I am speaking of the deep thoughts.  The thoughts about life, the meaning of life, what I have done with my life, where my life is going – that sort of thing. Only when the ringing of the telephone and the incessant tide of emails abates, does the mind have the opportunity to go wherever it wants to take you, and in my experience a sun lounger beside the sea is as good as place as anywhere for this to happen.

You see I have been thinking about Tony.  He would have been 58 on the last day of this month if he had survived his twenties, but Tony, like so many of his generation, was not destined to become fully grown and ripened. He was never to know marriage or have children. His troubled and difficult life was swallowed up by the grave (or was it a crematorium) a lifetime ago.

Ours was a troubled relationship – caused more than anything else by the four years of so that separated our births. His friends were not my friends; his life was not my life.  But as his younger sibling and room-mate by necessity for many a year – indeed from birth until I was about fifteen - we did converse from time to time.  And it is as I have allowed my mind to wander where it wants to take me – the ocean crashing next me on Malta’s eastern coast - that I am reminded of all the things he may have taught me.  I say may, simply because I am not sure that he did.  I suspect some of these little pearls of wisdom and anecdotes came from other sources – but there you go. Indeed, as you will see below, just because he taught them to me, it does not mean they were true.  Indeed. I now know that most of them weren’t. 

I now find myself compiling a list of 50 things he may have taught me and having reached number 15, I suspect it might not be as many as I thought.  Perhaps the list will close at twenty. Here are the first five.

1. The Financial Times is the colour it is because an operative fell into the machinery and his blood turned the pages pink.

2. If you fold a £1 note (remember them) a certain way you can see the queen’s derriere.

3. In Spain you can fry an egg on the roof of a car.

4. That the American’s have satellites that can read the writing on a discarded cigarette packet from outer space.

5. That when we say “the sky was like a yellow duster” it is a simile.

There were others too but these had to do with sick and poo; the staple diet of all pre-pubescent boys.

I have written about Tony before, but never to thank him for the truths and the utter rubbish he passed on to me, his rival, the young pretender.  I now find myself thinking of him almost every day and yet it is over 30 years since he left us. I think I love him now as I could not then.

…………and this is why I think holidays are so important.