Yes, I spent the past two months in the glorious baking weather and as it is so constant, there is no need to talk about it.
A big change from London where we talked about forecast and current weather all the time. The usual topic when you bump into colleagues at coffee machine and don’t know what to say.
A welcome change.
Until this week.
Did I say that I am walking to work here? As I have no driving licence and the bus connection is so poor, I walk thirty minutes each way. Which is something that I like, especially in the afternoon after work. Clears the head and I get a bit of exercise in as I am not running or climbing or doing anything else of a physical nature.
It was a little warm the first two weeks, meaning that I was getting to work a little sweaty. And there are no showers provided either. Not ideal but economical.
Anyway, this week the weather decided to let me know just how bad it can get.
Hint – bad.
So on Wednesday I woke to a flooded house. Our amazing flat does not have any drainage, so when it rains it goes through the closed door. Not much we can do about that. But I avoided the worst and got to work relatively dry.
Yesterday it was a different story. I was leaving home in the morning while it was drizzling. I was not very concern
Hint – I should have been.
By the time I reached about a third of my total journey, it was pouring. But I thought I was pretty close and I have spare shoes in the office, that I just carry on.
Hint – very bad decision.
At this point a lady yelled at me to stop while I walked past her. So I went back to her and she notified me that my dress had rolled up and she can see my ass and my panties. Her son looked intersted.
I carried on. The passing cars took the pleasure in getting as close to me as possible and covering me from top to toe with muddy water. But I was so close and carried on, holding on to the bak of my dress.
Walking down the hill to the office I was in a celebratory mood. I was almost there. The water was ankle high but by that time it did not matter too much.
Once I reached a dry-ish spot, I managed to skid and fall right on my knee. So I reached the office totally wet and bloodied. It’s called ‘battle on!’
To to top it all off on my way home I managed to step into the biggest poo I have ever seen, other than every day before this fateful day. Every time I was thinking that someone was going to step into it. So it was me.
My knee is sore and making funny cracking noise. I feel old and defeated. But lesson learnt, only wear black so nobody notices.
And today it rained too, just as I was leaving the office for my bank appointment. I am going to carry my umbrella with me every day now, just as I did in London.
The appointment was also a local lesson in its own right. I did say in one of my previous posts that as an EU national I have a right to a local bank account, regardless of whether I have the stupid local ID. Bank of Valletta has refused to open it to me so my manager put me in contact with a contact of hers, a relationship manager (my ass) in the local branch. You would have thought how could this go wrong.
Well, I came in and stood by the reception for a long while. The receptionist finally came and let the lady know I arrived. I was just told to sit down. I was sitting there, waiting for my appointment for 15 minutes, staring at her, while she did not let me know once when will she see me. So I walked out. Second attampt at opening local bank account failed miserably.
Gotta love Malta.