In the pit underneath this hatch in 1608. For brawling, breaking down a door and badly injuring the knight with whom he was brawling. After a month, he escaped, fled Malta, and was expelled from the Knights of Malta (into which he had been inducted the year before as official painter to the Order) as a ‘foul and rotten member’.
All items found in one room of a museum (the Grand Inquisitor’s Palace) largely dedicated to arguing that the Inquisition wasn’t actually that bad since it only occasionally tortured and executed people, while blithely describing its brutal oppression of the general population. Such as the slave who was tried for heresy for – it was claimed by his anonymous accuser – complaining that he would have been better off if he was still a slave of Muslims since they treated their slaves better than Christians did.
And there was me thinking the Grand Inquisitor was some kind of music hall memory-man act.
What I didn’t read on my holiday:
Poor Caine Mutiny has now traveled over 20,000 miles in my luggage since December and is still unread. Maybe next time.
What only got as far as Manchester because the case was too heavy when Andrea selfishly packed her stuff in it:
And, okay, the books I bought in Malta:
In my defence, they were both remaindered, I’ve never seen a copy of the Lotz, and the Winslow was because when we were mis-sold bus travel credit, they refused to refund but would exchange, then mis-sold us different bus travel credit but on leaving the shop we checked online what they’d straight out lied to us about, and still they refused to refund, so we bought the correct bus travel credit and then spent ages finding a bunch of things we did not really want for them to have to ring up on the till (though, that said, the Winslow sounds like a great piece of trash, and so no doubt it will find itself packed in the luggage for another trip some time. But not until I’ve finally read The Caine Mutiny).
Best: The 4000 year-old mummified crocodile; the lizards, the gecko and the flying fish; the cheap buses that always run on time even though the clocks on them are always wrong; the Neolithic, Bronze Age and Phoenician sites; the ridiculously bad films introducing various sites (especially at Gozo’s citadel and the Hypogeum); the sausages, the seafood and the cheeselets.
Worst: The crazy-ass Catholic shit that rapidly goes from being ‘local colour’ to ‘oppressively ubiquitous’ without parking long enough in ‘hilarious tat’.
Best: The refreshing complete absence of seagulls.
Worst: The ominous complete absence of seagulls.
Best: Starting a long walk at 6.30am before the sun comes up at 7.30am and the day gets too hot.
Worst: The killer humidity from 6.30-7.30am.
Best: The ten minutes from 7.30-7.40am when the sun first comes up and burns off all the humidity.
Worst: The killer heat from 7.40am onwards.
Worst: The reluctance of dog owners to clean up dog shit.
Best: The speed with which the sun dries out dog shit.
Best: The locals’ refusal to queue for buses.
Worst: The psychotic glee with which ex-pats and tourists abandon the practice of queuing for buses. (Seriously, when the Brits have to return to the UK after Brexit, they will threaten the very fabric of our ordered and orderly society.)
Worst: The widespread inability to move down the bus to allow more passengers to board.
Best: The road-to-Damascus light of revelation in the eyes of passengers when they finally grasp the concept of moving down the bus to allow more passengers to board.
Best: How cheap the wine is.
Worst: How far our apartment was from the off-licence.