Heading out of Zurrieq on the main drag, quite quiet, early in the morning and I’m on the prowl for pain relief.

I think that these are kid’s interpretation of the buildings of Malta.

Somewhere beyond that light blue radar dome on the summit is the finish point. I promise it is blue.

I don’t quite know why you all insist that I include photos of myself in these things, but I know that I’ve been lacking. So here is one – a self-taken-image – though I’m sure that there is a pithy contraction of that more suitable to the ‘yout’ voice.

You could never. ever. mistrust a man that names his tools.

I’m heading to the cliff edge along the road running along that deep gorge.

The blue grotto. I shall not be going down. In this game there is a saying, ‘A tourist attraction is just a distraction.’ How do ya like it?

The other side of the gorge doesn’t get the recognition it deserves. I feel for it.

There are a huge number of definite articles in Maltese; il ir ix iz im and contractions of them, and flip abouts, some demonstrated above. For instance iz for words beginning with Z, ir for R, is for S etc.

Not at all sure about Hagar’s Quim though.

The chief welcome cat zipped ahead but did himself in and needed a nap.

Hagar Qim, which predates Stonehenge and the Pyramids. Now has a lovely little hat to keep the sun off.

Its stable mate, L-Imnajdar. Weird to think that even then the priests commanded and the kings and their people prostrated themselves in obedience. That age old, yet brilliant trick, ‘I speak for the Gods.’

The old Concreve memorial. I suppose there are worse places to lie. It says in my guide, ‘On no account attempt this descent if it is wet.’ It has been wet but is not currently wet. Oh well!

OK. I don’t want to talk about it. Other than –

– after lowering myself down the first bit I was greeted with a wonderous smell. These clover like things mixed with the wild Thyme.

A sea arch that looks a little like a duck to me.

What are you waiting on now? These young ‘uns could have gone first.

And some sea caves. I’ll have a break at that white building, if open.

The guide book has very little to say about this boulder scree route, other than, ‘The path may disappear but you should pick it up after some short distance.’ Once lost you look for clues and revel in the mark of some other punter’s boot tracks leading across a rock slope, only to discover that you are now in a bad place. It never occurs to you, at the right time, that the dumb fuck was just as stupidly lost as you. I ended up squeezing past some nasty rocks at the top of that slope on the left.

Some big caves. Can’t see them ever being inhabited. That boulder slope is rough, would be a constant run of broken legs and ankles from the kiddies and old folks.

Oh look! I was wrong. They are even trying hard to hang some new curtains.

Filfla and I presume little Filfla.

More cave dwellings – going for a song – soft furnishings not included.

If only it was here. Think what nicknames we could heap on him. ‘Dirty’ being too obvious but a starting point.

I’m sitting on the cantilevered deck of a café sticking out above the bay having my now, obligatory, cappuccino and water . The storm did wild damage to many of the cliffs. Here, the fresher white shows where all the rock broke off.

Which way’s Starboard again? Too late! Abandon ship!

Someone needs to get Greta on the phone and have her turn that big tap off. No wonder sea levels are rising.

My guidebook is 10 years old and some things have changed. The way up the disappeared a few years ago in that landslide.

Now up the steep windy road to the cliff top. The two young Italian women heard me coming up behind them huffing and puffing and heaved over to have a sandwich. The graceful way to solve that problem where you are only slightly faster and have to spend twenty minutes slowly pulling away, embarrassed to be forced into an intimacy neither party wanted. Meanwhile this very proud Maltese farmer climbs his podium to receive the accolades from his sheep and goats and then raises the flag.

An aqueduct. Nothing much has changed in 2000 years. What do you mean – what did the Romans ever do for us?

Some sort of marker post with old George VI's initials on. I doubt RTO, whoever the little scumbag is, will live in memory for a fraction of the time.

A little church, tucked away under the eaves of the cliffs. Hard to find, hard to get to. Safe from the nasty raging and raiding pirates.

I’m tootling along this cement track down from the cliff edge. It is lovely and warm and peaceful.

In 2 million years they’ll believe we had strange growths on our feet.

A giant beehive. I mean; a hive inhabited by a giant bee.

This V.M, staying out of the sun, is the giant bee’s protector.

Another church trying to evade the ravers, raiders, buccaneers etc. In my view all they would have to do is go to the nearest village and get an old nona. They love all that on-your-knees religious lark. You could get the church’s location by threatening to take her porridge away.

Why am I showing you another shot of the track, ‘cos the smell here is absolutely wonderful. The shrubs and pine trees in the warm air, just divine, darling.

All the rocks and shit being knocked off by the winds. This one would have been bullseye, had I been coming past.

Hoicked myself up the final 30 metres to top. Down there on the little bit poking out into the sea is the café. Horror! There’s peeps coming down from the road – car peeps.

Heading up to that radar dome on the road.

Is it graffiti if you do it with stone?

The giant who owns the bee likes her golf.

There is about ninety people around me all come to look at this church and the radar dome on the highest point in Malta.

Before the British built the road for the radar thing what the fuck happened? An aged priest on a poor donkey drags up here to the middle of nowhere once a week to a congregation of a widowed farmer’s wife and her pet goat?

That’s the blue one, miles away.

That’s the viewpoint I was at – top left white bit sticking out a bit.

Ha! A twofer. Me at the golf ball and done. Now just have to find a bus.

Went in to the restaurant beside the visitor centre – not shown (tourist attraction) – and eventually got served. The sun was a bit brutal, and of course, what did I not get a chance to buy. Yep. My lips are sunburnt for the first time in my life – what a strange feeling. It’s an hour and a half later and I’ve decided to do extras from the Dingli cliffs to Bahrija. Phone has fallen to 22%. Lasted much longer yesterday. I’ll have to ration things ‘cos it’s my only map.

That’s Rabat so, to the left of that and vaguely north.

Looks like he’s just lazing, hurl away.

He’s sheltering in that stone hut anyway. I shouldn’t be taking these photos but I do want some sort of record of this bit.

Zoom in, you’ll find them in the cliff face.

Neat des-res. Running water throughout.

I just can’t get over the orange trees.

Where’s the rest of the church? I think this supported a bell to bring all the peeps in from the fields etc.

I’ve had to descend into this fertile valley from that ridge, and I need to climb the one behind me with the cliff dwellings, all because my guidebook is 10 years old. I was walking up the lane beside those buildings and a French couple stopped me to ask if I knew how to get to Ras il Wahx. I said it looks like it is about 2Ks down this lane that we are walking along, I’ve to turn off just before it. They thank me and continue past, going the opposite way. 1K later I find out why. A big ‘Private’ Iron gate blocking the way. Now I’ve to turn back and try to find a route to reconnect me to the one in the guide. Why didn’t they tell me?

This one is still occupied. A nice little window with a view over the valley. I wonder do they have any Hobbits at home?

Phone almost gone. I’ve resigned myself to doing without and tried to memorise the route from the map ‘cos I’m still off course. What is it? A stone hand warmer? Must have once been in a very large doorway to take a large wooden bar locking people out. Now on the outside of a wall.

Hello my old friend. Do you know where Bahrija is?