Narrator: This is the sad tale of the township of Dogville. Dogville was in the Rocky Mountains in the US of A, up here where the road came to its definitive end, near the entrance to the old abandoned silver mine. The residents of Dogville were good honest folks, and they liked their township. And while a sentimental soul from the East Coast had once dubbed their main street Elm Street, though no elm had ever cast its shadow in Dogville, they saw no reason to change anything. Most of the buildings were pretty wretched, more like shacks, frankly. The house in which Tom lived was the best, though, and in good times, might almost have passed for presentable. That afternoon, the radio was playing softly, for in his dotage, Thomas Edison senior had developed a weakness for music of the lighter kind.

At the time of the Commonwealth heads of government meeting in Malta eight months ago, most public places in and around Valletta and Floriana, and routes leading to their hotel in Golden Bay and to sites to which delegates were being taken, looked at their best.

Gangs of workers were constantly seen cleaning up streets and ensuring that everything was in place. Signposts twisted beyond recognition were put right or replaced, rubbish that had collected in corners removed, broken kerbs seen to, new plants planted and the odd splash of paint given here and there to make the official routes look spanking clean. Pass through some of the same routes again today and see the difference.

Yes, Castille Place, in Valletta, is still being kept nice and clean and attractive, even though the auberge railing badly needs a lick of paint. (Whose bright idea is the plan to turn Castille Place into an open space?). And so is the area surrounding the War Memorial, up to Blata l-Bajda and a bit beyond. But then move on, and the farther up you go, to the same routes which the CHOGM delegates had passed through, the scene gradually metamorphoses into one of neglect, except for the stretch of new road.