Sometimes, only sometimes, don't you wish that all the writers, bloggers, musicians, letter-writers, columnists, pundits, poets, actors, singers, journalists, film makers (and that guy standing on his box in Hyde Park) would put their freedom of expression where the sun never shines and shut up for a day, a week, a month? Would the world be too boring? Would people die if they didn't feel they were being creative for a few days? Would the silence be so unbearable?

Lanzarote brings you the second edition of Literary Criticism, a look at current Maltese goings-on through the simultaneous comparison of newspaper articles and cinematic gems.

Few experiences would rate as high on the scale of exasperation as being stuck in a traffic jam. Who has not lived through the aggravation of inhaling exhaust fumes and being forced to jockey for position as the more aggressive drivers dangerously skip the queues? Yet, one would expect that, thanks to its small size and limited distances, drivers in Malta would be largely spared this nuisance.

Falling Down is about a man who goes insane on a hot day summer day in Los Angeles. It is also a caricature of America in the 1990s, with its racial, social and economic problems. It is a portrait of middle class society, its angst and neurotic behavior. Bill (Michael Douglas) is the ordinary white collar middle class guy. Stuck in a traffic jam, he first tries to stay cool, but slowly becomes nervous. Noisy children in a bus, a man yelling into his cell-phone, a defunct air conditioner, a disturbing fly buzzing around his head. He starts fighting the fly with his newspaper. After a panic attack, he opens the door of his car and steps out. D-FENS needs a break and some fresh air.

Links: Literary Criticism, I (Shabby Malta vs. Lars Von Trier's masterpiece Dogville)

It's grey and rainy again in Brussels. On my way to see the flower carpet on the Grand'Place, I spotted David Casa (MEP) looking rather dapper and sporting a bright green sweater and smile. Just off Place St. Catherine I discovered a contemporary art studio which had an installation called Bipolar Perversion in the window: a giant brown stuffed teddy bear stood dangerously behind a stuffed polar bear. The teddy bear looked distinctly happier than the polar bear which had a worried look on its face. Not far from the Bourse I almost got sprayed by a merry group of SDF (sans domicile fixe - i.e. tramps) who were mucking about with a bottle of champagne. A few hundred steps away, a strange force pulled me into the Librairie St. Honore' (Livres Neufs a Prix Reduits) and I left with a book called Le terrorisime intellectuel and a novel called Les 20 000 Femmes de la vie d'un homme. Self explanatory titles I guess. By the time I approached the Grand'Place, it was raining tropically so I was forced to pop in to the nearest souvenir shop to buy yet another umbrella. On my way to the till, I passed by shelf after shelf of Mannekin Pis mugs and plates. The tiny, flimsy umbrella is overpriced but it does have BELGIUM written in orange on a black background. The flower carpet was getting soggy and a string of anoraked tourists stood round the perimeter fence taking photos, looking downcast or silly. It was time to leave. But I just love this place. Tonight we should be in Bargemon.

When the new gurus down at the MTA came up with the Brand Malta concept, I sensed that it would provoke two reactions in the Maltese public:

a) people wouldn't like it (I can understand that - we're not Nike for God's sake) and
b) they would inundate the letters pages and opinion columns with their complaints on anything under the sun. The usual suspects - potholes, dirt, 'vulture' cabbies, 'foul mouthed' bus drivers and so on - are now joined by a motley crew of stubborn tal-karozzin who refuse to dress up as peasants, flip-flop wearing receptionists and uncomfortable pillows.

I've collected a selection of rants from angry, disappointed citizens and columnists.

• My heart aches when I see a street in Valencia with several travel agencies and not a single poster or advert on Malta/ (Charles G. Vella, Sliema)

• The person who opened the locked hotel doors at 2 a.m. was wearing flip flops, a creased shirt and shorts. The hotel room looked shabby with uncomfortable pillows and peeling paint/ (Marcel Ellis, Suffolk)

• How do you persuade the horse cab driver (tal-karozzin) that there is more gusto if he wears a uniform in the style of a traditional Maltese peasant?/ (Alfred Mifsud in his Friday Wiseguy column)

• What remains that makes Malta different are two important strengths; the fact that the majority of us speak English and that we have.../ (Kenneth Zammit Tabona)

• The same MTA (who never heard the point of view of Joe Citizen), now expects that Joe Citizen would toe the line according to this ambitious project/ (Philip Pace, Sliema)

• The tourism ship is sinking, passengers and crew are all clinging to the lifeboats hoping for a miracle, while the minister and his circle of musicians carry on with their joyful tunes on the tilted deck/ (David Fenech, Mellieha)

• The MLP's plan is not based on vague promises on fixing one or two irritants, much less on rocket science schemes to boost tourism, but on an obsessive commitment to get things done with the participation of all those who are clamouring for change and proper leadership in this industry/ (Evarist Bartolo)

Daphne, of course, has simply said we're a crap, working-class destination that nobody in his right mind would want to visit.

Then there's the eternal chicken-and-egg debate about product and marketing. Which comes first? The egg? No! The chicken! No! The egg!

Of course things could be better. But all this ranting is getting a bit over the top, don't you think? Do we really think that cleaning up the place, doing up the roads and making sure the bus drivers are polite will do the trick? I'm not sure. When I book a holiday abroad, I don't check out a list of places with the cleanest streets, the smoothest roads and the most polite taxi drivers. After all Paris is full of dog poo (and uncomfortable pillows), Belgium has its fair share of rude service providers, Rome's pick-pockets are notorious, Dublin is way over-priced, a recent study found 3000 types of germs on a single tube seat in London's underground, Iceland's drivers roar past you in Mad Max vehicles on dirt-track roads, you're woken up by the muezzin at 430am in Istanbul and I got horrible food poisoning in Cyprus. So what? I never wrote to the Cypriot tourist office threatening to boycott their mediocre island. Oh, and I know people who've spent a week sitting on the loo in a hotel in Cancun.

I think Malta is just Malta. Unlike Ibiza, Iceland, Sicily, Morocco, the Greek islands and much of Eastern Europe we simply don't have an automatic image attached to us, an image which does its own advertising. Some of these places have built up that image more or less intentionally and fairly recently (Ibiza encouraged the party island tag), others have been captured in literature or film. Only one of my friends knew about Hagar Qim temples before I mentioned them - and he's the type of guy who spends his holidays visiting medieval castles. Which does not mean that we don't have lots to offer. My friends love all the quirky stuff and want to come back. One Hungarian friend simply loves saying the word Bugibba, reading The Times of Malta, the buses and the smallness of the place.

Why doesn't everyone just buy a copy of Molvania - A Land Untouched by Modern Dentistry (Jetlag Travel) and chill out a bit? While you're at it, make sure you check out Elektronik Supersonik - Molvania's Eurovision song entry.

In the meantime, roving Maltaphile and blogger Kim Bah Lee is reporting on the tourism situation as it unfolds 'on the ground'. Over to you Matt. It's looking positive isn't it?

From Brussels to Valletta

10 a.m. - 1 p.m.

10th - 14th August