Well I managed to stay inside for all April Fools’ Day.
No one has managed to pull my leg for a while, but I kept an eye out through the venetian blinds for suspicious activity just the same. Some of the nippers around here need a firm hand.
My goodness, back in my day if I used the language I hear from these neighbourhood cherubs, it would be paddy whack the drumstick so hard I wouldn’t be sitting down for a week.
One year in primary school I pinned a note which read ‘Kick Me’ to Father Camilleri’s back. There was absolute hell to pay. I was hauled up to the Head Nun and she rang my father at work! I was nearly expelled, at the age of seven.
Father Camilleri wasn’t fashed about it, he liked the fact that I could pronounce his esoteric name.
At the time of this lamentable incident, it was only a few years after the lifting of a ban on migrants from Malta. They couldn’t come here because of the White Australia Policy. Too dark, you see. Too swarthy, too somehow black.
And these were Maltese! Fellow Members of the British Commonwealth and war allies.
We haven’t moved forward since then either. We just don’t pick on the Maltese anymore, especially when they make such superb jockeys.