The sun was shining, a strong wind was whipping up white horses on the Mediterranean as during breakfast the Sultan updated the Alies on the manoeuvres that had unfolded during the night. Rampant hormones, fuelled by testosterone were more than sufficient to whir the crankshaft of desire in the direction of the erogenous zones. Thin walls were unable to muffle the cries of "Che gelida manina" (La Boheme), followed by "Yes it is, and don't put it there!" as the Sultan paced his room or buried his head in the pillows once more.

While enjoying another sumptuous breakfast the Major informed the Alies, that, thanks to his persuasive charm, tickets had been purchased, from the friendly receptionist, at a huge discount, for a North Route tour of the island by open top bus. Departure time was every thirty minutes so there was to be no lingering over the croissants, the Major expected everyone to be on parade at the appointed time in the lounge.

When the bus arrived the Alies bounced excitedly up to the top deck, out came the digitals, and after some fumbling the audio commentary was tuned into the correct channel, everyone sat back to enjoy the surroundings and its history.

First stop was the Malta Aviation Museum, situated in a former R.A.F. Station, two hangers full of iconic aeroplanes, many having played a vital part in the battle for the island's survival in World War II. It was a magnificent collection of pre and post war aeroplanes, some in the process of being refurbished, and other artefacts associated with the defence of Malta.

The day was warming up, a tabby was stretched out between the hangers and being inland the wind was not quite as cutting. It was only a short wait for the next bus, every half hour until midday, although the Sultan had to miss out on his visit to the Crafts Village.

On the way to Mosta the Alies could not help eavesdropping on a conversation involving our friends from across the pond in a verbal version of "Top Trumps."

It was lunch time in Mosta and unfortunately the Alies were too late to visit the Mosta Rotunda because it was closed from 12.00 hours until 15.00 hours. This magnificent building has the third largest unsupported church dome in Europe and during the Second World War it took a direct hit from a German bomb which failed to explode.

Lunch was taken in the square opposite the Rotunda in a friendly café with a rich selection of baguettes and mouth watering cakes prior to boarding another bus to Mdina, the old capital of Malta.

Shortly after entering the "Silent City," the Major dived into a gift shop to discover the whereabouts of one of his neighbours, Mr and Mrs Fisher, former owners of "Whitewalls," who had returned to Malta a few years ago, but like Woggle's earlier search, the trail went cold.

Once again the architecture was imposing, every building was in harmony with each other, but reflected the individually of the designers and the builders. Even the paved streets, free from all but essential vehicles, were in themselves evidence of single minded expertise.

A spectacular walk, where time stood still, ended back at the Mdina Gate and while liquid levels were topped up, the Borough Treasurer, Solicitor and the Sultan set off for the Catacombs which proved a little to claustrophobic for the Borough Treasurer, but the trio arrived back just as the bus was pulling up to the stop for the final leg of the journey.

From the top deck the views were marvellous, the land was being worked, plenty of back breaking activities were taking place in the field and inlets, while the resorts of Golden Bay, St Pauls, Bugibba were already geared up for the tourists who fancied a winter break in the sun.

The bus stop was adjacent to the "Diplomat" and soon the wind blown and red faced Alies were settled in The Lobby Bar for a debrief and to plan where to eat in the evening. The majority opting for a return to Ta' Kolina, where the owner presented the Alies with a complimentary bottle of wine as they were leaving.

For some the remainder of the evening was spent watching soccer but there the first signs that the Maltese Lurgy" was beginning to make its presence felt.

It was a case for others, now, not just the Sultan, to suffer "Nessun Dorma," because both the Press Secretary and Historian had restless nights but thankfully the wind from the previous day had dropped so a full party boarded a boat at Sliema Ferries for a harbour tour.

A most informative, relaxing couple of hours swept by. The harbour at Valletta has played a vital role in the island's history and its survival. As the boat chugged its way around there was evidence to be seen at every bustling creek and basin, that Malta was still at the epicentre of trade, commerce and tourism; maritime history marches on.

Back on dry land it was decide to take another ferry across the bay and lunch in Valletta, which involved another visit to "The Pub." The evening meal was taken at "Surfside" but unfortunately for some the bug was burrowing away and exacting revenge in the form of coughing, congestion, sweating, fatigue, lack of appetite resulting in some wings being severely clipped. In addition the demand for paracetamols, lozenges and cough medicines started to rise as the Maltesers began to crumble.