2. Maltese is the only real lingua franca. Save for two or three coastal towns or well-to-do suburbs with SUVs parked in the driveway, you'd be hard-pressed to find places where English – rather than Maltese – is the lingua franca. Not that we'll kick up a fuss if you've been living here for thirty years and can't speak a word of it – and it is true we tend to intersperse our Maltese with English (and vice-versa) sometimes – but Maltese is unquestionably our language.

3. Not everyone speaks English. Even if English is an official language the percentage of people who can speak is slightly higher in Sweden and some other Nordic countries. English is a borrowed language we find useful and probably like more than we let on, but the only language we consider really ours is Maltese. According to Eurobarometer 100% of the Maltese population speaks Maltese and 88% can speak English. Portuguese is an official language in Macau and only 5% speak it, so things could be worse…

4. "Ever closer union" and "bringing Europe closer to the citizens" are well and good as slogans, but do they mean anything? The debates in our Parliament in Valletta, our laws*, and our courts are all in Maltese. How could the EU ever elicit to only use a foreign language in Malta – with all the colonial undertones that would suggest (yeah, we're not completely over that yet)? We've been an independent country for less than half a century, so such an attitude would be immediately perceived as arrogant, distant and colonial – not an ideal way to present itself to a member state.

5. The decision to include Maltese as an EU language was accompanied by a renewed pride in our language. Of course, we shouldn't overestimate the impact it had, but the Brussels seal of approval definitely led to increased legitimacy. As I said, we're an ex-colony so we're quite self-conscious of what foreigners think of us and all that.

Klingon is one of the official languages of the EU. Who knew?

6. It is cheap. How much does all this Maltese tomfoolery cost the European taxpayer? Administration costs account for roughly 5% of the EU budget. Of this a way smaller percentage is spent on languages and a minute portion of that, barely visible to the naked eye, is spent on Maltese (or other small languages – Iceland hurry up and join!). There's a great bargain if I ever saw one.

7. It looks cool. I mean – look at it. It is weird and unlike anything else. Sure, Hungarian or Estonian are pretty "unusual" too and some languages effortlessly introduce foreign words as an integral part of their own language, but how many European languages take elements from Italian languages (14th Century Sicilian and Neapolitan in particular), share their lot with semitic languages (phoenician, hebrew and an arabic so arcane it sounds like it is ten centuries old – which it is) and throw in some Norman French, contemporary English, Aragonese or lord knows what else when you're not looking?

–

So, yes, we've got our vernacular, we're quite fond of it, the EU helped increase its legitimacy and we expect to be able to use it. But the question remains. What does it really matter to you, a Romanian or a Spaniard, what goes on with my language?

Unsurprisingly, my answer is that it isn't all in vain. Couldn't we conversely ask when the EU spends money on a rail link in Galicia or co-finances a bridge between Romania and Bulgaria, what is it to us in Valletta? In such a case it isn't the utility of the Maltese language itself which is being questioned, but the notion of solidarity – something the EU was built on and which I personally feel is well worth defending.

The EU isn't all hunky dory, and yes some things need changing. But let us not start by overlooking or disrespecting smaller countries though the deligitimization of their language (a surefire way of telling a nation their identity is unimportant).

Besides, where does it all stop? Shall we deny Icelanders the language they're so proud of because there are even less of them? Shall we get rid of Estonian, Slovenian and Finnish? What then?

* together with an English version which is not legally binding

Writing an article on the death of bees I discovered (whaddayaknow – you can actually learn stuff at work), that the death of this puny little insect would have a tremendous impact on Europe's food production and environmental stability.

The logic behind it is pretty fool-proof. Bees are the Barry White of the plant world. Most plants are pollinated by them. No plants means no food. Obvious, really.

But what can the EP do about it?

For starters, the EP called on EU countries to pool their research on disease prevention and research funding should also be increased. Rules on veterinary products for honeybees should be made more flexible and incentives should be provided to pharmaceutical companies to develop new products to treat diseases such as the Varroa mite. Another factor affecting bee health is the presence of toxic agents, such as pesticides, so training should be provided to reduce their use.

Roughly 80% of plant species and food production in Europe depends on pollination by bees and more than 600,000 EU citizens work in the beekeeping sector (directly or indirectly).

Not bad for a buzzing little thing smaller than a bottle cap.

While thankfully the truth is not that cinematic – a sect of insect-wolf aliens shall not be ruling the world any time soon (or at least I hope they won’t, in which case I hope a kindly but mighty alien race will save us from them) – the truth is still quite stark. If Europe backhandedly prides itself on being more environmentally knowledgeable and more respectful of nature than other continents, it is in for quite a shock. According to a Eurobarometer survey, only 38% of Europeans actually knew what the word “biodiversity” meant, while 28% had heard of it but didn’t know what it meant. In other words, we’re pretty clueless. 

So, you might, perhaps understandably, ask – what immediate impact will the extinction of the Bavarian pine vole have in my life? Not much is the knee-jerk answer. But its extinction does have an effect on its immediate ecosystem which will eventually work its way up the chain leading to you. Yes. You. Scaremongering? Hardly. Across Europe, a whopping 42% of mammals, 43% of birds, 45% of butterflies, 30% of amphibians, 45% of reptiles and 52% of freshwater fish are threatened with extinction. Like toppling dominos, when comes down, you know it won’t be long before the ones further down the line will come down too. As famed Harvard biologist Edward O. Wilson said, “it is reckless to suppose that biodiversity can be diminished indefinitely without threatening humanity itself.”

It is also tempting to some to belittle those tree-huggers campaigning for this issue, but it is also highly unfair: the issue at stake is much more important than it may initially seem. The chain of events that leads from the most ‘unimportant’ of our plants and animals to us exists and is wholly demonstrable. It is undoubtedly a chain – one which already affects what you eat and the way you live. Action is sorely needed, the first step of which is being informed. The survival of most of the earth’s biodiversity depends on it. Besides, if the eminently scratchable capybara goes extinct what shall we coo at on YouTube?

Like the film-maker, I too grew up on a small, disconnected island, so discovering this newfangled thing called the internet and the possibilities it offered was perhaps one of the most mind-blowing discoveries ever during puberty (learning how to cook fish fingers and learning how to unclasp bras thanks to repeated viewings of Revenge of the Nerds were more monumental discoveries of course).

Anyway – I agree with the documentary that in the same way it is acceptable for academic papers to be replete with quotes and citations from other papers, journals or books I feel the same should apply for other forms of information, notably audiovisual work. Remixing is part of the culture I grew up with – from vulgar football singalongs poking fun at the other team (set to the tune of well-known pop songs), to the widespread availability of bootlegs and unauthorised remixes on Malta’s open air markets (or at least they were when I was younger). Invalidating this part of the culture I grew up with would seem very odd to me, to put it mildly.

Major labels weren’t too quick at ‘discovering’ the internet – their business model was generally quite simple: find an artist, ‘groom’ them, release their work on CD, reap profits, repeat. When digital music came about they should have been sharp enough to notice that this would be an ideal opportunity for them to minimise their costs and maximise their profits. Instead, they launched into a somewhat misguided attempt to suppress it. It obviously didn’t work and the technology to download or manipulate music or film is so widely available at this point that it is futile to try to change the course of things.

What of our music then? ‘Netlabels‘ are an interesting development. Online-only labels which are, for the most part, run out of love for the music by the label owners allowing the artists to get paid, or not, depending on their Creative Commons licence. Unsurprisingly, they spent their infancy as the Esperanto of the music world: a fantastic idea but one which isn’t really taken seriously. But things are starting to change – many music magazines are featuring netlabel music as well as music released directly by artists and ‘online-only’ music shops like Juno, Beatport and others are sprouting like mushrooms. The roll call of artists who ’made it’ without having a record deal or who eschewed traditional means of distribution and promotion is constantly increasing.

So what changed? Simply put – quality control. If the stuff being offered is as good as a regular label (and is free to boot) why shouldn’t it be taken seriously? Electronic music, for example, doesn’t require much in the way of investment to make: a PC or a Mac, some good software and lots of cables (except the ones you need when you need them, of course).

As the co-inventor of the internet, Tim Berners-Lee, said in an interview with the European Parliament, the future of the internet lies increasingly in sorting out the wheat from the chaff.

The internet already provides choice – lots of it, too – but the internet is finally coming of age. We need people, whose taste or judgement we trust and feel is close to ours, to take the time to trawl the internet to find the hidden diamonds. Some might bemoan the fact that this ‘undemocratises’ the web. This is debatable, but it might well be true… but, really, it’s either that or browse for hours on end trying to remember old links, mouth agape – like Lieutenant Columbo trying to remember what he had for lunch last Tuesday.

The music will not be any less creative but money will come less from physical items (CDs, etc) and increasingly from ‘services’ (concerts, live appearances, etc). As far as the quality of the music is concerned, I feel that the bar is even higher now… even if the music is given out for free. The technology to make music is cheaper than ever before but the competition is just as tough (perhaps even tougher).

The difference now is that, perhaps, only the best artists - the most inventive, the most persistent and the most tenacious – will survive… and I guess that’s the way it ought to be.

A visit to the opticians was duly scheduled… kind of. My family is typically Mediterranean and was not exactly what you’d call well-to-do, so an opticians wasn’t actually an opticians. As a young man my father had held a job as a postman for all of three months, but every single contact in life for whatever we needed – from school books to the many replacement parts for our very cantankerous Skoda Rapid (which was anything but) – was carefully combed through this minutely researched network of contacts.

Homer Simpson. Wearing glasses. Enough said...

Several ghastly and not-so-ghastly glasses down the line, I’ve got used to being a four-eyes and I’ve noticed the way I’m treated is different when I’m not wearing them (fret not – I’ll be wearing contact lenses).

But my mission here today is another one. I’ve got a secret to reveal to you two-eyes. Our biggest secret. I’m sorry my bespectacled brethren, but I’ve got to tell them.

Here it goes – we’re not clever or wise, just partially blind. There. I said it.

Yes, I know that every single Hollywood film has portrayed us as ubergenuises, evil scientists, bookish nerdy types who snort when they laugh or guys in white lab coats armed with clipboards taking meticulous notes on the blinking lights of some dastardly machine in some evil madman’s lair.

But we’re not. We don’t know what the square root of 267 is, where Bikya is spoken or what the capital of Tuvalu is. Really. We don’t. It’s futile signing us up as contestants on one of these genius-remembers-and-recites-a-telephone-directory-by-heart-style shows. We can barely remember our own home number… and the reasons why restarting a misbehaving computer should magically fix most issues remains a mystery to us too.

The terrible truth is our poor vision is more the result of wonky eyesight genes than superhuman intelligence.

I promise we’re as dumb as you are… only we can’t even read the questions.