Look at the knockers on that!

My lovely family guests have gone and it has been a blast.  So much laughter and so much walking!  Sometimes 7 kms a day.  Being with those you love, is such therapy for mind and soul.  I have a wonderful memory of walking in Medina, a beautiful walled city in the centre of Malta with my mum and my aunt. 

My mother had just come fresh from polishing our brass doorknob here, which until her arrival had languished dull and neglected on our front door like all the other knockers in our block of flats.  I expect people are far too busy nowadays to see to such things.  My mother, however, knows a challenge when she sees it and the Brasso was out every day until our doorknocker shone like gold.  I wish I could show you ours, before she got started on her mission to improve but since my neighbours have neglected theirs I can use theirs to show the difference.

Before

After

The only problem is here in Malta the brass doorknockers are abundant and elaborate in design.  They can range from fish to faces, and come in a vast range of sizes.  As we walked through the tourist packed streets of Medina, my mother was constantly pointing out new designs that drew her attention on church doors, houses and shops.With every discovery, she would announce in a loud excited voice, “Look at the knockers on that!”  Oblivious to the startled reaction of passer-by’s she would extol the size, the shine, the uniqueness of the knockers.  I grew used to the head turns, the shocked looks as she proclaimed, “I’ve never seen knockers this big”.  Even when someone had forgotten to shine their doorknockers there was plenty to say, “For goodness sake, some one should clean these knockers, they would be beautiful if only someone would give them a bit of attention”.  

Since my Mum is a respectable age, it seemed all the more shocking to have these titbits on a regular basis.  If anyone reading this happened to be in Medina that day, can I apologise for what they were subjected to.  There was something even more unexpected that a very respectful looking white haired pensioner felt duty bound to admire all the knockers on display that day.  I observed one low cut dressed German lady, across the street from us, attempt to cover her ample bosoms as my mum pointed out a set of furious head shaped knockers behind her with the startled exclamation, “My goodness that is a terrifying pair of knockers!”

Oh, how I miss the laughter and the fun of these lovely ladies, my mum and my aunt, in my life.  I cannot begin to tell you about the really funny bits of their holiday, they must forever remain a secret.  And that’s all I am going to say about that.