We were recently lucky enough to take a holiday in Malta. For anyone who hasn’t been, I would highly recommend it. The history of the island is fascinating, the waters warm and the temperatures bearable, although the humidity does make everything a bit sticky.

There was an event while we were there: Valletta by candlelight. From 7pm to midnight, you could see five attractions for €5. This was tremendously popular, and we spent more time queuing than we did looking around things, but it was still a wonderful experience.

The last place we went to was the Governor’s Palace. To get in, our bags were X-rayed, presumably to make sure we didn’t have knives to slash the furniture, or orange paint to splash on the pictures. We weren’t allowed to take in any water, so our water bottles were removed and put on one side. These were just ordinary water bottles that you buy bottled water in – nothing special.

We dutifully toured the palace, which was very interesting; although, by that time, we had developed “museum feet” and were feeling as if we’d rather like to go back to the place we were staying, put those feet up and have a nice cup of tea. We had just achieved that, when my elder daughter complained about losing her water bottle. It was special to her because she had got it in China, and she was loath to part with it.

“I’m going back for it,” she announced.

“But darling, it’s past midnight. They’ll have closed.” I said.

She was adamant and set off to retrieve her water bottle. (I should add here that we were only seven minutes’ walk away from the Palace and that Malta is a very safe place for a young woman to be walking alone at night.)

I would not have put a penny on her success, but back she came, fifteen minutes later, triumphantly brandishing her water bottle. She said that the custodians were just shutting up but that they kindly allowed her to go inside to retrieve it.

When packing to come home, I discovered that I had lost a cardigan. I had taken it with me somewhere but had not needed it. Please note that, if you go to Malta in June, you do not need a cardigan. We went back to the restaurant where I might have left it but to no avail, and it was only when we were on the plane coming home that I realised that I had probably left it at the church we attended on Sunday.

Now, my question is this: do I indulge a forlorn hope and write to “The Priest in Charge, St Pauls’ Cathedral, Independence Square, Malta,” asking if I did leave it there and offering to pay postage to get it back, or do I just accept that sometimes one loses things and the only option is to bless them and hope they find a good home somewhere else?

I am torn. My laziness suggests to just leave it. My daughter’s example encourages me to write. Which should I do?

Answers, please, on a postcard to…

Mary

A Moodscope member