So, it’s happened.

Whatever it was that caused the depopulation of Malta, it’s done. It could’ve been Saruman’s army of Urukhai, the resurrection of the Ottoman Fleet in zombie form from the depths of the Mediterranean, a tsunami that recreated us as the Land of Atlantis, a civil and bloody war over parking spaces in Sliema, a curse brought upon us by the Catholic high priests for introducing the morning-after pill, or the peak of obesity that wiped us all out from too much pastizzi and ħobż biż-żejt… Whatever brought upon the end of the indigenous Maltese, it’s happened.

But you’re the lucky one who was smart enough to remain in an underground bunker while the commotion perished all your fellow islanders into oblivion. And now you’ve emerged to find that you’re the last person left on the island. What to do, what to do indeed?

I know, let’s have some fun:

Move into one of those plush villas in High Ridge with Claudette Pace’s Desire blasting on the sound system.


But before that, refill the pool with gallons of Kinnie or Cisk, and simultaneously swim and fill up your cocktail glass. X’buzz.


Pick any car you come across on the island and break yourself free from the 80 km speed limit on the few stretches of highways we have. Know what it’s like to actually use the fifth gear in Malta without having to fear for anyone’s life. But still be careful, please. You’ve survived this far, don’t balls it up now.


Break into Parliament and sit on those green chairs and swivel to your heart’s content. Then break open every politician’s filing cabinets and quench your curiosity to see what they’ve really been up to. All of them. You may still be the only one left, but let’s assume that you’re going to follow the structures of democracy and be transparent in your searches.


Since you’re the last person left, you’re therefore the only representative. So technically, you’re going to have to do everything yourself. I hope you’re a good singer, because you’ll have to represent us at Eurovision for the rest of your days. That also goes for the European Parliament and all Olympic sports that we’re actually good at. Speaking of which…


I sincerely hope you’re against hunting for sport, but you may have to get a bit primitive. You can only horde so many supermarkets on the island, and you’ll have to figure out the secret recipes to the Maltese ftira and pastizzi. You’ve got some big shoes to fill, old boy.


Despite your newly acquired hunting skills, I hope you’ll take this opportunity to assist nature and regenerate our dwindling ecosystem and native species. I have this image of you, whoever you are, with a flock of merilli on your shoulders, the University cats rubbing against your feet whilst you give Maltese dogs a grooming session, and hedgehogs running around your toes. It’s a very St Francis-meets-Disney tableau, I believe, and don’t forget that they’ll be the only company you’re going to have.


Oh and by the way, Air Malta is no more, and Malta International Airport is a baron wasteland, so the only way you’ll be able to get around is by using one of the many luzzus at Marsaxlokk. And yes, you can paddle to Filfla and claim that you’ve conquered it by sticking a flag pole to the ground.


What would you do if you were the last person left in Malta?

Let us know in the comment section below!