Summer isn’t really summer unless you’ve walked the stretch of the Marsalforn promenade and sat down to supper at one of the restaurants on the water’s edge. We did that last week and, as I sipped my wine and watched the world go by, I felt incredibly lucky to be able to enjoy a relaxed and serene dining experience, one where I could actually hear what my dinner companion was saying.

Yet, the moment was short-lived. Raucous music, I suddenly realised, was coming from the eatery next door. And it was empty. No surprises there.

I will never understand what possesses anyone to eat at a restaurant where you have to shout to be heard and where any form of intelligible conversation is impossible. And it’s infinitely worse when you are forced to suffer the noise from the adjoining rival establishment – the restaurant you didn’t choose.

And just imagine if every restaurant decided to play its own music at the same excessive and anti-social volume. What happens then? And what are the democratic implications if five restaurants play loud music and five don’t? In my book, that’s still a breakdown of social values. Just like those ghastly people who think they’re perfectly entitled to listen to their stereos or podcasts at full blast on beaches, buses and other shared public spaces.

Whenever I come across such selfishness, I experience a rush of intense loathing and feel like singing or screaming at the top of my voice and waiting for the reaction. What exactly do these people think? That we want to listen to their shitty music? Perhaps they think that we’re the ones who should be wearing headphones while they impose their music choices on everyone else? Yes, that’s probably it. No idea whatsoever of neutral civic space.

Back to the restaurant in Gozo. I was so staggered by what was going on that I signalled to the owner of the restaurant and asked him what he thought about this irksome and rude intrusion. He was apologetic and his body language demonstrated a resigned helplessness. Clearly, he had tried and failed to get the guy next door to cooperate. He muttered something about his being foreign and we left it at that.

Now I’m not suggesting we get music off the menu altogether, although I confess I do rather like natural sounds of a restaurant: the grinding of the espresso machine, the clinking of glasses and plates and the hushed murmur of other people’s conversations.

But there’s music and music. There’s the ambient kind, which calms and heals and the other sort, which sets one on edge and makes people like me lose the will to live or, at any rate, bolt my food and go home. Which clearly defeats the purpose of going to a restaurant. The other thing is that it’s so unfair on staff forced to endure the noise for hour after hour.

I’d even hazard a guess that if they’re working back-to-back shifts exposed to high levels of noise, they could be the victims of a flagrant violation of occupational work and safety legislation. Enforcement? Wishful thinking.

But I live in hope that one day we get serious about noise pollution in this country. Everyone seems to be far too preoccupied with dogs who are off the leash (while the rest of the country goes to the dogs).

There’s music and music. There’s the ambient kind, which calms and heals and the other sort, which sets one on edge and makes people like me lose the will to live- Michela Spiteri

All right, I’m deliberately tangential here. But I need to get this thing off my chest: the entire point of a leash is to keep your dog under control. So if your dog is not only docile but also walking at your heel, then – leash or no leash – there’s no material difference. But here in Malta, for some strange reason, the minute your dog is off the leash, a sudden rush of civic duty kicks in. People follow you (clearly not remotely intimidated by the dog) and threaten to report you.

If only they demonstrated the same zealousness every time they encountered people who litter. Cigarette butts, trash, dust and loud music are the order of the day but we take them all in our stride almost as if they are an integral part of our national fabric.

Now I change the subject but not altogether.

Bad roads, rather like loud music and litter, are something we have grown accustomed to and accept. I have lived in Sliema my whole life and have driven up and down its streets for the last 30 years. But it took an ambulance ride for me to realise just how bad the roads really are.

I wasn’t the patient but I could feel every bump even though I was sitting upright, in no pain and in full control of my body movements. But for the injured party, lying down on a stretcher, already in agony from a dislocated shoulder, it was a hell ride. Every jolt was excruciating; and if he hadn’t broken his shoulder until then, the ride certainly did the trick.

In the end, the driver had to drive at 10 miles per hour. Just as well the siren was deemed unnecessary. Imagine what it must be like when someone is actually fighting for his life and when every second counts.

There is only one possible conclusion: arterial roads and all other roads leading to hospitals should be fit for purpose. And, yes, ideally every road in the country.

And now I change the subject altogether – the government should stop pussyfooting around and order a public inquiry in Jean Paul Sofia’s death. It’s the least that the government can do and perhaps the most. But that is another story, for another time.

Yes, we are a nation desensitised. We are unable – or unwilling – to ‘hear’ raucous music, to ‘see’ litter and trash; and we seem unfazed by poor roads, inadequate infrastructure, excessive construction and building collapses. Why is that?

There must be many answers, historical, cultural and political. Future anthropologists and social historians will have a field day.