“Lidl welcomes you to Malta,” reads one of the many ad hoardings decorating the arrivals lounge at Malta International Airport.

I’ve a visceral hatred for that particular sign. It’s another reminder that holidays are over and that the greenery you’ve just enjoyed elsewhere is now nothing but a bittersweet memory and, of course, of the effects of aggressive economic models such as theirs on our land and communities.

This is not the Summer of Love, as everyone has realised. After two years of lockdowns and false starts, lost time, money, social connections and hotel occupancy rates need to be recouped. All this must happen at breakneck speed, while the authorities persevere in their disorganisation and obstinate refusal to enforce.

In the meantime, Malta has opened its arrivals lounge to hundreds of thousands of tourists looking to enjoy a few days of sun and sea. “Whatever you’re looking for in a holiday,” says the blurb on visitmalta.com, “a trip to the Maltese islands is an unmissable experience for any type of traveller”.

Consider the plight of the average tourist: sweltering temperatures aside, the actual landing in Malta is but the first step in an odyssey that is as complex as said tourist’s expectations. What follows is a difficult path out of the airport itself through an area which looks like Baghdad after a bad day, as a result of the EU-funded roadbuilding spree. Oh, and, good luck with the return flight.

After a hectic transfer comes the acclimatisation to the new surroundings. Those staying in various hotels strewn across Malta, say, St Julian’s, have to deal with something very different to the “peaceful Mediterranean setting” of our islands and basics such as crossing the street or walking on a pavement may suddenly seem like a hazardous experience.

Others who choose to stay in (overpriced) Airbnbs in “non-touristic” areas may not expect to be woken up at 7.30am by works nearby; in fact, they have unwittingly signed up for the full Malta Experience, that made of dusty demolitions and careless construction.

You’ll see some bewildered faces, most of which belong to visitors driving scores of rented cars and making perilous manoeuvres on main roads, struggling to make sense of Satnav and fellow drivers simultaneously.

The number of tourists driving leased vehicles displays a not-so-hidden international distrust for our public transport, piling pressure on an already congested grid. Wikitravel’s entry for Malta tellingly speaks of “an extensive if extremely crowded island-wide bus network” with a limited night service past 11pm; renting a car in Malta, however, is a “fine way to see the country” and “having your own car allows you to [...] discover the many hidden charms these small islands have to offer”.

Some treat they’re in for: many such spots have been taken over by rogue sunbed operators and illegal kiosks, always the cheaper alternative to shocking restaurant fares.

In a sense, I’m sympathetic to tourists who feel they’re not getting their value for money. But their disappointment is secondary, considering that our very own quality of life is made of this and more.

There used to be talk of some golden goose, that flightless bird often kicked about between the construction and tourism lobbies. Figureheads in both camps have now given up lecturing about the effects of its premature death, unable to withstand their own hypocrisy.

The path out of the airport is through an area which looks like Baghdad after a bad day- Wayne Flask

It’s not like taxpayers, residents and citizens have reaped any tangible benefit from the trickle-down of the golden yolk. Indeed, nobody’s really seen those eggs; the goose has long been carted off and shackled to be force-fed, to guarantee a stream of foie gras for big business and their associates in political spheres.

Talking of fat, the eminent Michael Zammit Tabona recently rose from his bunker to criticise proposals for the capping of tourist arrivals in Comino, an idea adopted by Venice this very week.

It’s not that he called out the “idiots” at Graffitti (and some in Labour) who bring up this topic “every 10 years” or so: after all, this bloke was fired from his post as non-resident ambassador to Finland for comparing Angela Merkel to Hitler on Facebook, a moment of stately genius straight out of Allo Allo.

What is worse is that Zammit Tabona and many other businessmen feel entitled to suck any resource off this island – from public land and state funding to the workforce – for their own profit.

Zammit Tabona, a Labour donor, excels at gifting these pearls of silver-spooned petulance to the gallery, coming across as a Brylcreemed Tory backbencher who built his career on class hate and casual racism. Yet, his company’s activities, like so many other of their less “lucky” competitors, place him firmly at the heart of the problems in Comino. Like others with interests on the third island (protected by the likes of Joseph Portelli, MEP Josianne Cutajar and Gozo Minister Clint Camilleri), greed is the only motivation.

The tourism industry is stewarded by the hapless Clayton Bartolo, who had promised us “quality tourism” some time ago but only delivered selfies with B-rated MTV artists and gaffes by the dozen.

Possibly, he will only be remembered for his lavish spending on award and hotel nights, Man Utd-themed birthday parties at the ministry and his inimitable gaze in the middle distance during his memorable interviews, as if the voices in his head are taking their time to decide who’s going first.

He may care less about whether tourists visiting the island will consider coming again or how much they would recommend the ‘Malta’ product.

But his silence on the Comino front will lead to real consequences.

In the face of his inaction and that of another four ministers, there’s only one solution: our anger.