"Who's coming to Malta? You mean 'Cliff' as in Sir Cliff 'The Stiff' Richard?"

“I’m sorry, I thought you said cultural ambassador for a second, silly me. Oh you did? Haha, you’re ‘aving a giggle aintcha?"

Maybe you have noticed that you were listening to a telephone conversation. The above words were followed by a very uncomfortable silence, punctuated with horrified gasps and much perspiring. Like much heavy breathing but without the excitement.

You see, ever since I was a boy, I never took a shine to Cliff Richard. Camp as a row of tents, those impossibly perfect, shiny teeth culminating in the smuggest of grins, a face from Night of the Living Dead, that dopey “slap me silly” expression, that improbable barnet. Mystifying.

Cultural Ambassador…what are they going to do? Put him in Għar Dalam Museum’s fossil section? He’s been around since before the Beatles for crying out loud. Since the shilling, even. The shilling.

Ok, so Sir Cliff’s contribution to culture is undeniable. I mean, where would wedding singers (and cakes) be without Congratulations! or broken-hearted people without We don’t talk anymore (yes, those are the only two songs out of his 12-volume Discography that I can remember offhand)? [What? You've never heard Living Doll? - Ed]

With 149 albums to his name and over 50 years in the music biz the man’s nothing if not a survivor, I’ll give him that much. In fact, in the ever less-remote scenario of a nuclear apocalypse, it is likely that only two things will survive: cockroaches and Sir Cliff. I pity the roaches.

"But where’s the Malta connection?" I ask myself. "Why is he going to be an ambassador for a country he has nothing to do with?”

A suspicion begins to dawn on me.

“Oh no.

No way.

Please don’t tell me it’s something to do with his born-again Christianity".  I break out in a cold sweat.

"When is he coming?" I check my calendar…May 20^th.

I have to check again, I feel the icy hand of fear tightening around my heart like a vice. No, this can't be happening. That is exactly a week before the referendu… NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I HATE THIS COUNTRY GOTTDAMMAT!

I gently coax the cat to let go of the ceiling. The process calms me somewhat. I am reading too much into it. I may be paranoid.

I start to rationalise my fear in point form as I have been taught to:

• The anti-divorce lobby must really have run out of options if they’re resorting to Sir Cliff to bolster their ratings. That is: "A Good Thing". Right?
• He never actually married anyone! So he can preach all he likes, his opinions on the matter aren’t exactly the fruit of long personal experience and consequently, of no interest to anybody. Nobody except his legions of fans, pah!
• I wonder if they’ve read his wiki: 
  Richard currently lives with a former Roman Catholic priest, John McElynn, whom he met in 2001 while doing charity work in the United States;McElynn has been described as Richard's property manager and looks after the properties whilst Richard is away. Richard describes McElynn as a close friend and companion, and Richard declines discussion about their relationship: "what business is it of anyone else’s what any of us are as individuals? I don’t think my fans would care either way."

So definitely not gay then. At all.
I'd like to see that go down with the über-Catholic horde. Then again, he claims to be practically asexual, like it’s a good thing.

Maybe it’s part of a promotional drive to encourage us to recycle more-heaven knows he’s been recycling his tired old playlist for the best part of half a century now. In fact there’s a distinct possibility that he is merely a recycled waxwork. Sun, don't let me down!

I calm myself further. I light candles. I perform a “thought experiment” and begin to imagine what his pre-bed checklist is like:

• Lights out? Check.
• Rolex on the bedside table? Check.
• Reading glasses in their box (near Bible)? Check.
• False teeth in glass of water? Check.
• Battery plugged into power socket? Check.
• Body immersed in formaldehyde? Check.
• Place brain in bedside jar – Goodnight, Sir Cliff!

Then it hit me. So obvious, in hindsight, that I can’t for the life of me understand how nobody realised it earlier.

Ladies and gentlemen, I have come to the rational, studied and inevitable conclusion that Sir Cliff is, in fact, none other than the evil Krang.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles- only you can save us now…

This Charming Man is a reluctant legal professional, an ex-professional soldier, ex-waiter, ex-deli sandwich maker, ex-expat, ex-boyfriend, ex-pretty-much-everything-else-under-the-sun and generally ex-hausted. Some also say, a slightly unhinged cantankerous moaner. Wait. This is Planet...err...moaner, right?

Every week he writes a load of bollocks on Planetmona.com .  Planetmona is Malta's food, travel and review website, edited by Mona Farrugia.  If you're looking for a restaurant in Malta, this is where you should be.