It’s time I told you a bit about myself. I was brought up in the suburbs of Dublin during the seventies and eighties; a fashion-afflicted time and place if ever there was one. Ireland and Malta are really not that different; both are small, close-knit island communities on the peripheries of Europe, both are hugely influenced by the Catholic Church, and both once made up part of the British Empire. I didn’t feel particularly ‘foreign’ growing up. I was aware that unlike most of my friends, I didn’t have a granny living in Mayo and that my name was difficult to pronounce, but in those days, immigrants to Ireland were rare enough not to cause much ill feeling. Now, when I look back at old school photos, I see a dark skinny child surrounded by fair, freckled children; I look like a mini Arab spy trying not very successfully to blend in with the locals.

Here I am now, “back home” in Malta and I can take comfort in the fact that I look like most people around me (although I flatter myself that I am taller than I am wide). I also appreciate being able to tell people my name without having to spell it for them over and over, before admitting that yes, my name is, actually, Margaret Poolay. So I’m Maltese, but not Maltese; the same, but not really the same, and not really different, but different all the same. Sure I can speak Maltese, but I only have to open my mouth for my accent to betray me as the Johnny-come-back-lately that I really am.

Now let me tell you about my Maltese. I speak Maltese because my parents speak it at home, so it is, quite literally, my mother tongue. This does have its drawbacks and my Maltese vocabulary is sometimes a bit limited. Until quite recently, for example, I believed that a puplesija was something that happens to your mother if you don’t clean your room before you go out.

Also, my parents are nice people. They don’t generally use bad language, so I don’t actually know any Maltese swear words. (No, dear reader, this is not an opportunity to educate me using the comments section). Nor do my parents generally speak about sex explicitly, or at least not in front of their children, so my vocabulary in this area is also rather limited. Not to put too fine a point on it, I don’t know the Maltese for “willy”, but again, dear reader, that is not what the comments section is for.

All this is a very roundabout way of explaining my apprehension before Tsek-Tsik on Saturday night. First off, I really want to go, but all my friends here are barranin (what a great word; what a perfect example of island insularity where everyone else is, quite literally, an outsider), and none of them is going to want to sit through an hour and a half of Maltese, no matter how fast-paced or witty the dialogue. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, so I decide “Feckit” (I also speak fluent Irish)” I’ll go on my own”.

I am also worried that I won’t understand what’s going on. Not that I won’t understand what the speakers are saying, but that I won’ understand what they’re really saying and the context behind it and who or what they’re saying it about.

And what if the speakers talk about nothing but sex all night in the foulest Maltese known to man and everyone is falling about the place laughing and I don’t understand a word of it. As it happens, I don’t need to worry. Only Ġużè Stagno does that and he has pictures, so I’m able to follow it all. But more about that later.

So on Saturday night I put away my Irish passport, scoff a few pastizzi, and flip my mouth and ears back to Maltese mode. As an extra precaution, I also put on some tight black jeans and some thick black eye-liner to make sure I look really authentic and blend in with the bona fide Maltese.

The auditorium is packed and the crowd is enthusiastic, laughing out loud from the very first hint of a joke. They obviously enjoyed last year’s show and are eager for more.

The format of the production is great; we don’t have to sit through any lengthy intros or boring, meandering anecdotes. A slideshow introduces the event, the theme and the speakers, then keeps it all moving along nicely. Each speaker can show only fifteen images and has twenty seconds to talk about each one. This design forces the speakers to keep it all short and to the point. There’s no time to ramble on and on about a single photo; after a sentence or two there’s a click and the image changes. Some speakers are obviously well-practised. Alfred Sant has obviously done more than his fair share of public speaking and had his talk timed to perfection. Some speakers are less well-timed, but are no less charismatic for that. It’s an ingenious way to introduce the audience to a large number of personalities in a short space of time.

The speakers themselves vary from ex-prime ministers, to bloggers, to authors to lecturers. Some, like Jo Caruana, Derek Fenech and Teo Reljic (where did that guy get his accent?) speak about the development of their literary careers, from the early days all the way up to the present. Others, like Alfred Sant and Guiliana Peresso stick to the theme and talk about the book through the ages or discuss how the internet has allowed the audience to re-engage and participate in the tradition of story-telling. Others still, like Rebecca Buttigieg and Andre Delicata offer a heartfelt insight into what keeps them going on a daily basis. Ġorġ Mallia, comic-strip illustrator and chairman of the National Book Council takes us through just a few of his cartoons from over the years. One food critic in particular caught my eye; the little-known Mona Farrugia gives us a glimpse of her hectic jet-set life-style, hugging celebrity chefs on exotic isles. Chris Grupetta talks about issues as varied as e-books, carbon emissions and piracy; not bad in five minutes flat.

If I had to choose a favourite speaker, it would be Ġużè Stagno for his hilarious confessions of how he learnt about the female body from the illustrations in his father’s copy of The Dawn of Man and certain volumes of the Encyclopaedia Brittanica. His timing is perfect, his pauses speak volumes and his images, hairy Neanderthals and all, have the crowd in fits of laughter.

All in all it’s a slick, professional production that provides its audience with tremendous fun and fascinating snippets from the lives of the speakers.  These are not intimate interviews and five minutes is not a long time, but you can tell a lot about a person from the photos they show you, by the language they use and sometimes by the way they talk about sex.

Tsek-tsik, organised by Merlin Library took place on Saturday 13^th November and will hopefully be back next year.