Coping with new neighbours

MaltaGirl has entrusted her family and friends to fill her blog while she is away for a few days. Zemploid Mike, one of her guestbloggers, writes:

I’ve lived in a small village in the centre of Malta for my entire life. No, I’m not going to pretend I’m in the thick of it. I live in one of the newer areas of the village that sprung up in the late 60’s, in much the same way that most areas mushroomed around Malta, creating the urban jungle that we are. Still, I’m not a Sliema boy (with all due respect to the Slimiżi). I grew up, thankfully, in a time when it was perfectly possible to ride a bike around the place with impunity and almost absolute safety; when there were still enough fields and surrounding countryside that allowed for building of huts and camps and BMX dirt-tracks while Majsi the farmer turned a blind eye; when it was possible to spend all your pocket-money on fireworks from the Three Villages Bar, or on sweets from Lucy tal-Merċa. We were part of the village. We were an integral part of village life. We understood what made the village tick and never questioned it. I never felt an alien to anyone else in the village. It was taken for granted.

I’m now in the middle of moving from my home village to the Greatest Village of All. Yes, home of the people with allegedly flat buttocks (and Malta’s heaviest and largest bell, wont to making people fall flat on said buttocks); Malta’s most populous town; its statistically most polluted; yet, one of its prettiest, its quaintest, and earthiest, all at once: Birkirkara. And for the first time, I’m the alien. I’m the one who must necessarily go through all the motions of integration with one’s neighbourhood. And it’s interesting to say the least...