How sad to see a ceremony meant for the public take place between four high walls

As long as I have been alive (and also before that) ceremonies like those we are seeing now on television have always taken place in St George’s Square/the Mainguard after a slow parade through the gate to the city and down the main thoroughfare. That’s part of the symbolism. Except for when they took place in the charming and stately environment of the airport apron.

And it’s meant to be viewed by crowds – live, and not live on television – who line the thoroughfare and the square. People come out on balconies and on rooftops. Children wave flags and old people cheer.

One of my earliest memories is of being surrounded by a sea of cheering people and of small Union Jacks waved about on sticks. Somebody must have been holding me up, because the flags were all around my face. It could only have been in 1967, when I was three.

And now I’m looking at sad spectacle in an enclosed courtyard, cut off from the public, cut off from the symbolism of the entrance to the city, watched by the crowds. I feel as though I am watching something take place in a prison courtyard.

The ceremony right now is being watched by millions, and instead of the grandeur of the Valletta square, all we can see is a shabby wall with visible electrical wiring, and some pathetically ill-kept bushes that look like something you might see in a neglected supermarket car park.

The whole thing is a mess.