Why am I finally convinced that equality between the sexes in Malta has been truly achieved? No, it's not because of a plethora of political declarations which serve as confetti to celebrate Women's Day; neither the Catholic church which proclaims from the pulpit that a woman is a man's equal while ensuring that she never even gets a whisper in its upper echelons; nor the feminist groups which paradoxically still exist in spite of our decades-old Constitution clearly stating that there mustn't be any gender discrimination.

Well, the other evening I spent an hour or so strolling through Paceville. I have never been a habitual frequenter of the place but I am very much aware of a particular aspect of the landscape. That is the sight of a male, whipping out his weasel and using it as a water spout, watching the urine sizzle and bubble as it makes contact with the limestone walls or the Lilliputian-sized dust dunes gathered beneath. Then, a good shake of Mr weasel to extract the final, reluctant drops and he reels it back into his pants.

This time round though I was amused to find a change in what was once familiar scenery - instead of innumerable impersonations of worshippers at the Wailing Wall, it was glorious moons ashining over different terrain. And by their luminescence I was enlightened because if a woman can comfortably expose her bottom, squat and pee on the rocks near the Casino or the 5-star turf of the Corinthia San Gorg Hotel, then she has certainly raised herself on a par to any man.