Pleased To Meet You (Hope You Guessed My Name...) On March 14, 2005, a dream came true for Guze’ Stagno. After almost two decades spent idolising Toni Sant from afar, he finally got to meet the man face to face. I am parked on a double yellow line deep in the heart of Sliema. My car’s hazard lights are flashing, and I’m waiting for Toni Sant’s return. As if having just spent an unforgettable two hours in his company wasn’t enough to make me the happiest man on earth, he is now going to give me a parting gift: a copy of ‘Girls Will Be Girls’, the only record his old band, Artwork, ever released. I feel like a pilgrim who is about to be presented with a piece of the Turin Shroud. Luckily for me, Toni returns from his parents’ house before some warden spots my illegally parked car. He gives me the record. On the sleeve, a 19-year old Toni looks languidly at the camera. His hair is huge and he sports lipgloss. It’s a shame I don’t have a pen for the autograph, but Toni seems to prefer it that way. ‘Don’t sell it on E-Bay,’ he jokes. Saying I was apprehensive before meeting Toni Sant is an understatement. He has been one of my biggest idols (up there with Lennon, Elvis and George Best) for years, and I clearly remember the effect his programmes had on me as a spotty, geeky teenager. Toni Sant was the coolest thing on Maltese television and radio, and I worshipped him. And now he wants to meet me. His last visit to Malta was in 2001. The main reason he is here this year is to visit his parents, who haven’t seen him since his PhD graduation ceremony in New York two years ago. Since then he has moved to the UK, where he is currently a lecturer in Performance and Creative Technologies at the University of Hull’s Scarborough Campus. ‘Since I’m not one to do a thing at a time,’ he tells will tell me at one point, ‘I’m also cramming two weeks worth of lectures in Theatre Studies at the University of Malta.’ Which is our meeting point on a sunny Monday afternoon. He has just finished the day’s lectures and looks knackered. Dressed in black from head to toe, he looks like a Jewish pallbearer. We have been corresponding via email for a number of years, so introductions aren’t as awkward as I feared. Actually, I already feel like I have known him for years, which in a funny, remote way, I have. The first thing I ask him after he gets in the car is: ‘Will you sing the theme tune to Mill-Garaxx for me?’ Mill-Garaxx was the cult television programme he used to present in the late 80’s and early 90’s. The song was written by X-Tend’s Charlie Dalli and, according to Toni, features one of the best lines ever written in Maltese pop: “Kemm hi sabiha dik il-holma li xi darba mmiss l-istilel…izda ghid int x’valur hemm jekk kull ma tmiss isir deheb?!” He refuses to actually sing it though. ‘U hallini!’ he laughs. Wanting to sound cool, I suggest having a drink at the Allies Bar in Sliema, the place where Francis Ebejer, the great playwright, used to drink. Toni Sant was the last person to interview him before his death. And as for me, I suffer from something of an Ebejer obsession: occasionally I take to smoking cigars and if it weren’t for the fact that I’d be locked up by the fashion police, I’d even start wearing safari suits. ‘Hasn’t the Allies been closed for years?’ Toni says. He should know; his grandfather used to run a bar right next door. ‘Oh, has it?’ I reply distractedly. The traffic at this time of day is horrendous, and it requires concentration and dexterity to avoid crashing into someone. The fact that 50% of Sliema’s streets seem to be closed for repairs doesn’t help, either. ‘Doesn’t matter. We will have a drink from somewhere else.’ But parking on the seafront is impossible. Not a single parking space in sight, and what’s worse for Toni (who hates crowds), the cafeterias seem to be packed with tourists. At this point Toni suggests going for a drink at the Australia Bar, a place in Valletta where whores used to go quench their thirst in the old days. Apparently, it features in one of Albert Marshall’s 60’s poems. And so we crawl towards Valletta, and as I drive, Toni starts entertaining me with anecdotes. The time he dated a very religious girl who wouldn’t let him have his evil way. The time he hosted rockers ‘smoking’ inside a Xandir Malta television studio. The time he went to Germany to join a circus. ‘The circus? Are you putting me on?’ I ask. But it’s a redundant question. Deep down, I know he probably did. Parking in Valletta is marginally better than Sliema: we leave the car in front of the Catholic Institute and march towards the city. Toni informs me he needs to use the toilet. ‘I’m getting old,’ he shrugs. Last year he had some health problems (regular updates on his condition were available on his blog), and nowadays he takes beta blockers, which make him go to the toilet often. At City Gate we bump into Leonard Callus, ex-PBS newscaster (who even in real life looks like he’s sucking on a lemon). The two know each other from the times of Xandir Malta and they haven’t seen each other in years. The next five minutes are spent catching up. Before parting, I am introduced to Callus. ‘Do you know who this man is?’ Toni enthusiastically asks him. Callus peers from behind his glasses, and after an embarrassing (for both of us) pause, he shakes his head. ‘It’s Guze Stagno, the author!’ Toni informs him. ‘Oh,’ Callus says. ‘Pleased to meet you.’ Finally we enter Valletta. Unfortunately for Toni’s bladder, just as we pass in front of Wembley, we are pounced upon by a television crew led by Fiona, the singer famous for wearing a very memorable BDSM leather outfit at this year’s Song For Europe. She wants to know Toni’s opinion regarding private health schemes. I move back, glad to leave the spotlight to Toni. But he seems to be having none of it: he pulls me back in the camera’s field of vision, and forces Fiona to vox-pop me. Then, after I mutter something about paying enough taxes already, thank you very much, I get introduced to Fiona. ‘Don’t you recognise this man?’ Toni asks her. Fiona looks at me and smiles nervously. It is pretty obvious she has never seen me in her life. Defeated, she shakes her head. ‘It’s Guze Stagno!’ Toni tells her, helpfully adding: ‘The author!’ I shake her hand, and compliment her on the outfit. And on we go. Seconds later we are hurrying down Republic Street. At Pjazza Regina we turn right. And discover that, just like the Allies, the Australia Bar is now just a distant memory. In its place, a restaurant specialising in fish. Since Toni isn’t keen on my idea of using the loos of one of our beloved fast food franchises, we keep wandering around the city. While Toni tries to hold it in, he answers questions I’ve wanted to ask him since I was in Form 3. ‘Who was the greatest rock frontman of the 80’s?’ I enquire. ‘Was it you, or was it [Rifffs and Characters singer] Ray Mercieca?’ ‘You can’t compare the two,’ he laughs. ‘It would be like comparing Woody Allen to Charlton Heston. Can you imagine Woody Allen driving the Ben Hur chariot? Of course you can’t. It was the same with us. Ray Mercieca and I were very different.’ ‘But weren’t you a musical genius?’ I press on. He says modestly. ‘Of course not…’ He starts telling me about his father, who used to be a crooner in a Frank Sinatra-type band. By the time he finishes this story, we find ourselves in front of the Lower Barrakka Gardens gates. Toni hopes the public convenience is still open. If not, he threatens to urinate against a tree. Upon hearing this, my imagination starts running riot. I start fantasising about newspaper headlines: ‘Broadcasting legend and literary enfant terrible arrested for exposing themselves in public!’ Fortunately (incredibly, one can say), the latrine is still open, and Toni finally relieves his bladder. As he does this, he keeps chatting, and I have the urge (which I rein in) to check the man’s penis, but I’m worried that this would be taking my hero worship a step too far. By now, we have given up on having a drink. Instead, we sit on a bench. In front of us there’s a big bronze statue of a very muscular, very naked man. We both agree that, as a work of art, it wouldn’t look out of place in Mussolini’s Italy. Somehow, Toni manages to steer the conversation towards a subject that has been cropping up in our emails frequently: a Toni Sant biography, written by Guze Stagno. God knows what makes someone of Toni’s calibre think that I would be suitable for the job. However, at least for the time being, I humour him. And so the anecdotes keep coming. One name which keeps cropping up is that of Immanuel Mifsud, the writer. The two used to attend the same school, St. Agatha’s in Rabat and for a time they even played in a band, with Toni on guitar and a much slimmer Mifsud on vocals. ‘We gave the Doors a run for their money,’ he jokes. There follows a digression about his marriages. Toni has been married twice: the first time, with John Suda as bestman, he did it in a cave.The second time, on a beach. It dawns on me that a Toni Sant biography would span at least a couple of volumes. It’s dark by now, and since Toni has to meet Sandro Mangion of the Malta Gay Rights Movement soon, . we start making our way back to my car. On our way out Toni is recognised by Andrew Alamango of Etnika. The two seem to be old friends, and they agree to meet for a coffee the following day. Before parting, he introduces me to Andrew (he clearly hasn’t given up). ‘Do you know who this man is?’ Toni asks him, sounding like someone who is introducing an incognito Jesus Christ. Andrew looks at me shyly and concedes that he might know me. By sight. This is starting to feel like Bill Murray’s Groundhog Day. ‘It’s Guze Stagno, the author!’ Toni tells him. ‘Oh,’ says Andrew. Half an hour later, after the detour needed to pick up the Girls Will Be Girls single from his parents’ house, I leave Toni in front of Pastamania. Sandro Mangion has been waiting for fifteen minutes. ‘Come out. I want to introduce you to Sandro,’ Toni tells me. ‘There’s no need,’ I say. ‘There’s nowhere to park anyway.’ But Toni doesn’t give up. For the second time in less than fifteen minutes, I break the law and park on a bus stop. ‘Do you know who this is?’ Toni asks Sandro, but thankfully adds: ‘It’s Guze Stagno,’ before Sandro has a chance to reply. ‘Ah, yes. Guze Stagno. The author,’ Sandro nods. ‘Weren’t you dead?’     Original text for Manic magazine cover story issued with The Malta Independent on Sunday 1 May 2005     Toni Sant wards off the paparazzi during his first face-to-face meeting with author Guze Stagno.