I was in a cafe this morning listening to a friend go over her holiday plans. She's been a roamer like me - the more offbeat a destination the better. It's a chronic sign of wanderlust; I know, it's printed into my DNA.

 However, she's a quieter gal these days with a partner in tow, who like her seems to exist under siege like conditions at work. So she's looking at somewhere to let the work bruises heal, the sun to carry out it's magic, and generally get the office life wrinkles ironed out. But there has to be a little culture in there alongside the beach and the sea as well. Prose and poetry.

Malta? What did I know ? Had I been there ? Thoughts? Been there and, yes, it'll probably press all the right buttons: picturesque, warm, good food, generously natured people, layers of history; in general, a place to let the imagination wander. Her kind of place in other words.

And this is where I ran into problems. Straightforward enough to emphasise that it's the ideal sanctuary cum holiday destination she needs, got no doubt on that. But harder, much harder to actually express all this in words. You should go here...pause...then here...had a great time there....pause...easy to get around...pause...people friendly, not get ripped off, and so on in that staccato style. It's something I've noticed not just me, but others falling into: the power of expression takes a swan dive right out of the window when we're trying to say what somewhere is really like.

How difficult it is to articulate the sense and effect of a physical place. It ends up coming down in my case: to gestures; 'it just is' repetitions; and salvos of go and you'll see what I mean exhortations. I might have better luck describing the the nature of the soul than this.

Still it looks like she's going to go to Malta. So something seems to have worked. Let's call it the alchemy of inarticulacy or the enchantment of the tongue-tied.