A more cynical 'bucket list': 10 things you probably will have done before you leave China

My earlier list of things to do before you leave Beijing was mostly rather jolly and upbeat, wasn't it? Most out of keeping with my usual year-end curmudgeonliness and depression!

This selection might seem more in character.

10 more-or-less obligatory expat rites of passage

Spend several months in full-time Chinese studies, culminating in an immersion experience and a failed attempt to pass the HSK

Discover that you can learn all the Chinese you will ever need from taxi drivers

Start dating a Chinese girlfriend/boyfriend, and find yourself railroaded into marriage in under a year

Invest in a bar or restaurant

Have your bar or restaurant stolen out from under you by your Chinese business partner

Divorce your Chinese spouse (who was probably your errant business partner, or one of their relatives)

Open a t-shirt shop (as being the only kind of business small enough for you to have a chance of being able to set it up without a Chinese partner/spouse)

Forget almost all the Chinese you ever knew, apart from the swear words (which provide most of your t-shirt slogans)

Make enough money to retire back in your homeland, but then find that revaluation of the renminbi has taken 30% off the value of your savings (and/or that the bank has frozen your account because, as a foreigner, you have no truly valid form of ID in China)

Get yourself arrested on your last night in China for some minor drunken indiscretion such as spitting in public or urinating in public, and spend another big chunk of your savings bribing the police to release you

Generic expat bars - and why I hate them

Just before I quit Beijing, I found myself out on the east side of town a couple of times on shopping expeditions and so looked in on a newly-opened bar near the Lido Hotel.

It's called Little Britain - and it left me very, very unimpressed (although it doesn't quite make it on to my 'Hate List', since I find it inept and uninspired rather than utterly DIRE).

A couple of months back I produced a particularly withering review of a new bar in the Gulou area called Eje Beer Club, which seemed to me to epitomise the things that are almost invariably CRAP about Chinese bars. Little Britain, I feel, epitomises what is CRAP about most laowai bars.

Remote location

Most foreigner-targeted bars are way out over on the east side, which is no good for those of us who live in the city centre. And even if they're sort of OK, they're never impressive enough to justify a special expedition: I used to go to the original Goose & Duck once in a while when it was at the west gate of Chaoyang Park, but now it's moved two or three miles further east, out beyond the 4th Ringroad, it's off the map for me; I quite like Nashville, and used to go a lot when it was on the old Sanlitun Nanjie, but its new incarnation can't inspire me to venture as far away as Lucky Street.

Naff (or inappropriate) name

Foreign-owned bars never plumb the depths of ludicrousness of Chinese bar naming, but they do tend to be still pretty bad. The now defunct (at last) Danger Doyle's was a piece of unmotivated alliteration. The Goose & Duck was not a bad name, but misleading, since the place was not at all like an English pub. The Stumble Inn and BeerMania are trying too hard to be amusing. Paddy O'Shea's has no connection with anyone called Patrick O'Shea. Little Britain appears to have no connection either to Britain (the owner, I gather, is a Kiwi, although he wasn't around on either of my visits) or to the cult BBC sketch comedy of that name (if you try dropping one of the show's catchphrases like "Computer says no" or "I am the only gay in the village!" on them, you will be met with blank incomprehension, I'm sure); it's just trying to be a cutesy way of proclaiming "We are a foreigner bar." Groan - I HATE cutesy.

'Theme'

As I observed in my touchstone post on What Makes A Great Bar?, any kind of 'theme' is usually anathema to me. Yet in Beijing no-one seems to think that a bar can just be a bar; it's always got to be an "Irish Bar" (or a "Belgian bar" or a "New Orleans bar" or...) or a sports bar or something. It's particularly annoying where your 'theme' is apparently 'English pub': the English pub does not have a 'theme', it just IS.

Half-arsed execution of the 'theme'

Little Britain has fish'n'chips and bangers'n'mash on its menu. That is the beginning and end of its 'Britishness'. It doesn't have ANY British beers - not even in bottles.

Unclear and/or stingy 'happy hour'

It's amazing - appalling! - how foreign-run bars tend to be much worse about this than Chinese ones. Little Britain only offers a paltry 20% off for 'happy hour', and only on selected items - a fact which is not advertised (not prominently, anyway) and not brought to your attention by the staff. If I say, "Well, if it's 'happy hour', I'll have a Guinness", I do not expect to get charged full price!

Limited draught beer options

Little Britain has only three beers on draught, the 'unholy trinity' that seems to be becoming ubiquitous: Guinness (much too expensive in China for regular drinking), Hoegaarden (who the hell likes this cloudy, fruity-tasting muck? in preference to a straightforward premium lager like Stella or Kronenbourg or, if you're going to be slightly fancy, Leffe??), and Carlsberg (SHITE - why not just have a local Chinese beer, or maybe Asahi or Tiger as your budget draught?).

Chinese characteristics

One of the things that irritates me most in a bar (and again, it tends to happen more often in foreign-run than in Chinese bars) is playing to the local obsession with numerology by having prices end in a 'lucky 8'. Little Britain does this with its entire food menu, and it BUGS THE CRAP OUT OF ME!

Too sodding expensive

The Guinness at this place is 50rmb for a smaller-than-a-pint glass. I think the Hoegaarden is 40 or 45, and even the crappy Carlsberg is 35 (MORE than I am paying for premium brews back home in England!!). Most food items are 68 or 78rmb. Who can afford to pay these sorts of prices???

My kind of 'culture'

It looks like I've got a very genteel and intellectually stimulating weekend taking shape, especially on Sunday. I think I can fit in an art show opening in the afternoon, a classical recital in the early evening, and then.... the resolution of the English Premier League football season. My 'brow' goes up and down more than Roger Moore's.

'Mixology' in a nutshell

I haven't researched properly, but I think this is from Punch in the 1920s or 1930s.

This nails the essential principle that fancy-dan cocktail jocks so often overlook.

How not to do it - opening a bar

A couple of weeks ago, I was tipped off about a new bar opening in my neighbourhood - so, I thought I'd go and give it a try.

There are many, many bad and pointless Chinese bars opening up all over the place - particularly in my neighbourhood! - all the time; most of them I never get around to checking out; and most of them don't endure for very long. Therefore, I am somewhat perversely glad that, for once, I went to the trouble of scoping this place out... because it superbly epitomises so much of what is STUPID about most Chinese bar owners in Beijing, it is a text book on how not to.

Things that are probably better to avoid:

Setting up off the strip

Sure, some places - good places (like MaoMaoChong or Amilal or El Nido) - can establish themselves as 'destination bars', somewhere that's worth a small excursion off the more regularly beaten track. And more true 'neighbourbood bars', 'locals' serving the population who live in the immediate vicinity (like The Brick) rather than the general after-work drinking crowd, would be a welcome addition to the Beijing scene. But, in general, there's a reason why bars and restaurants cluster together around Sanlitun and Gongti and Nanluoguxiang and Houhai and Wudaoying and Wudaokou. Most 'lone wolves' die of starvation. Hence, the bar that inspired me to write this is immediately setting itself a bit of a challenge by opening up on Gulou Dongdajie (a street of shops and restaurants, not bars), mid-way between the Houhai and Nanluoguxiang bar enclaves (nearby, but perhaps not quite near enough).

Impossible to find/No name outside

The 'speakeasy' craze has tried to make a virtue of obscurity, elevating being unadvertised, unlabelled, hard-to-find into a quirky marketing gimmick. I don't like the idea much myself, but I can see that it might sometimes work - with a very special kind of bar (a trendy, upmarket cocktail bar). With most bars, it is simply commercial suicide: if you don't put a sign out front, you are never going to have any business. Guess what my new bar forgot to do?

Being upstairs, in a mall

Of course, I long ago identified this as one of the defining characteristics of a bad bar. If there is one thing that's arguably even worse, it's being upstairs in a mini industrial estate. Oh, and set back off the main street. At least this place is in quite a bustling area, a very central location in the city. And it's upstairs from a highly visible motorcycle-and-sidecar dealership, which makes it fairly easy to find once you know the secret.

Unclear or naff or multiple names

The bar in question is ostensibly called Zhou in Chinese. Apparently, that's the zhou that means 'axle', not the one that means 'porridge' (nor any of the other 100-odd zhou words; it's a troublesomely multifarious syllable - although I think this is the only one, or the only common one, with a rising second tone). However, the posters that flank the door proclaim instead iBeer - very hip and modern; and I'm sure Apple won't mind. Ah, but the business cards announce that the 'English name' is Eje Beer Club. The owner tells me that 'eje' is the Spanish for zhou, i.e., for 'axle'; so, at least there's some consistency there. Unfortunately, his Spanish is about as good as my Chinese, so I am unable to reach an understanding of why he has chosen to call his bar this... in Chinese and Spanish, but not in English. [One is reminded of the worst bar on Nanluoguxiang, which has long suffered the handicap of having not one but two of the most ridiculous names to be found in this city: LogIn Pub and Wiggly Jiggly's. And also of the little Moroccan restaurant opposite the April Gourmet supermarket on Xingfu Ercun, which has signs outside identifying it as Argana and Escobar and Casablanca; not naff names, but too many of them - this confusion of identity no doubt explains why it has never developed the kind of following that its prime location and tasty food deserve.]

Inconsistent theme or lack of branding

It was also unclear to me why such a very Asian bar (think Japanese or Korean: bright, garish, would-be space-agey, with lots of chrome and shiny plastic and mirrors) would give itself a Spanish name. And then specialise in Belgian beer. While playing (at least while I was there) exclusively reggae music. This is a bit too much of a cultural mélange: customers don't understand what you're trying to give them here.

Horrible decor

I already mentioned the gleaming plastic and the overuse of mirrors, didn't I? There are also some 'homemade' booth seats along the wall with the windows, which are too cramped for anyone - other than, perhaps, very diminutive Asian girls - to actually sit in, and are absolutely rock hard. The centre of the room is filled with small, high, round, gleamingly plasticky tables - most of which have but a single stool placed next to them. So, this is a "beer club" for the solitary drinker?? You'll probably need to wear ski goggles as well, since the lighting sears the eyeballs.

An unwelcoming attitude

It's good to get your mates in to support you in your early days, and to give the impression - however slight and unconvincing - that the place is attracting customers. It's not such a good idea to have these few guys always completely hog what little counter space you have at the bar.  And chain smoke, in a small, poorly ventilated room. (I suppose I should be grateful at least that they weren't playing dice. Although it seemed likely that dice, or cards, or some kind of drinking game would break out shortly.)

Lack of facilities

These days, your own loo - preferably a Western-style sit-upon - is pretty much de rigueur for a bar, or at any rate for one that aspires to be even slightly upmarket. As is a wi-fi beacon (despite half-hearted attempts by the authorites to outlaw wi-fi last summer). And at least one member of staff who can muster a couple of dozen words of English. Zhou may address these deficits in time - but I wouldn't bet on it.

Too near to rivals

Zhou may be just a bit too far away from Houhai or Nanluoguxiang to pick up much random foot traffic (er, if anyone knew it was there anyway...), but it is right next door to two other recent-ish bar openings, Temple and Jam. Temple is a large, divey bar, with Chinese/European ownership, focused on beer and simple cocktails, and putting on a lot of live music; Jam is cleaner, brighter, more upmarket, more Asian in flavour, with a "Japanese/Italian" theme (I kid you not!) and an emphasis on food and fancy cocktails. As it happens, I don't particularly like either of these places; but at least they have a fairly clear idea of what they want to do, and they do it way better than Zhou. I cannot conceive of anyone choosing to go to Zhou rather than to one of these two neighbours.

Falling between two stools

It's particularly unfortunate that Zhou is in many ways so reminiscent of its local rivals. Its emphasis on imported beers, and its attempt to keep prices reasonable (about the one good thing I have to say for it; I think it's probably got the cheapest bottle of Duvel in town at the moment - I just don't like Duvel, unfortunately) would seem to pitch it more in the 'dive bar' category, where it can't hold a candle to Temple (or El Nido). However, its decor and ambience (insofar as it has one) seem to be aspiring more to something Asian-friendly and slightly swish.... like Jam. It is not so much falling between two stools as taking careful aim and diving between them...

Perhaps it can attract enough Chinese - and Japanese and Korean - beer enthusiasts to keep it afloat. But, without some radical changes, it is never going to build any Western custom.

Elements of a memorable Chinese New Year's Eve

I was grumping the other day about how little I enjoy the Chinese New Year celebrations (and would always quit the country at this time of year if I could only afford to); but I have, of course, had a few good times here during this holiday over the years. In particular, my very first Spring Festival Eve ended up being rather fun... in a bizarre and random sort of way.

Here are the things that made it special:

1) Novelty

It was my first one. So, even the aspects of the holiday that aren't all that appealing to me (nearly all of them) at least had curiosity value. It didn't start to seem such a horrendous bore until I'd been here three or four years.

2) Being included in the party

Chinese friends are usually too preoccupied with fulfilling their family obligations (or spurning them, and fleeing the country for an overseas holiday!) to give much of a thought to us foreigners at this time of year. But in my first year here, several people - students, colleagues, new friends - made a point of inviting me to stuff. Such invitations haven't completely dried up, but in subsequent years I've probably tried to dodge them, since most of the traditional holiday activities - temple fairs, family dinners, watching the CCTV 'gala special', er... that's about it - are in fact a bit of an ordeal. But, as I say, in that first year they had novelty value. And I was particularly glad that LG, a musician I'd recently met, arranged a dinner gathering on Spring Festival Eve - almost exclusively for 'foreign friends', who he knew would have nothing else to do that night. The food I recall being fairly horrible, and the wine even worse (a comedy fake Chinese variety that appeared to have been manufactured from erguotou and cochineal); but it was a fun gathering, and I made several interesting new acquaintances there - including DD, who was eventually to become one of my closest friends here (although I didn't see her again for two or three years after this!).

3)  Comparatively few fireworks

At that point there had been a ban on fireworks within the city limits of Beijing for several years, and it remained in place until 2006. It was widely ignored. There were actually quite a lot of fireworks being let off back in those days - but not the monstrous overkill we have to suffer today. Moreover, it was nearly all traditional firecrackers rather than the fancier mortars and rockets and volcanos and so on that we are now deluged with (and which become such a trial because they are often so poorly made, and almost invariably irresponsibly used: rockets tend to explode at a dangerously low height overhead, and often at ground level; fizzling misfires and delayed detonations are alarmingly common). Most of all, I think, it acquired an extra level of exhilaration from the fact that it was an outlaw activity, that kids were having to set them off furtively, while keeping a lookout for the armband-wearing neighbourhood monitors patrolling the hutongs to try to suppress this naughtiness.

4)  A random flirtation

After the dinner, we adjourned to the foreigner bar street of Sanlitun Nanjie (demolished a couple of years later), which was about the only place where anything was open that night. Just as my party were decamping to another bar on the strip, an improbably gorgeous Scandinavian girl came in through the door - apparently lost and alone. What could I do? While not exactly a crash-and-burn, it was not one of my more successful chat-ups either - but we nattered pleasantly for half an hour or so. Romance was evidently never going to be a possibility here, but we are still friends 9 years on.

5)  More randomness

The irresistible distraction of a gorgeous blonde had separated me from the rest of the group - and I couldn't find them again. At this point, I'd hardly ever been out on Nanjie; maybe once or twice before, at most (I couldn't afford to frequent foreigner bars in my first year or two here). So, I didn't know the bar they had said they were hitting up next. And I couldn't find it. Couldn't find them. And after briefly trying a couple of other bars on my own, and being severely unimpressed with them (I think that was one of only two occasions that I ever went in the notorious dive that was Pure Girl), I gave up on the evening and decided to head home. At least I had finally begun to familiarise myself with the Nanjie strip, an area that I would be starting to visit a little more often over the coming year.

6) A game of pool (or several)

However, it was barely 10pm, which did seem a little early to be calling it a day. And there were, of course, no cabs to be had, so I was likely to have to walk the whole 6 miles or so back to my college. I therefore decided to break my journey at the only foreigner bar I had developed any sort of 'regular' habit with at that point - Huxley's 2, a large-ish venue down by the south gate of the Workers' Stadium (it was a promising space, but suffered from a slightly out-of-the-way location and extremely patchy promotion; it lasted barely 6 months - eventually killed off by the SARS outbreak, although I don't think it would have survived much longer anyway). There was a young European guy there - Dutch or Belgian, I think, not sure now - who was supposed to be running a DJ night. But it probably hadn't been effectively advertised: there was no-one there - NO-ONE. The DJ was trying to remain upbeat about the prospects of people starting to show up around midnight - but no-one ever did. I bought him a drink to console him, and thrashed him on the pool table a couple of times. Then I started playing the staff - as I had before a number of times on slow nights (there were many slow nights in that place, so they'd all become quite good; Sammy the head barman was a formidable player, rather too good for me). That passed a very pleasant two or three hours. And then I decided to continue my journey home.

7)  Mellow thoughts

I'd had a wretched Christmas that year, with my mother dying a couple of weeks before, huge strife with my employer, a temporary holiday job in Tibet falling through... I'd been a bit of an emotional basketcase for the preceding three or four weeks. But there are few things as good as a long solitary walk very late at night for clearing the cobwebs out of your head: very restful, meditative, restorative.

8)  The spirit of Christmas Chunjie

When I finally got back to my college, the two teenage security guards in the sentry box at the front gate were looking particularly disconsolate. I imagine they'd tried to watch the traditional CCTV variety gala on their tiny black-and-white TV earlier; but now they were completely at a loose end, while all the rest of the city was revelling - and were probably desperately homesick, since they came from Shaanxi province, far to the west, and this was their first year working in the capital. On a sudden impulse of goodwill, I nipped up the street to a 24-hour convenience store to buy them a few beers and a bag of candy. The young lads almost wept with gratitude. I never again had any problems persuading them to open the gate for me 'after hours'.

Yep, I have very fond memories of that first Chunjie in China. Unfortunately, the law of diminishing returns has been operating particularly ruthlessly since then.

Why I'll probably NEVER go to Blue Frog again

I have a friend who is strangely, sadly addicted to the Blue Frog 'Two-for-One Burger Deal' on Mondays, and she occasionally tempts me to accompany her. But last night, I ducked out on her, after suffering something of a panic attack in there. No, revulsion attack would be more like it. I've never really liked the place; and suddenly ALL THE REASONS WHY came rushing upon me at once!

Namely....

Crowds

Boy, it gets busy in there on Mondays now. I think I hadn't been inside the place in well over two years, maybe more like three - and back then, their custom was fairly slow. I'll usually only go when the weather's nice enough to sit outside - and right at the start of the evening, before things get too hectic. 7.30pm on a drab winter's evening: VISION OF HELL.

Noise

A full or nearly full house generates an intolerable hubbub in there. In those conditions, there is a strong case for no longer fighting to keep the music audible above the din of conversation: there's already enough of a feedback loop with people shouting to be heard above loud chatterers at other tables, without having to try to compete with the Frog's shite music playlist being progressively cranked up as well.

Impatient hunger

I have developed very Chinese dining habits: I don't usually eat very much during the day, and so am more than ready for my main evening meal by 6pm or so, and positively ravenous by 7pm. I have a very low tolerance of crap service at the best of times, but if you keep me waiting for food when my stomach is rumbling, I'm likely to get very cranky indeed. I've often had to wait 10 or 20 minutes to get a drink order filled in Blue Frog, even early evening when they're not yet that busy. In the chock-a-block conditions last night, I anticipated that we'd be lucky to place an order in much less than 30 minutes, and might have to wait twice that long for any food to arrive. That's not a viable situation for me.

Laowai overload

I've never liked the idea of places that completely insulate you from the experience of being in China. I thus prefer bars like Reef and the Pool Bar, where the clientele is predominantly Chinese, or places like 12 Square Metres and Salud, where it's about 50/50 - to places like The Den, where it's always 90% or more foreigners. But at least The Den manages to pull in a certain proportion of Chinese WAGs and business partners; Blue Frog last night was 100% wall-to-wall foreigners. How did we come to be so numerous? And why do we have such lousy taste?!

The quality's not there

I've found Blue Frog's burgers to be of somewhat variable quality, and - even at their best - nothing really all that special. The ones at Let's Burger are significantly better. The ones at First Floor are almost comparable, for a bit less. The ones at Home Plate and The Den are pretty good, and cost much less. Why does anyone bother with Blue Frog - even on 'half-price Mondays'??

Why the hell am I eating a burger anyway?

Back in England, I probably wouldn't eat more than 5 or 6 a year, at the very most - and those would usually be from Burger King (or, more likely, from a Turkish kebab place; I like to support the independent operators against the big chains wherever I can). I don't eat in bars very much back home; and burgers just aren't such a big thing over there. When I'm visiting friends in the States - yes, that can be a different story: I don't have cooking facilities of my own, so I eat out in bars and diners much more often; burgers are a standard, competitively-priced meal; and there are some very good quality 'fast food' outlets, such as Five Guys in the DC area (where I most often stay). I might well eat half a dozen burgers in a two or three week visit to the States. But here in Beijing? I cook for myself around half of the time. I'm quite happy to eat in Chinese restaurants most of the rest of the time. I only feel inclined to indulge in Western 'comfort food' two or three times a month - and more for the convenience factor of being able to get served quickly and eat on the hoof than because I suffer cravings for this kind of thing. And if my urges do take me in that direction... well, I'm more inclined to go for British pub grub (the steak-and-kidney pie at The Den or battered sausage and chips from Fish Nation), or for Tex-Mex (the Luga's burritos or the Mexican stuffed chicken breasts at Sand Pebbles), or for Middle Eastern (a doner from Kebab Republic or a falafel sandwich from Biteapitta), or for some barbecue (the pulled pork sandwich at Home Plate or the ribs at First Floor). A burger?? WHY????

I figure I eat 8 to 10 burgers a year out here. And that's about 6 too many. I've decided to cut back - and Blue Frog will be the first place to go.

Froog's 'Rules of Drinking'

When I discovered Modern Drunkard magazine and its '86 Rules of Boozing' last week, I rashly promised to formulate a similar - but more stripped-down, straightforward - list of my own. True to my word (and after only 6 days!), here are....

Froog's 'Rules of Drinking'

1)  Know your limits. 

[Drinking is about having fun, not making yourself ill.]

2)  Always buy the first round. 

[If you can't afford to buy a round, you shouldn't be out drinking anyway.]

3)  If you don't manage to get the first round in, buy the second round. 

[You don't want to be thought a cheapskate.]

4)  Choose your drinking companions carefully. 

[There's not much benefit to observing these rules yourself if you are associating with people who don't.]

5)  Always be nice to the serving staff, even if they're not doing their job very well.  

[Remember what a stressful and poorly remunerated job it often is. And there are almost invariably more arseholes on the customers' side of the bar than behind it; don't add to that statistic.]

6)  Always return your glasses to the bar, and tidy up any litter you see in your area of bar or table.  

[If you've ever worked in a bar, you do this without even thinking about it. It is, I believe, a key element of being nice to the staff - Rule 5 above.]

7)  There is no shame in drinking water to maintain hydration. 

[It is absolutely essential in a hot/humid environment, or if you're drinking spirits or overstrength beers.]

8)  Always ensure that you can get home early enough to allow at least 5 hours' sleep before you next have to work, or do anything else important. 

[Adjust according to individual body requirements. I don't sleep much these days: 5 hours is usually plenty for me - or enough, anyway.]

9)  There's no need to SHOUT. 

[If people at neighbouring tables are wincing at your conversation, you are being unnecessarily loud.]

10)  Avoid any situation which could lead to a fight.  

[Froog has 'Rules of Fighting', too. The odd-numbered ones are all 'DON'T!']

11)  Never talk to people who are significantly more drunk than you are.  

[At best, it's going to be awkward and boring. At worst, it could lead to a fight: remember Rule 10!]

12)  When The Weeble wobbles, it's time for us all to go home. 

[Unfortunately, we often don't.]

Elements of a thoroughly splendid night (and day)

I've been feeling a bit down over the last few weeks. I had nothing planned over this last weekend. Except that I knew I was going to have to work all day Sunday and Monday, and would probably spend most of Saturday preparing for that. Prospects for fun seemed non-existent.

But Saturday ended up being one of the best days I've had in... well, certainly this year... possibly in the last two or three or four years.

Here's how it panned out.

The Elements of an unexpectedly stonking Saturday

1)  Starting early

I got a call from The Choirboy rocking up in my 'hood at around 3pm. I decided to abandon my plans to be diligent all weekend, and we arranged to meet up for a drink around the corner.

2)  Stupidly beautiful weather

One of the prettiest skies I've ever seen in Beijing - blue as blue, with high wispy clouds tinged with pink, and a dazzlingly bright three-quarter moon visible during the day.

3)  Familiar haunts

The token stop-in at 12 Square Metres always salves my conscience, even though most of our drinking was done elsewhere.

4)  That hypoglycaemic 'high'

Er, we didn't really eat all day. That probably gave the alcohol more bang-per-buck than usual....

5)  A really cool venue

Cool in all senses of the word: decently air-conditioned and just, well, cool. I have only recently 'rediscovered' tiny music club What Bar after three years or more of neglect; but it is just as wonderful as ever. Possibly even more wonderful.

6)  A really cool laoban

The lady boss at What is such a charmingly mellow woman. Probably too easy-going to make a success of her business, in fact; she cheerfully tolerates most of her punters stocking up on xiaomaibu beers outside. She's even pleasantly friendly and low-key about collecting the door money.

7)  Old friends, new friends

Skip and Chery of fun surf rock band The Flying Mantas were there to check out the show. I used to see them a lot in the Pool Bar, but hadn't caught up with them in a year or two.

8)  Free food

Only a very token offering, and not nearly enough to soothe my hunger, but... it's such a charming gesture. Visiting Norwegian band Vom hit up the 7/11 before their show to get a few cakes and croissants to distribute to the small but appreciative audience.

9)  Hot girls in prom dresses - with guitars!

What is so appealing about that combination? I don't know, but it sure as hell works for me! Did I mention that Vom are an all-girl band? I fear I may have drooled a little too obviously over the leggy strawberry-blonde bass player... (Sex appeal aside, it was a really fun little show. Only 15 or 20 people there, but that meant the girls could take it in turns to come down off the stage and play right in the midst of us.)

10)  A sensibly early night

Well, when you're working early the next morning, going to bed at 1am completely slaughtered is probably not all that responsible - but it might have been oh so much worse!!

[Alas, it is difficult to find out much about these Viking lasses because they share their band name with an undistinguished but much more Web-prominent American punk outfit of the late-70s/early-80s. I haven't yet been able to find any performance videos of them. There is this band webpage for them, however (in Norwegian; but you can try Google Translate on it!) - with several quite good pictures (they appear to have a bit of a food obsession; I particularly like the one of them sprawled on a sofa, surrounded by a sea of junk food.)]

How to hold a music festival (or not)

Yes, a music festival is a very big undertaking. And there are all sorts of special problems with trying to stage one in China, and particularly in Beijing, with the authorities making life extremely difficult.

But, you know, really, it shouldn't be all that hard to bring all the elements together. And yet, as the number of music festivals in Beijing proliferates, the standards of organization seem to fall ever lower. The long-running MIDI event is the only one that consistently manages to get nearly everything right. Almost all of the others are more or less of a shambles. The new Kama Love Music Festival held this past weekend was more of a disaster than most.

Here are the key things you need to pay attention to, music festival organisers:

1) Have a website

In this Internet age, that's absolutely essential. Kama did not have one - or at least, not one that was at all easy to find. My music-junkie pal Ruby was crowing that she had found a helpful site about the event, but god knows how. Repeated Google searches turned up nothing for me (apart from one page - on Chinese music site Douban, I think - which wasn't loading when I tried it). The Festival's flyers and posters only provided a link for ticket sales through online retailer Taobao.

2) Have some advance publicity

Now, I sympathise with the Kama folks on this one. I gather (from the Cowboy Junkies' blog - kept by their guitarist, Mike Timmins) that they were forced to withdraw all of their initial advertising because of the inclusion in the lineup of Zuoxiao Zuzhou, a Chinese musician who's suddenly found himself on the government's shit list. My sympathy, however, only goes so far. They had a fair amount of time to put out a second wave of promotional material, but it wasn't very eye-catching, or very well distributed. And there was next-to-nothing in the way of promotion via any English-language media outlets. I'm guessing the event didn't achieve very good prominence amongst Chinese speakers either, since the turnout was extremely low.

3) Make all your promotional copy bilingual

Foreigners are going to be a large component of your target audience, so you need to make sure that all the information about your event is readily accessible to them too. Most Chinese music promoters don't bother to give the English names of Chinese bands. The Kama folks don't seem to have given the Chinese names of the foreign bands either - which might have caused some problems for punters who can't read English.

4) Make sure people know where you are

The Kama venue was variously described (in English) as the 'Olympic Park' and the 'Olympic Sports Area' and the 'Olympic Sports Center' and a few other variations on that theme. Some people might well have supposed - as I did! - that this meant the area around the Bird's Nest (which is more conventionally known as the Olympic Green - although there's no greenery to speak of), or the Olympic Forest Park to the north of the Green. No, in fact it seems to mean the cluster of sports venues south of the Bird's Nest - which were originally built for the Asian Games back in 1990, but were given a hasty facelift and rebranding just ahead of the Olympics here a few years back. Their map (provided on ticketing website, Piao.com) was far too small - and unhelpfully labelled - to make this apparent.

[Notice how there are three entirely separate roads labelled Aoti Zhonglu - Olympic Sports Middle Street? It may well be - this being China - that there are three different roads with the same name. However, there are few if any signs on these roads to identify them. And they weren't called this until three years ago; I used to go up to this part of Beijing - on foot - a lot prior to the Olympics, but haven't done so since; the geography of the area is bewilderingly different now. And there are several HUGE new road junctions that have no footbridges or underpasses; pedestrian access is tricky. It's almost as if the government didn't want anyone to go to the Olympics...] I'm told that if you went to the nearest subway station - Anzhenmen - and got out at the right exit, it was pretty easy to find your way in (I'm a trifle sceptical; I walked back past that station and didn't see any signs in the vicinity). But, if you happened to go to the next subway station, on the other side of the venue, you were shit out of luck. In fact, if you approached from anywhere other than the south-east corner, you were shit out of luck. The venue was absolutely enormous, but there was only one entrance, in the middle of the south perimeter. This entrance was not very readily visible or accessible because of the even bigger outer perimeter around the 'Olympic Sports Center', which has few entry points. And there was absolutely no signage anywhere. It took me nearly 20 minutes to find my way in, after I arrived at the venue. I was not alone in my frustration at this: there were scores of people, mostly Chinese, also forlornly traipsing around the miles-long perimeter trying to find an entrance.

5) Keep ticket prices affordable

I imagine another main reason for the low attendance at Kama was the very high admission fee - 200 rmb per day. Sponsorship ought to cover most - or all? - of the costs of staging an event like this. And sponsors won't be happy if no-one comes because the gate fees are too high. 200 rmb is a week's wages for some people, a day's wages for almost anyone; a lot of Chinese are going to be deterred by prices like that (until a few years ago, you could go to all four days of the MIDI Festival for that much).

6)  Have plenty of ticket-check (and ticket sales) lines

The Strawberry Festival last year made a particularly big balls-up of its ticket sales, making people wait in line for upwards of two hours. Even MIDI hasn't always done this quite as well as it might. Kama didn't have a problem because nobody came; but there were only four or five ticket/security checks. If they'd had the 20,000 or 30,000 visitors I imagine they were hoping for (rather than the 3,000 or 4,000 I estimate showed up on the Sunday), that entry point would have been completely overwhelmed and there would have been some very long waits. [I understand the police imposed a last-minute ban on selling tickets on the gate. Although I'm not confident that these guys would have handled ticket sales any better than they did any other aspect of the event. Interestingly, though, there were a lot of piao fanzi (touts/scalpers) around, and they were offering tickets at well below the cover price. I've never seen that at a festival here before (festivals don't sell out, so touts don't have any leverage - other than to shortcut long ticket lines). I wonder if this was the organisers craftily trying to circumvent the ticket sales ban (and boost the disappointing turnout)?]

7)  Have some good sound guys

From Mike Timmins's post, it seems the soundcheck on the morning of Day 1 was more than a little chaotic, with the stage crew still setting up. The balance seemed all wrong to me, much too heavy on the bass - and very indistinct on the main 'Love' stage (it was OK if you were in the middle, and fairly near the front; but the sound just got muddier and muddier the further back you went). The sound was much crisper on the smaller 'Hope' stage, but painfully overloud (I saw people actually being driven away from the stage by this, their hands over their ears); the level was inappropriate for such a small crowd - you need bodies to soak up the sound. I'm guessing the sound crew weren't all that experienced with this kind of event. Most of the control desk engineers seemed to be slumped at their posts in a trance of catatonic boredom, not doing anything to tweak the settings, scarcely even paying attention at all (one guy actually fell asleep).

8)  Have some local bands

While the overseas performers included some interesting choices - Cowboy Junkies, Eels, and young British act These New Puritans - the Chinese end of the bill was mostly very bland soft rock. I suppose the organisers were looking for acts they thought would be 'commercial', have a broad and uncontroversial appeal to mainstream Chinese tastes. Again, I sympathise up to a point. But I do not see how you can have a rock festival in Beijing that doesn't include any bands from Beijing's lively indie scene.

9)  Run on time

More pesky interference from the police! I surmised - correctly, as it turned out - that the fact the show was running a full hour ahead of its advertised schedule was probably down to the finish time having been brought forward by the authorities. Well, OK, if you have to do that, you have to do that. But you could, you know, make some announcements to that effect, so that the audience knows what the hell is going on. You could even put some stickers explaining the time change on the billboards advertising the schedule. And you really ought to let the bands know as far in advance as possible. (Mike Timmins says he received a telephone call about the revised timetable less than two hours before they were expected to appear on stage. And one of the bands, apparently, was dropped from the schedule completely - perhaps because they didn't know when they were now supposed to be on.) And you should also try to preserve the interval between the shows on the two stages: performances are supposed to be staggered, so that people can alternate between the two venues and catch at least a little of each of the 'simultaneous' acts. With the rejigging of the schedule on Sunday, it seemed that both stages were starting and finishing at almost exactly the same time.

10)  Don't let your concessionaires overcharge

Apart from a couple of people buying ice creams from Dairy Queen, and gaggles of event staff taking their lunch at the instant noodles stall, I saw exactly ZERO people buying anything from the food court area, NOT ONE. The fact that vendors were charging 20 kuai or more for the kind of street snacks that would usually be no more than 4 or 5 kuai may have had something to do with this. Now, the organisers were making a bit more of an effort than usual in this department. The presence of international brands DQ and Yoshinoya was a welcome change to the crappy local knock-offs of Pizza Hut and Subway that we usually get at festivals here. And vendors, it seemed, were being required to advertise their prices - which is always a good thing. Overall, though, the choices were not that many, and the prices were just a bit on the high side. As with so many other aspects of this event, the ideas were laudable but the execution was half-assed - a 'Gourmet Street' with only one high-end food outlet; an art show confined to one small tent; a cinema tent which was not advertising a programme and not showing anything on any of the occasions I looked in (but was proving a popular source of shade).

11)  Have a bar

In fact, have several bars. The dratted city authorities were once more the killjoys here: it seems they've decided to outlaw booze at most of the big festivals this year. The Kama organisers had set up a large tent with seating for use as a bar, but - again, at the eleventh hour - they were refused permission to sell alcohol. A couple of thoughts on this for you, guys. One, alcohol is not the only form of drink; it was daft not to use your bar tent at all; on such a hot day, there was a high demand for cold soft drinks as well. Two, welcome innovation though the large bar with seating was...., people really don't want to have to go traipsing from one end of the festival grounds to the other whenever they want a drink. There were very, very few places selling any kind of drink at Kama, and none at all around the main 'Love' stage. You need plenty of sales points (and plenty of refrigeration) for alcohol and soft drinks (and water!) all over the venue.

12)  Have PLENTY of water available

Dispense it in bottles rather than paper cups, ideally. And make it cheap or FREE. It's not going to cut into your sales of other kinds of drinks much, if at all. But if you're running an outdoor event in the summer WITH NO WATER, you're going to make people ill. And you're going to make people leave. Dozens of people were starting to drift away from Kama as early as 3pm or so on Sunday afternoon.

13)  Allow readmission

It's really not that hard to police. Your concessionaires aren't going to suffer much lost business, because festival venues are usually too remote from anything for there to be many rival food and drink outlets nearby. And there is no way anyone is going to pay for a new ticket for readmission at those sorts of prices. I can't see any reasonable argument for a 'no readmission' policy - particularly not when your turnout is tiny anyway, and people are being forced to leave in order to buy water.

14)  Don't set up in a dustbowl

This may mean, in practice, don't set up in Beijing. It hasn't rained very much here since the Olympics, and scarcely at all in the last 8 or 9 months: the place is becoming a desert. I wonder, in fact, if the apparent 'ban' on holding events in the city's Haidian and Chaoyang Parks this year might not be justified on these grounds (retrospective sophistry: I'm sure this wasn't the reason for the ban), that the environmental degradation caused by thousands of feet tramping parched earth would be insupportable. But the earth at the 'Olympic Sports Center' wasn't just parched - it was bare. In only a few places did it appear that some grass had just recently been planted, and hadn't yet properly established itself. The rest of the venue looked as though it had until recently been a building site: lots of irregular, annoying holes in the ground, lots of hard stones to trip you up, and lots and lots of exposed, bone-dry, powdery earth - the theme tune from Lawrence of Arabia kept drifting through my head. Where there is no grass at all, spraying with water can't do much to harden the earth and limit the dust; but the organisers should at least have tried (it didn't look as though there had been any watering done at all). The organisers had, to their credit, laid down some artificial turf in front of the stages; but there wasn't enough of it, and it was wearing away pretty quickly. Many of the event staff seemed to have been issued with orange bandanas to protect themselves from the frequent mini dust storms; these should have been given to the punters as well. But in fact, in such awful, awful, AWFUL conditions, I think there's an argument for not going ahead in the first place.

15)  Don't play Bob Sinclar's Love Generation over and over and over and over again....

Honestly, this was the final straw that broke the back of this particular grumpy camel. It's a nice song, it is, very catchy. But you don't need to hear it more than once. Around 4.30 on Sunday, the stage crew were evidently running into some problems in setting up for These New Puritans - lots of anxious unravelling of cables and switching around of monitors. While this potentially alarming activity was going on, they played Love Generation over the PA to try keep the crowd feeling upbeat. Then, the crew would appear to have got the problem sorted, and retire from the stage. Love Generation would be cut off before the finish, and we'd begin to hope that this silence betokened the imminent appearance of the band on stage. But then more techies would hurry out and start fiddling around with the equipment again; and Love Generation would resume, cycled back to somewhere near the beginning but not to the very start of the song; it would play almost all the way through, then be cut off again; then, a minute or two of silence and hushed anticipation; and then, Love Generation once more. We got a partial play of that damned song at least 5 or 6 times in quick succession. I began to think I'd died and gone to hell.... Honestly, chaps, if you're going to play music between the sets, you need to have a variety of tunes, not just the one; and you need to play them all the way through. The music that you play to soothe potential crowd discontent should - well, how shall I put this? - not add to their discontent!!  Really, by about 4.50pm the crowd in front of the 'Love' stage had dwindled to a few hundred people - and it was Love Generation that was largely to blame, even more than the dust storms and the lack of water.

Above the exit gates of the Kama Festival was a banner welcoming us to come again 'Next Year'. A nice touch! But, after the complete pig's ear you made of this inaugural event, you'll have a very hard time persuading anyone to give you another chance next year. The cantankerous attitude of the police and the authorities certainly didn't help matters; but the more serious headless chicken problems clearly would have happened anyway. I'd give this event a 2 out of 10; and that more in recognition of good intentions and sympathy over external difficulties than for actual delivery. IT SUCKED DONKEY BALLS!!

The best barman in the world?

Big Nige, an old friend of our laoban JK back in his tour-guiding days, has for the past few months been working as an occasional 'relief barman' down at my beloved 12 Square Metres.

Now, good times are almost always to be had at this wonderful little spot, and I enjoy hanging out there with JK and his Mrs most nights. But when Nige is on.... well, sometimes it just goes to a whole other level.

The big guy and I share a number of uncanny affinities (I was a trifle spooked to learn a few weeks back that his two favourite spots in Oxford were The Black Swan Irish pub and the Hi-Lo Jamaican Eating House - places dear to my heart too, though well off the beaten track: I had the good luck to live in that city on and off for a decade, whereas Nigel was but an occasional visitor), especially in our enthusiasm for music. We can both hold forth for extended periods in appreciation of the genius of Tom Waits (he's just lent me a DVD documentary on the great man); and the other night we were sharing recollections of Hereford's (the city of my birth) finest, Mott The Hoople. JK's standard playlist - 80s-riddled and very middle-of-the-road (Hansen???!!!) - invites frequent derision from the handful of regulars. When Nige is on duty, the selection tends towards the heavier end of the spectrum (his knowledge of 80s British heavy metal is dauntingly compendious)..... and, occasionally, towards playfully obscene lyrics.

When the place is busy, he'll rein in his natural exuberance and avoid playing anything that might upset someone of a sensitive disposition. But he usually works Monday nights, which are often pretty dead. So..... we few, we happy few.... can occasionally let our hair down a bit: customer song requests are encouraged, the lights may be dimmed at particularly emotional moments, and singing along - or headbanging along - is apt to break out frequently.

Last night was a particularly good session: we were all having so much fun, he stayed open an hour or more later than usual - even though there were only three customers left. Thanks, Nige.

[It was all the more welcome for being such an unexpectedly good end to a long and miserable day. I'd had yet another gippy tummy episode the night before, having to get up in the middle of the night to throw up. Then my electricity meter had unexpectedly run out of pre-paid credit, so I'd found myself without air-conditioning, and couldn't get much more sleep. I'd had a gruelling day, rushing all over town in 95% humidity and clammy drizzle, and having to forsake lunch in order to recharge my electricity card. After all that, I was strung out, exhausted, not in a great party mood. Chaotic service at Blue Frog rather undermined enjoyment of their two-for-one burger deal. And a couple of other bars we tried were both completely dead (a drizzly Monday evening: what should I expect?). And premium lager wasn't sitting well on my still-tender stomach. No, I had a very flat feeling yesterday, wasn't enjoying my evening much at all..... until I managed to inveigle a few friends into joining me at 12SqM for 'a nightcap'.... a 'just the one' that ended up lasting the better part of four hours!]

Reasons not to watch the football in Sanlitun

A number of my friends are lobbying that we should meet somewhere in Sanlitun for the big game between England and Germany tonight.... but I'm not keen.

The only strong argument in favour of such a move seems to be that - for such a potentially momentous clash - it would be useful to have an English commentary (it does indeed render the action much more intelligible; and, strangely, more memorable - the names of the players involved in important moves just don't stick in the mind very easily if you haven't heard them spoken).

However, amongst the many, many reasons why I fear it will be an horrendous experience:



1) Crowds
(I get claustrophobic in crowds: I hate the restriction of free movement.)


2) Yobbish England fans
(Oh, sure, I get a bit rowdy myself watching a game once in a while. I may even scatter the odd f-bomb around when I'm particularly emotional. But I try to be aware of my surroundings and my companions; I don't push ribbing of the other team and its supporters too far. And I keep mostly to humorous abuse. Many of the 'England fans' we have to suffer in this town [and all around the world too, alas] just keep up a constant stream of obscenity.)


3) Chinese football fans
(Almost as obnoxious as English fans - with excessive and inappropriate enthusiasms, mostly based on a staggering ignorance of the game. Most of them, strangely, support England [although they'd support Argentina against us in the next one: no logic, no loyalty!].)


4) Crappy sports bars
(I've complained before about the myriad fundamental failings of Beijing's [comparative handful of] 'sports bars'. I don't think there's really one worthy of the name.)


5) English commentary???
(The crappy sports bars haven't done much if anything to advertise what channels/commentaries they have available. The satellite that had been providing the South African Super Sports channels - our main pirated sports coverage here for the past two years - was 'decomissioned', or something, at the start of this month. I hear varying reports as to whether any alternative pirate feed has been accessed. I suspect a handful of the more successul or 'upmarket' venues such as The Den and The Pavilion may have bitten the bullet and shelled out big money for a legitimate satellite package [unheard of!]. But more rough'n'ready joints like Luga's Villa and Paddy O'Shea's?? There are rumours that some places are trying to accompany the local CCTV5 coverage with English commentary from an Internet feed [we tried the BBC's Radio 5 Live briefly in 12 Square Metres at the start of the tournament, but it was hopeless: constantly interrupted by adverts, and subject to a 3-4 second time-lag!!]. And even if there is English commentary, will the bars be playing it loud enough to be audible above the hubbub of the crowd? Of course not. And will they remember that the half-time and post-game match analysis is also an integral and vital part of the commentary? Of course not!!)


6) Expense
(The Den sneakily lulls you into a false sense of being able to afford it. Its happy hour price regime - everything discounted 50% from 5pm to 10pm - is reasonable, but not particularly cheap; when you suddenly find yourself being charged 50 kuai for a Carlsberg or 60 kuai for a Guinness after 10 o'clock, it hurts. In general, I try to avoid going to 'happy hours' at bars where I couldn't afford the normal tariff; but The Den's 'happy hour' is so long that I am scarcely aware of it having any other price scale - I only ever go there in the early evening, for a 'Western' pub meal on my way to a speaker meeting or something, or to catch some highlights of the previous weekend's sports. No, watching late-night games in The Den is just not within my budget. The Pavilion and Paddy's [and the dismal Danger Doyle's] are just as bad. And I hear some of those places have actually started charging door fees for the big games as well - outrageous!)


7) Cab shortages

(The crowds out in Sanlitun on the couple of occasions I have ventured over there this past fortnight were so enormous that even Beijing's extremely generous per capita supply of taxis was seriously overstretched. In the immediate aftermath of a game, you could be looking at a half-hour wait to try and find a cab; more after the late game, since even hard-working cabbies usually settle down for a little cat-nap around dawn.)

8) The games go on just too bloody late

(Even the 'early game' doesn't finish until nearly midnight here; later, if it goes to extra time, penalties. Even that's a bit of a strain on a 'school night'. The late, late games drag on until dawn is breaking. That's just not doable. At least if I'm hanging out around Nanluoguxiang, it's only a 20-30 minute stagger home afterwards [or a 5-minute cab ride, if I'm feeling that tired/lazy]. That makes the pre-midnight games a very reasonable prospect. Facing a 90-minute walk home from Sanlitun [or a 20-minute cab ride, assuming there are any cabs...] makes even the early games seem very unappealing.

I really, really, really want to see this one with English commentary. But the Sanlitun bars are just so godawful, I can't bear the thought of it. I'm wondering about maybe heading all the way out to the Lido, hoping that The Irish Volunteer isn't going to be too packed.....

Elements of a dire Christmas Eve

1) Unreliable friends
The Chairman, 'surprised' by the bad traffic, was running an hour-and-a-half late for our scheduled early evening rendezvous. A couple of other people he had said would be there, people I hadn't seen for a while and was keen to catch up with, also failed to appear. I gave up on them and went elsewhere.

2) My 'stalker'
An ex that I prefer to avoid had - yet again - insinuated herself into the party I was supposed to be meeting. I couldn't face her feigned surprise, the tired old "Oh, what a surprise to see you here!" rigmarole. Yeah, right. You know these are my two closest drinking buddies; you know they're the only people I know still left in town; where the hell else would you expect me to be? Another reason to leave...

3) Thin crowds
Not much fun to be had anywhere around Sanlitun, it seemed. Everyone's gone away for the holidays. I checked out Fubar for a while, but it was pretty dead.

4) Chinese revellers
Well, thin crowds of foreigners, that is. Most bars and restaurants were thronged with young Chinese partiers. I knew from bitter experience that it wouldn't be worth trying to get in the door at most of the places I usually like to hang out around Nanluoguxiang, like Reef, or Jianghu, or the Pool Bar.

5) Appalling traffic
The huge enthusiasm of the Chinese for Christmas Eve parties meant that all the roads around the centre of the city were log-jammed for hours, and it took a long wait to get a taxi. I had been planning to go to the Christmas Eve gig at 2 Kolegas, but my enthusiasm for the idea waned as I contemplated the possibility of having to walk all the way there..... and maybe having to walk all the way back too.

6) Appalling weather
The previous 48 hours had been very mild. Unfortunately, low wind, damp air, and a temperature inversion had cranked pollution levels way up; and a long spell with no precipitation has built up huge amounts of sand and dust in the streets. On Christmas Eve, the wind started blowing savagely out of the northwest again, plunging the temperature well below freezing and scouring your eyeballs with sand. I had elected to walk home from Sanlitun - ordinarily a not unpleasant 80 or 90-minute stroll, but on this occasion an exhausting, dispiriting trudge into the teeth of the gale.

7) Luck
I might perhaps have salvaged something from the evening if I'd just gone to 12 Square Metres (comme toujours), but I had decided to surrender myself to the dice life. Not having a die on me, or a coin, I texted a friend the query 'Heads or tails?' (Try this sometime. Very liberating! You have to be disciplined about choosing your options first and sticking to them. And no "Best of three..." get-outs!) Unfortunately, he gave me the wrong answer.

8) More Chinese revellers
So, I went instead to check out my jazzy friends the No Name Trio playing at Trainspotting, a little restaurant/bar in the Fangjia Hutong development just off Andingmen. Alas, it was a thinnish crowd. And entirely Chinese. And entirely under 25. I was not inspired to stick around. I had been drawn to the option largely by the prospect of being able to have a catch-up with Terry, the barman there (an old friend from Obiwan and Room 101) - but he seems to have left.

9) Gathering gloom
I still had plenty of time to head back to 12 Square. Or Amilal. But the evening was going so poorly that I suffered a mounting pessimism that even these reliable standbys might prove to be disappointing on this night. I actually walked right up to the door of Amilal.... and coudn't bring myself to go in.

10) Inaccurate listings
I still had one hope of some entertainment. My last stop on the way home would be Jiangjinjiu. It's a Thursday, after all - Panjir should be playing. They were advertised as playing in all the listings magazines. But regular listings often get disrupted by the holidays; and repeat events tend to get hardwired into the listings, regardless of whether they are still ongoing. No Panjir this night. No band at all. Home it is, then. (Actually, Panjir don't seem to have been playing their Thursday spot there for a few weeks now - must check what's going on with that.)

11) A blast from the past
I'd just got home when Fate taunted me with a text message from one of the great loves of my life, asking if I was out. No, indeed I was not. I think she was seeking a bar recommendation rather than urging me to join her. She'd just been to a gig, so was likely to be playing the groupie with her rock musician friends - I endured enough of that when I was going out with her, thank you. A brief heart-lurch, nonetheless. What is it about Christmas that so distills the devastating sense of loneliness?

12) Pining (1)
The heart-lurch over the ex wasn't as bad as it might have been because I at least have new foci of romantic disappointment in my life these days. I realised the person I would most like to have been with, or at least been in touch with, this Christmas was The Bombshell, the lovely Swedish visitor who stole my heart back in March.

13) Pining (2)
Although I am, on balance, relieved at the news of Madame X's intended departure from China, glad to escape the prison of thwarted infatuation and the confidence-crushing torture of her perpetual spurning.... well, there is also a keen sense of regret. I miss having her here even when she's just gone home for Christmas. How much worse will it be when she's gone for good?

14) Guilt
Probably one of the key underlying reasons for my low mood on this night was the niggling sense of shame at having omitted to send Christmas cards to my young nieces this year. At least getting home by 10.30pm enabled me to arrange e-cards for them (but they're not big computer users, so I'm not sure when or if they'll ever see them).

15) No booze in the house
How could I have no booze in the house? There should always be a bottle of good whisky on hand to console you through these dismal holiday doldrums! A major oversight.

No, Christmas Eve is rarely a good night in China; but this year it was a very, very, very bad one.