Knowing the feeling

The Weeble's powers of memory and recitation can be quite daunting. Now I find he can even outdo me on Tom Waits lyrics. This cannot be allowed. I feel it is necessary for me to revise a few of my favourites, and get back in practice.

This one, of course, is the bar-room recitation classic. (I might dig out a video for it one day, if I can ever get YouTube to work for me again.) [Well, I eventually managed to turn it up here; audio only, though.]

Frank's Wild Years

Frank settled down in the Valley, and he hung his wild years on a nail that he drove through his wife's forehead. He sold used office furniture out there on San Fernando Road, assumed a $30,000 loan at fifteen-and-a-quarter percent, and put a downpayment on a little two-bedroom place. His wife was a spent piece of used jet-trash; made good Bloody Marys, kept her mouth shut most of the time. Had this little chihuahua named Carlos that had some kind of skin disease and was totally blind. They had a thoroughly modern kitchen: self-cleaning oven, the whole bit. Frank drove a little sedan. They were so happy.

One night, Frank was on his way home from work; stopped at the liquor store, picked up a couple of Mickey's Big Mouths; drank 'em in the car on his way to the Shell station. He got a gallon of gas in a can. Drove home, doused everything in the house, torched it. Parked across the street laughing, watching it burn - all Halloween orange and chiminey red.

Frank put on a Top 40 station, got on the Hollywood freeway, headed North.

Never could stand that dog.

Weeble Solutions (7)

The Weeble's solution to getting older.

Get a haircut that makes him look about fourteen.

HBH 134

Pink-streaked blue velvet;
Studded with stars, vivid, fresh;
The sky, after rain.

Last night, we had our first proper rain in Beijing for I-can't-remember-how-long.

Walking home at 1.30am this morning, after the showers had passed, I found the night sky overhead was simply spectacular. The air is seldom clear enough here for us to enjoy such sights; but when it is, the impact is multiplied - it is like coming upon an oasis after weeks lost in the baking desert.

This, I'm afraid, might be my last post in a little while. My Net access is completely screwed by the Kafka Boys, and I have - for the moment - lost my will to fight. Sorry.

I'll be back before too long. Please be patient.

I couldn't make it up

Yesterday's post about the wacky pseudo-brands we sometimes encounter in China reminded of a bottle of Chinese 'whisky' that I bought a few years ago. I've hung on to the empty bottle all this time because the label is so amusing (although the stuff was so vile, I think I tipped most of it down the sink, after trying and failing in a last-ditch attempt to make it palatable by reducing it with some sugar to make an ice-cream sauce...). I don't have the wherewithal to produce a photograph of it for you at the moment, but it probably wouldn't be very legible anyway.

Instead, here I present for your diversion the full text of the main label (right down to the punctuation and capitalization, the spacing and highlighting - really, I'm not making any of this up!).

Yantai China

Special Whisky

OLD *12* TIME

TIANCHI MANOR

TASTING BEST AND
DELICIOUS PRODUCTION, ELABORATE
BREWING AND CLASSICAL MAKING.

RARE MALTS

Tasting Best And Delicious Production, Elaborate
Brewing And Classical Making. The Wine Was Made
Of Best Grapes In The World,and With Internal Advanced
Technics.it Is Clarity And Has Full-bodied Fruit-smell,
Vinosity And Long Aftertaste.


Produce of Yantai China
TIANCHI WINERY CO., LTD. YANTAI
700ml 40%(W)

I love that it was made of "Best Grapes In The World"! They really hadn't done much research on malt whisky making, had they? And I dread to think what "Advanced Internal Technics" might have been used in its creation! I rather think drinking the stuff might have required another set of "Advanced Internal Technics". The bottle was well short of a 700ml capacity as well, but I suppose I should be grateful for that.

... but not as we know it, Jim...

The Weeble sent me this the other day (via the 56minus1 blog) - one of the most bizarre and hilarious rip-off 'brands' I've yet seen in China: Johnny Worker 'Black Labial'!

It reminded me of this similar one below, which I spotted on my trip to Harbin last year - although, by comparison, the barely recognisable (double Dutch??) mangling of Joens Dahnse is a pretty poor brand-aping effort (although I love that it is a Tenderness Whiskey).

This is a very common phenomenon here in China. I suppose it is an attempt to avoid accusations of trademark infringement, since shirts which sport a Lacoste-like alligator on the right breast rather than the left, or which bear the words 'Ralph Tauren POLQ' are unlikely to mislead any but the unwariest customer.

It does provides barrels of laughs for us cynical laowai, though.

(I have no idea what whiskies like this 'Black Labial' may taste like. Probably pretty awful, I would guess. But a more serious problem here is the stuff that passes itself off fairly convincingly - at least as regards the bottle and label - as the real McCoy, but is in fact rotgut alcohol; sometimes watered-down a bit, sometimes with an addition of some sort of food colouring, but mostly just pure - or not so pure - ethanol. I don't think I've come across any methanol yet, but it's only a matter of time. And some of this fake stuff is quite toxic enough, thank you very much. Be warned, China newbies, be wary.)

A sad day

I gather the group of Chinese musicians who've been playing traditional Irish tunes around the local gig scene for nearly a year are disbanding. In fact, I'm told that last night's short-notice show at Paddy O'Shea's was probably their farewell performance. Unfortunately, I loathe Paddy's so profoundly that I couldn't bring myself to go, much as I would have liked to see them off.

In recent months they've been going by the rather unfortunate name of The Dublingers (I think that was a passing joke by one of the guys at Salud or Ginkgo, which, sadly, stuck); I much preferred it when they were billed as just Beijing-Dublin; or the very early days when they had no billing at all, and were just "that nameless Chinese Irish band".

I will particularly miss their extraordinarily fine violinist (although I couldn't help feeling sometimes that she was perhaps just too darned pure of tone for a rowdy Irish pub band!), but they leave us many fine memories to cherish - not least their St Patrick's Day show this year at Ginkgo and my birthday party last October in Salud. I do hope we'll see them together again one day.

On a brighter note for music fans..... Alan Paul is back from America for a little while, and playing three shows this week with his popular folk/blues outfit Woodie Alan, to promote their debut CD. The Stone Boat on Thursday and Jianghu on Saturday are both very tempting, although..... well, those venues are both kind of small for the sort of crowd these guys usually attract these days..... and I do kind of have other plans. Well, we'll see. Plans are made to be changed.....

A topical bon mot

"Censorship is advertising paid for by the government."

Federico Fellini (1920-1993)

Danger Doyle's

A new leading contender for The Dead Pool....

Doyle's opened only a month or so ago, and I can't see it surviving the summer.

Consider: it transgresses a number of the most elementary rules of Great Bar-ness. Fucking stupid name, faux Irish, a divided space (spread over two floors which have no connection with each other at all, effectively creating two identical but separate bars), and IT'S IN A MALL. Upstairs, in a mall.

It's a particularly ugly, pointless, and hard to navigate mall, too - a charmless island of concrete in the middle of a street.

And it gets worse - the place doesn't even have a very clear identity of its own. It's a revamp of a rapidly-failed sports bar called Stadium (a place that folded so fast, I didn't have a chance to visit it even once; neither, apparently, did anyone else!). It is right next to, and shares its entrance/stairwell, with the abysmal bierkellar, Drei Kronen 1308 - which has the more prominent signage, so you're not quite confident you're on your way to the right place. And it's not quite clear where the one bar ends and the next begins: the cramped little patio area (and the small outside seating area downstairs??) appears to be shared between the two of them. And there is perhaps some shared ownership interest: Doyle's is flogging Drei Kronen's homebrew (WHY?? It's not that wonderful, and it's ridiculously expensive - who on earth is going to pay nearly 60 kuai for an unknown brand when you can get a premium import like Stella Artois for 35 kuai??). I would suggest that even proximity to the obviously doomed Drei Kronen is likely to be harmful to trade (the one and only time I tried it, there were two other customers in there; on the several occasions that I have walked past to scope it out, I have seen not a single customer - NOT ONE, ever); the intimation of collaboration or co-ownership could be a kiss-of-death. And, oh yes, Doyle's logo is DD, while Drei Kronen is commonly abbreviated to DK - confused? It's a marketing case study in how-not-to.

It racks up plenty of other black marks as well. Having all the prices end with a 'lucky 8' is an irritating affectation. The pricing in general seems to be curiously pitched. Most items are just slightly more expensive than they are in other comparable bars: enough to discourage budget-conscious punters like me, but not enough to differentiate the bar as a more exclusive, high-end sort of venue. The food, in particular, is pretty ordinary for what they're charging (I tried the burger, which was fairly decent; but it came with a really niggardly portion of fries and no salad; and with a bottle of ketchup but no other condiments - not quite worth 48 kuai, I'm afraid). And when I visited on a Sunday evening a week or two back, there was a table of food outside on the patio untouched - chops, sausages, etc., a lavish spread for a daytime barbecue to which apparently no-one had turned up. Yes, it was covered under clingwrap, but it had evidently been left out for hours in the heat of the day - and you can't help but suspect that they're going to be tempted to re-refrigerate or re-freeze it rather than throw it away. A spectacle like that discourages you from ever trying the food there again.

And if you are going to go after the sports bar niche, it's probably not a great idea to set up within 200 yards of The Den - the longest-established and most popular sports bar in the city (I know, Frank's Place and The Goose & Duck might also bid for those accolades; but they've both been forced to relocate in the last few years; The Den is the only expat sports bar still doing business in its original location, and the only one in the city centre). Doyle's might occasionally pick up some overspill from The Den (or people who are temporarily disaffected with The Den), but it's very unlikely to be able to build up a distinct clientele of its own in that location.

Yes, it's all about location. Too close to The Den and in a mall. Even if it weren't otherwise crap (and, alas, it is), it would be DOOMED.

Quadrangulation

There is a clear pattern to my drink-related peregrinations of an evening.

A really good night these days will invariably involve a visit to one or more of these places: 12 Sq Metres, Amilal, The Pool Bar, and 'The Muslim' (a few doors west of The Pool Bar).

Last night, it involved all four. And I didn't return home until dawn. Good times.

A night out at the theatre

The Beijing Actors' (and Directors' and Writers') Workshop put on a show last night at the PengHao Theatre - Short Attention Span Theatre, a collection of mini-plays they've been developing in the various workshops over the past few months.

I know quite a few of the people involved in this (primarily laowai) group (and have often been tempted to take part myself, but have somehow never quite made the time), and one of them was kind enough to lay on a complimentary ticket for me. Even he had warned me (two or three times!) not to expect too much from the writing, and indeed it was...... Well, I think the first piece was probably the strongest, and that's something of a tactical error in the programming. However, I'm very forgiving with am-dram: it's the effort and enthusiasm that win you over, it's the electricity of live performance that you go to experience - not the quality of the writing or acting per se. And it's such a rare treat to be able to see some drama in English in Beijing (in fact, there isn't a whole hell of a lot in Chinese, either); it's got me looking forward to a possible break in Edinburgh again this summer.

And this was my first time at the PengHao, a little theatre club down an alleyway behind the Central Academy of Drama (I don't know if it has any connection with CAD), halfway down Dongmianhua Hutong. It's been open a little less than a year, I think, and I've been hearing for a while that it is rather a decent little bar - open all the time, even when there's no show on, I gather.

I think it may merit further investigation: the prices are reasonable, and the food smelled pretty good. I have some gripes about the layout of the space: the bar is rather too broad, and cluttered; a laager of sofas in the middle of the room blocks access to the bar (there's only a foot or so of space between the back of one of them and the main serving area) and to the theatre itself (ugly congestion as we waited to be allowed in). And I suspect the clientele may be dominated by an artsy-fartsy crowd, and rather too predominantly or exclusively laowai for my taste. Nevertheless, it's in a good location, and has a cosy, friendly ambience about it. If the food and drinks are actually any good (I only had a Tsingtao last night - rather more vile than usual, and not especially well chilled), the place might make it on to my second string.

However, since it's just down the road from Jianghu, and only 5 minutes' walk from 12 Sq M, it's unlikely ever to become a very regular haunt of mine. The local competition is just too tough.

I look forward to seeing further shows there, though.

Weeping over Waits

I hadn't been able to listen to any of my favourite Tom Waits for some weeks now.

In fact, I haven't been able to listen to any music at all at home since my music centre died several weeks ago. (I'd had it for just over 5 years; I guess that's quite a good innings - not unreasonable 'planned obsolescence' for crappy Korean electronics.)

One of the many wonderful things about new favourite hangout in the neighbourhood, Amilal (a tastefully renovated courtyard, hidden away down an alleyway behind a public toilet), is the boss's eclectic music selection - very diverse, very good, very mellow. If it's not Edith Piaf, it might be Compay Segundo; after Jacques Brel, we might get Nick Drake. A little Leonard Cohen if the mood's getting too light. Back to the Latin jazz if it's getting too dark.

Anyway, I was in there late on Thursday, and asked if he had any Waits. He immediately rooted out Used Songs, a new compilation of classic earlier stuff from his days with Asylum Records. I was in heaven. A very melancholy heaven. Although I haven't listened to some of this stuff for years, I found that I still knew virtually all the words (these were the Waits records I first discovered as an undergraduate, and used to play to death), and couldn't resist occasionally singing along. So many great songs, so many poignant memories associated with them. My eyes were soon embarrassingly moist.

And, of course, I had to listen to the whole album. And it's quite long. I didn't get away until around 3am - which made today a rather difficult day at work.

HBH 133

Nightly salvation,
Cheap replacement for missed meals:
Spiced meat in pastry.

Alack and alas, the 'pie of 5 kuai' place on Nanluoguxiang appears to have closed. Its status and prospects have always seemed more-than-usually uncertain: the cafe/restaurant which was home to the stall has gone through numerous revampings and refurbishings (and thus, perhaps, changes of ownership); the pie stall was shunted from the left of the main doorway to the right of it, inside the restaurant, then back to the front, then into the cupboard-like space at the far right-hand end, then (I think) briefly back into the area to the right of the door, then back into the cupboard, and now...... well, the cupboard serving window is locked up, and the space inside the door has been given over to a different variety of snack vendor. I have no idea if the restaurant has changed hands again, or if the pie stall was always under separate ownership anyway. I can't think why the pie stall would close so suddenly, other than because of a landlord dispute - it had appeared to be one of the great successes on the street in recent months (despite its sometimes frustratingly irregular opening policy, and its rather perverse reluctance to keep serving beyond 8pm or 9pm).

I had been restraining myself from indulging too often, guarding against allowing it to become a too-convenient alternative to a proper meal. If I had known that these scrumptious pies would so soon disappear from my life again, I would have eaten one every day.

Change is our constant companion in Beijing, but still, sometimes, it catches you off guard, deals you a painful blow. The 'pie of 5 kuai' place had only been around for 6 months or so, but it had found a place in my affections and become a significant element of my 'lifestyle'.

We can only hope that the pie stall will soon reappear in another venue... Fingers crossed!

A new concept

A month or two ago, I very much enjoyed reading this review of a trendy new restaurant in London's Hoxton district, penned by the celebrated reactionary wit, A.A. Gill. I have attempted to use it in a couple of classes since, but the humour, the attitude, the frame of reference all tends to pass the Chinese by - even mature, sophisticated professionals like my students. Gill makes merciless fun of the right-on 'green' pretensions of this restaurant, deriding environmentalism as the new PC-ness of the Noughties. I especially loved the climax of his tirade: " I could have said, look, if you really, really care about the environment and the teddy bears and stuff, don't open a restaurant, just scratch a living from hedgerows and fart into paper bags. A green restaurant is a contradiction in terms. Eating out is conspicuous consumption; it encourages all sorts of unnecessary emissions, and fun. If you really care about the environment, you eat raw stuff in the dark in a tent."

Anyway, I was reflecting on this again yesterday, and it suddenly occurred to me that a 'green' theme might be a great idea for a new Beijing bar. Or rather, an anti-green theme.

We would heat the place with coal-brick stoves in winter, and turn the thermostat on the air-conditioning down to 18° C in the summer (while keeping the coal stoves burning). We would use the largest, least energy-efficient fridges and freezers available. Chain-smoking would be aggressively encouraged, with packs of the cheapest, smelliest, most carcinogenic local cigarettes given away FREE. All other items sold would be sourced from as far away as possible and flown in by jet. We'd have a Tibetan antelope pelt and other endangered species memorabilia on the walls. And a 'Sponsor Illegal Logging' collecting box.

I was thinking of calling it Carbon Bigfoot. In this crazy town, I think it could find its niche....

12 x 12 (x12)

My favourite watering-hole, 12 Sq M, formerly an evenings-only venue (since it is essentially a 'hobby bar', run solely by its owners, the charming Limei and Joseph), has been gradually extending its opening hours into the afternoon over the past few weeks.

As of TODAY, I gather, they are intending to open 12 hours a day - from noon to midnight. This is welcome news.

Unfortunately, I have a beast of a day at work today, so will be unable to join them for this landmark event.

However - numerological fetishist that I am - I note with some excitement that the twelfth day of their twelve-hour-opening regime will be a week on Saturday. I think I feel a new drinking challenge coming on......

A new game for you!

Since even the formerly indefatigable Gary seems to have run out of steam on the band naming game, and the bar naming game has never really taken off (although they are both still available, if you want to go and make a contribution), I offer you a new piece of frivol.... something I was discussing with The Weeble the other night.

We noted that there have already been some fairly positive rumblings about the new Vietnamese place in Sanlitun, Luga's Pho Pho.

We also noted that Luga - long honoured as a great copyist, in the great tradition of the Chinese people - is showing a remarkable ability to transcend genres.

His first venture, the eponymous Luga's, was a straight steal from the old Saddle. (Quite literally! He managed to get the previous incumbents bumped from their lease, and took over the space, keeping almost everything - the menu, the chef, most of the staff - identical. Many people decried this as extremely underhand, and advocated a boycott. But, frankly, this is just the way business is done out here: if the Saddle owners were blindsided by it, I'd blame their naivety more than Luga's devilish cunning. And Luga has in fact managed to improve the venue in certain ways. I have a soft spot for the guy - he's a more astute businessman, and much more focused on customer relationship building than the Saddle people ever were.)

That was just the beginning in what is now emerging as a masterplan for world domination.

First, he doubled the size of Luga's by taking over the adjacent space and knocking through. Then he opened up the much grander Luga's Villa around the corner (a would-be sports bar, which critics sneer is again rather too obviously aping the model of Rickshaw and/or Saddle Cantina - the other successful venues started by the Saddle team [for whom Luga once worked!]), complete with an 'authentic' Mexican restaurant, Casa Mexicana, upstairs (although I'm not sure that anyone has yet been to it - it might as well be under quarantine!). And now, the Vietnamese bistro in the space above the original Luga's.

The question is..... what next??

A giant expat sports bar - Luga's Duck & Goose?

A late-night snack shop - Luga's Gyros or Luga's Fish'n'Chips?

An Irish bar - Durty O'Luga's?

The possibilities are nearly endless! Share your thoughts with us.

Although, I fear The Weeble may already have come up with an unbeatable entry. He suggests renaming the Tongli enclave where Luga's empire was born as..... The Lugation Quarter.

A stumble at The Stumble?

For a while, The Stumble Inn over on 'Lucky Street' had seemed like a very promising new venue - and perhaps even the answer to the city's ongoing sports bar crisis (of which, more later in the week, I think). It has a great beer selection, friendly owners, decent staff, and a beguilingly cheap promotion on (these days) my favourite beer, Stella.

However, its location (in a dingy basement, too far out on the east side) was always working powerfully against it. And it does seem to be suffering something of a crisis of identity. In the old days (when it first opened 18 months or so ago as Sangria; before the revamp of the decor, the infusion of new investment, the introduction of the huge beer list...), it was purely and simply a football bar. Evidently, it was not viable as just a football bar (as its predecessor, the late lamented Club Football - where Sangria owner Simon had been the head barman for several years - had not been either: I had heard that it was losing a six-figure sum annually, despite being absolutely packed every weekend during the season), and since the relaunch it has been trying desperately to find ways to draw in other crowds...... even on football nights.

Yep, on Saturdays, they've been offering free Breezers to the ladies - aiming, with some success, to attract the trendy clubbing crowd before they head on (around midnight) to popular underground dance club White Rabbit which is just next door. These gay young things often don't pay that much attention to the football, and would rather have the music turned up loud - a most unwelcome distraction if you have come there to watch the football!

Even worse, they seem to have given up on attracting a football crowd - or any sort of crowd very much - on Sundays, and are advertising it as a movie night (despite the fact that, these days, Sunday is usually a bigger day than Saturday for the English Premier League fixtures). Why, oh why??

When I went in there a week or two ago on a Sunday evening, they were not in fact showing a movie after all. But neither were they showing any football. None of the three main owner/investors was on hand (for the first time since I've been there - bar promotion guru Glenn Phelan has, I fear, been distracted by taking on the managership of the huge, awful, pointless 'Irish' bar, Danger Doyle's [about which I have another rant - or two - bubbling up inside me]), which meant that there was no-one who knew how to hook up the TV satellite feeds. What's more, the music playlist was stuck on the stuff they'd been playing for the Rabbit crowd the previous evening - extremely repetitive and abrasive stuff, and far too loud for the handful of people in the bar at that time (I rather think they all left after one drink, as I did).

Oh dear, this is not a promising sign at all. Doubleplusungood.

A Chinese proverb

酒香不怕巷子莘
(jiu xiang bu pa xiangzi shen)

"It does not matter if your tavern sits in a remote location so long as the smell of your wine is appealing." (This might well be the motto - or the marketing strategy - of The Secret Bar!)

Ah, the allusiveness and brevity of Chinese! In fact, a more literal translation would be: "Booze smell (good), don't fret (about) long lane."

I don't know if a "long alley" is established as an invariable idiom for expressing inacessibility. It seems to me that the phrase might also possibly suggest, "If you're enjoying your drink, you don't worry about the long journey home."

位, 位, 位! ( wei, wei, wei!) is apparently not a Chinese proverb...

[Not sure if I've chosen the most appropriate word for 'location' there. Weeble??]

Another literary quest!

The Weeble assures me that his/our new catchphrase, "My recollection of the matter is imperfect", is a quotation from the masterly comic novel At Swim-Two-Birds by the great Irish genius and drunkard, Flann O'Brien (the very first of my 'Unsuitable Role Models' series). He mocks me for not recognising it; but it is, alas, several years since I read the book.

The Weeble says that this useful sentence is but the introduction to a wise and funny discourse on the bad effects of heavy drinking.

Since, at present, all Google returns on the phrase are for this blog, I am left with scant recourse but to read the whole book again.

Well, The Weeble could probably recount the entire passage from memory for me - but where's the fun in that?

Superstition

There is a new bar of which I must not speak. Its location is a secret, its very existence at present a deniable rumour.

But it is in my 'hood, and - if it survives - there is a serious danger that it could become a semi-regular stopping off point for a last nightcap on the way home for me. It's a bit upmarket (read: stupidly overpriced) for my taste, but they have a whisky selection that could make strong men weep with gratitude.

They also have this rather charming gimmick of offering you a free mini-padlock to clip on to one of the thin rails specially mounted for the purpose on the rear wall of the bar. The idea is that you write the name of your beloved in indelible marker on the padlock, and he or she will then be bonded to you for as long as the padlock remains locked in place. (Hmmm, might not be that long if the bar folds; and I really don't think it's all that viable a venture.)

I have absolutely no belief in this sort of hocus-pocus at all - but I am a goofy romantic, and I therefore couldn't resist inscribing the name of The Bombshell (the gorgeous blonde businesswoman who stole my heart a month ago) on one of their padlocks.

[I fear this is rather like the terminally ill turning to TCM and other 'alternative' therapies - when you're desperate, you'll try anything! Not that I ever like to think of myself as 'desperate', of course. Oh no. There ought to be a better word to sum up the discrepancy between the fullness of your ambitions and the emptiness of your prospects.]

Congratulations, Huxley

Huxley, Beijing's most resilient bar entrepreneur and creator of the eponymous dive that is one of the Houhai's most celebrated watering holes, is getting married today. I think he's been in a steady relationship with his good lady for most of the six years or so I've known him, but he had seemed set on preserving his nominal 'bachelor' status for as long as possible. Now, at last, he's taking the plunge. I wish him and his bride all the best for a long and happy life together.

And I look forward to celebrating with him again soon. I'm quite sure that the change of status won't stop him coming out for a drink with us once in a while!

As it happens, I got caught up - quite by accident - in his stag night last week: I ran into him as he was bar crawling up Nanluoguxiang (Beijing is a very small world sometimes - there are only a handful of places where you'd want to go for a stag celebration). That was quite a night!! I would share some details of it with you, but, as my friend The Weeble always puts it, "My recollection of the matter is imperfect."

Distractions

Yes, I took my camera out on the infamous Nanluoguxiang bar crawl a few weeks back. In addition to some pics of my companions on that perverse expedition, these are some of the things that caught my (quirky, oddly obsessive) eye that day.

HBH 132

A month of long nights,
daytime sleeping, exhaustion -
watching the football!

Yes, the climax of the football season in Europe is a cruel and unusual punishment for us here in China. Evening kickoffs in the Champions League get under way at 2.45am here.

Once you've done this once or twice, it too easily becomes a habit. I stayed up until dawn again yesterday without managing to see the Chelsea v. Barca game (distracted by an old friend, and some good times in the Pool Bar)!

Crunch!

In the Russian nightclub, it was very dark.

And we were, I confess, very drunk.

And we had ordered a bottle of vodka, to stop the waiters hassling us.

One of my companions appeared to have put the top back on the vodka bottle very tight. I tried to unscrew it, but couldn't get any purchase with my fingers. I tried to loosen it by gripping it between my teeth. And found myself biting directly on the glass neck of the bottle. Glass is considerably more abrasive than a tin bottle-top, and I pulverised one of my teeth. OUCH!!!

Remind me not to do that again.

The vodka, it transpired, had not been pouring because of one of those annoying plastic 'security devices' inside the neck. With the low level of lighting in the club, I just couldn't see that the top was not on the bottle.

Be warned, fellow revellers. Opening bottles with your teeth is never a particularly good idea - but especially not in a Russian nightclub.

Dapper Dan Solutions (2)

Dapper Dan's solution to the risk of being embarrassed in the aforementioned Russian nightclub by his friends being so underdressed (compared to himself, not to the other punters in the club!)...

Take us back to his pad to lend us some of his clothes* first.

[* In my case, it was the nicest shirt I have ever worn. I don't think he's going to get it back.]

Dapper Dan Solutions (1)

Dapper Dan's solution to trying to stay up until 2.30am to watch the football...

Go to a Russian nightclub.

[It worked!]