HBH 305

An old hunger rises:

Desire for oblivion, 

Escape from endless thought.

I think I have now almost completely - no, completely - suppressed the urge to drink, the habituation to think of drinking as a natural or necessary accompaniment to certain activities (like being awake [no, I jest!]). But this does not preclude the occasional resurgence of the urge to be drunk. There's only a circumstantial connection between the two. There are times when I think that if there were a pill I could (safely) take to get off my face, I'd gratefully swallow one. And I had that feeling very strongly last night, when a sudden and deep depression flooded over me.

I have long recognised that my one potential 'problem' with drinking (not an actual problem, I don't think, because I'm well aware of it, and very much on top of it) is its relationship to my depressions. 

I have been ragingly bi-polar since my early teens (if not before: we're less aware of, and so remember less keenly, mood-swings and tantrums when we're very young). And since my late teens or early twenties, I have developed the habit of using alcohol to manage the experience. 

The thing is, I realised quite early on that I don't entirely dislike my depressions. They are a central part of my experience of the world, they feel comfortable and familiar to me; I actually miss them when I haven't had one for a while. Not only does the rest of life seem rosier by comparison (a great consolation to try to focus on if negative feelings at the bottom of the depressive trough start to seem too overwhelming), but sensations and emotions are somehow more vivid, more intense during a depressive episode, and that is something I find stimulating, even pleasurable (although one's thoughts and feelings tend to be directed into very dark corners of the soul when depressed, so it's an unconventional - perhaps perverse - sort of pleasure, inextricably mingled with a profound distress).

For me, what's bad about depression is not the simple fact of it happening at all, but its occasional propensity to stick around for an extended period: I hate the sense of being trapped at the bottom of the trough, unsure of when or how I'm going to get out. I once took a course of SSRIs (not for depression, for a physical ailment; but I knew they were supposed to have a psychotropic impact as well, so I was curious to see how they would affect my depression, which I had been suffering from particularly badly of late), and I absolutely hated what they did to me: they almost completely flattened out my variations in mood, so that I felt stuck in exactly the same state all the time. I suppose people who 'suffer' from depression, without any of the ameliorating thrill of enhanced awareness that I experience, will be grateful to escape from its pit like this, and will interpret their new stable mood state as 'happy', or at least as an acceptable average level of contentment. And perhaps it works better for people who don't run to the bi-polar extremes, who don't balance out their depressions with corresponding spells of exhilaration and euphoria - people who are only gauging the new 'steady state' against the worst sensations they have known, not the best. For me, it was horrendous: I experienced the 'steady state' as being slightly, but significantly, below a reasonable median level; I felt mildly depressed - permanently. But without the heightened sensitivity that usually made depression tolerable for me; and, crucially, without any sense of when I might ever escape from this feeling, without any sense of control over whether I might be able to escape. I missed the emotional rollercoaster. And I missed the sense I usually have that the rollercoaster is not entirely outside of my control, that I can influence how fast I progress through its various stages.

That's where the booze comes in. I use it to ride the rollercoaster. There are other stimuli I can use as well to speed up the ride: cannabis (very occasionally), music (almost invariably - Pink Floyd and The Pogues have probably accompanied me on the ride even more often than whisky has), poetry, certain films, or just reflecting on particularly unhappy experiences in my life. But mostly I've relied on getting myself blind drunk. If I just leave a depression to run its course, it can linger for two or three days, sometimes even a week or more. If I blitz myself with alcohol, it accelerates the whole process; I can be fairly confident that it's going to shoot me out the other side very quickly, and that I'll at least be on the up-slope, if not approaching another euphoric peak, within 24 hours or so. Unfortunately.... the depth of the pit, and the speed of plummeting into it, may also be exaggerated. It seems a price worth paying in order to not be stuck at the bottom too long.

I know many people might see that as a rationalisation of addiction. But I sincerely believe I am not an addictive personality - rather the reverse, if such a thing is possible! If I do have an addiction, it is to depression itself; or to the - I know, possibly unduly romanticized - conception I have of it as a beneficial workout for the psyche, emotionally cathartic and liberating to the imagination. But I'm absolutely confident I don't have any kind of addiction to alcohol.

I have tried both ways of dealing with my depressions, making use of drink and abstaining from it. I prefer using drink, and haven't encountered any negative side-effects from so doing (such as tendency to relapse into depression more quickly, or irritability or loss of concentration... or anything). But, just to be on the safe side, I don't allow it to become my invariable policy; I make a point of enduring some of my depressions without alcohol.

Last night, though? Well, I think I'll keep that to myself, thank you. 

At least I'm feeling rather better today.

Angus!!!

I discovered AC/DC comparatively late in life. I got almost all of my early exposure to rock music through my elder brother; and although he later professed to be a huge fan of the band (we went to see them together once, at the NEC in Birmingham), he never had any of their records when were growing up. I didn't receive my introduction until the beginning of my second year at university, when I found my "studies" disturbed by one of the new kids down at the end of my landing blasting out some music indecently loud. I wandered down the hall to register mild complaint, but as I approached his door, I found that I was rather enjoying what he was playing. That Fresher and I became fast friends immediately. And my relationship with the exuberant Aussie rockers similarly got off to a flying start. (Embarrassing confession: that NEC concert I went to with my brother a few years later - I was en route between interviews for a couple of teaching jobs, so I went to the show wearing a pinstriped suit. I thought I might get torn limb from limb, but AC/DC fans are a surprisingly tolerant and inclusive bunch.)

I thought I'd already posted their Downpayment Blues on here as one of my 'Great Drinking Songs' - my theme song! But, in fact, I find so far I've only put Highway To Hell up on here. So, for this entry in my 'Blues Week', I've got to kick off with this - "I know I ain't doin' much, but doin' nothing means a lot to me."

I also can't resist including Ride On, a marvellous slow blues tune by Bon Scott (I've already posted that over on Froogville, but what the hey?!). I couldn't find a concert video of this, but here's a nice montage of clips of Bon and the lads in the early days.

Then I remembered What's Next To The Moon?, another of their bluesier numbers, and always a great favourite of mine. I just discovered an excellent set of live concert videos from the early Noughties, filmed at the Circus Krone in Munich, which includes a particularly good performance of this. (Album version can be heard here.)

And to sign off today, here's one of Angus' trademark live solos, from that same concert in Munich.

Peter Green Is GOD

I've written on here once before of Peter Green, the exquisite guitarist who originally founded Fleetwood Mac back in 1967 as a blues band. He is, I think, my favourite blues player (well, mine and B.B. King's!). As well as an utterly gorgeous guitar tone, he's got an engagingly mellow and laidback stage persona, and a very pleasant voice. (There are a lot of online spats about whether he's a better blues player than Clapton. I would say YES, not even close; but if it were in danger of being a tie on their playing, Peter should prevail for his vastly superior voice.) In that previous post, I enrolled his rendition of Need Your Love So Bad into my 'Great Love Songs' series.

To continue my 'Blues Week' here on The Barstool, here are a few more choice cuts from his brief '60s heyday (although, after a long hiatus with mental health issues, he's been playing in public more frequently again over the past couple of decades).

First up, here's Oh Well, musically one of their 'heavier' numbers, but lyrically quite lighthearted - and it's distinguished by a monster riff.

Here's the more brooding and experimental Green Manalishi (which seems to have become better known through a cover by Judas Priest, although I, of course, think that Peter's original is much better).

And how could I omit the classic Black Magic Woman (which seems to have become better known through Santana's cover of it, though I think Peter's original is vastly better)?

And finally, here's one of my very favourite of those early Fleetwood Mac numbers, a cover of the Elmore James song Homework, in which their other guitarist, Jeremy Spencer, a wizard with the slide, takes over lead and vocal duties. I first heard them do this on their strangely obscure (it's not mentioned in the Wikipedia discography!) double album, Fleetwood Mac in Chicago. They were in America in the winter of '68/'69, and took some time out at the start of January to drop in at the celebrated studio of the soon-to-fold Chess Records. The visit became a week-long residency where they jammed with the aristocracy of the local blues scene. Some of the resulting - wonderfully raw sounding - recordings were later put together to create the best blues album I own.
[This is a rather freaky video, from a French TV show. Mick Fleetwood is shirtless throughout, though the cameraman coyly avoids him. The audience of groovy French teenagers all look as if they've come from a model agency. And, oh my god, '60s fashions! And '60s dancing!!!]

Billy got the blues too!

The relentlessness of China's pointless and interminable National Holiday through the whole first week of October so crushes my soul that I think I'm going to need a daily musical pick-me-up to see me through. I was so buoyed up by yesterday's little blast of Cream that I've decided to have a 'Blues Week' here on The Barstool. (Moreover, since I'm not going out at all this week, I don't have the substance for any regular posts on here!)

I was lucky enough to discover ZZ Top through a friend at school in the early '80s, when they were still fairly obscure in the UK - a couple of years before they re-tooled their sound to be so eminently radio-friendly for the Eliminator album and became universally popular as a result. I don't think I really realised it at the time, but their 1970s material was almost all pure blues; I didn't know what it was, but I knew I loved this music. Nor did I learn until years later that Jimi Hendrix had acclaimed a teenaged Billy Gibbons as one of the finest guitarists he'd ever heard - largely, I suspect, because of his exemplary blues feel.

I particularly adore Billy's SLOW playing on Blue Jean Blues (just about everything else of theirs is so much more up-tempo). And there are lots of good concert videos of this (notably this one, from just a few years ago), but he always tends to goof around a little on this song live, and, alas, it lacks the spine-shivery impact of the album recording.

So, I thought instead I'd give you this video of one of their classic Texas boogies, La Grange, from a concert in the early '80s, just pre-Eliminator (there are quite a few excerpts from this posted on Youtube now, and it looks like it was a stupendous show).

And here they are doing the blues standard Dust My Broom (written by the great Robert Johnson, but better known from the cover version later recorded by slide guitar maestro Elmore James), from that same awesome gig, with bass player Dusty Hill taking over on vocals.

Aha, inspiration! I just found a great version of another of their slower tunes, Fool For Your Stockings, this one from a 1980 gig filmed for the German TV show Rockpalast (quite a bit of this on Youtube too: hours of joy!). This was, in fact, the very first of ZZ's songs to really get under my skin - although once again I prefer the straight-up album version.

If you enjoyed this little retrospective on the blues playing of Billy Gibbons, go back and listen (again... and again) to this original recording of Blue Jean Blues from ZZ Top's 1975 album Fandango! Listen, and swoon.

New Picks of the Month

Looking back at October 2009 (gosh, is it really three years ago already?), I find that it was a particularly busy month - at least on Froogville. This was mainly because I was kept indoors for much of the month by the protracted 'celebrations' of the 60th Anniversary of the founding of the People's Republic of China (something about which I curmudged quite extensively, here and here and here... and here).

I think my top pick for this month will be this post, Up yer bum! - one of those in which I revisit my Classical education, pondering on one of the great mysteries of 5th century BC Greek literature: why is threatening somebody with a radish such a terrifying prospect? (Although, in an uncommonly rich month, I find myself compelled to remind you also of this quip about the tortured English of many TV presenters here, this anecdote about my latest acting job, this post on my philosophy of teaching, and these Halloween ghost stories.)

From The Barstool, I'll pick A new idiom, a simple but painfully memorable little text message joke.

Traffic Report - the blog stats for September

Despite having a lot of time on my hands last month, I didn't succumb too badly to the temptation to over-blog; it ended up being a fairly 'typical' month.

There were 35 posts and around 17,500 words on Froogville.

There were 30 posts and nearly 7,000 words on Round-The-World Barstool Blues.

I've just added sidebar links for my recent series On Writing on Froogville, and for the Potted History of the Beijing Bar Scene that I wrote in June for The Barstool.

However, unfortunately, I have had to remove the 'Recent Post List' links from the sidebars, because Blogger appears to have terminated that useful feature.

Not that much of interest happening with the stats, except that there was a bit of a surge in visits to The Barstool in the middle of last week (WHY???), almost all of them from the States.

Oh, and we've seen our first visitors from Greece and Moldova. My 'model United Nations' is almost complete!

That feeling once again

The dismal prospect of the week-long bore-a-thon that is China's National Holiday tends to bring on a heavy dose of the blues.

What better way to dispel that stifling funk than with a heavy dose of the blues? Here are Cream performing the T-Bone Walker classic Stormy Monday, at one of the awesome series of reunion shows they played at the Royal Albert Hall in May 2005. So sorry I missed this - they look to have been some of the greatest concerts ever (for those of us who like blues-rock). Luckily, it seems as though the whole of the high-quality concert film has now been posted to Youtube, so you can browse for any of your favourite songs.

Bon mot for the week

"It's not the drink you miss, but the curious adventures it used to take you on, and all the people you'd meet along the way."

Froog

Taking it easy

A few years ago Kronenbourg did a series of TV commercials featuring slowed down versions of classic '80s hits. I'd meant to post this when I first discovered it a year or two back, but it slipped my mind; I was just reminded of it again a couple of days ago. Here's Lemmy of Motorhead reinventing The Ace of Spades as a slow blues tune - and boy, does it sound good! [You can hear the full version here.]

The only other one of this series of ads I heard (maybe the only other one they did?) was Madness performing Baggy Trousers, but that didn't work as well as this. Madness are all about that cheeky-chappy adolescent exuberance; when that energy is stripped away, the song seems rather maudlin.

A little wobble of resolve

I was just starting to think that it would be tough to get through this weekend - haven't been out for ages, The Chairman's having one of his rare weekends off, there are a few decent gigs on around town, an old friend is passing through for a few days - without having the odd drink (in theory, I am only swearing off beer this time, and will allow myself spirits in moderation; but I haven't been tempted even that far for the last week).  And I then stumbled on this on the Internet. I feel it sends the wrong message somehow.

HBH 304

The years all conspire,

Memories crouch like muggers.

Nostalgia's cudgel.

Is it having been here so long? Is it the decision to leave? Is it the not drinking? I don't know, but lately, as the reel of the last ten years plays endlessly in my head, I have often found myself getting quite moist-eyed.

Maybe it's regret and resentment and a sense of waste....

After-love

I did a post on Froogville last weekend about the unlikely-sounding word mamihlapinatapai. This I had stumbled across as a result of this post by my old blog-friend JES, which referred to the word razblliuto. This, according to many an online source and the book cited by JES, They Have A Word For It by Howard Rheingold (which offered up mamihlapinatapai as its next example), is supposedly a Russian noun for "the feeling you have for someone you once loved, but do not any more".

Alas, the word appears to be unknown to Russian speakers (although an intriguing theory has been floated that it is a corruption of razlyubeno, a verb meaning to fall out of love, and supposedly originates from an episode of the '60s TV spy series The Man From U.N.C.L.E. [American scriptwriters naturally being likely to mangle any attempt at using Russian!]).

My scepticism was immediately aroused by the fact that it doesn't seem to be a very plausible word, since it does not define any distinct concept.

I can't see any value in having a word that means "whatever feeling you have for a former lover". If it meant simply "not in love any more" (as would seem to have been intended, if that "scriptwriter's goof" theory is true), that would make sense - but it wouldn't be an especially resonant word/concept. If it meant - as anguished romantics naturally assume it does - a sense of wistful longing for a lost love, then it would be more resonant; but surely there are plenty of other words or phrases for that?

According to the definition usually given for this word, it is seemingly intended to denote a particular emotion that exists between former lovers. And I don't believe there is any single emotion one finds in that situation. It depends on so many factors - the circumstances of the breakup, how long ago it was, whether the people concerned are now involved with someone else, and so on.

I tend to have a lingering wistful fondness for all of my exes (at least, the ones with whom I was in love) - though not a raging, obsessive passion, nor any urge to try to revisit and revive the relationship. But the range of other emotions we find in this situation is almost limitless: everything from fanatical hatred through bitterness and resentment to complete indifference or strictly Platonic friendship, and out on the other side to a flirtatious frisson of continuing attraction or easily rekindled lust, and, at the furthest extreme, undying adulation.

And though I would have doubted it when I was a young man, I now realise it is entirely possible after a lapse of many years to (almost?) completely forget that you were once sexually intimate with someone.

Furthermore, I think it's quite rare that one finds identical feeling on both sides of the relationship (before or after breakup!).

The (probably mythical) word razbliuto, then, appears to me to lack any definite or useful meaning.

However... sometimes words command our thoughts, and our thoughts may direct our feelings. If a language did have such a word, and it was understood to mean one particular emotion - a useful, healing emotion: a small ember of past love that was capable of engendering forgiveness of supposed wrongs and allowing a continuance of friendship... the existence of this word might work a gentle magic in the realm of romantic relationships; it might condition us to expect, to know that this is how we will feel after a breakup, and preclude the possibility of our experiencing any more powerful and potentially damaging emotions. I think the existence of such a word might be a blessing. Perhaps we should invent one.

By the way, I notice that the Wikipedia entry on The Man From U.N.C.L.E. that I hotlinked to above begins with the note "THRUSH redirects here." Oh dear. That might cause some confusion for people seeking medical advice.

Drat! Blogger pisses me off again

For the past six months I've had links near the top of the sidebars on both my blogs for a rather useful 'list view' - summarising the last 30 posts on each.

This feature was obtained by simply adding /?m=1 to the end of the blog URL. I'm not aware that Blogger ever advertised this anywhere; so, perhaps it was only ever a fortuitous glitch. And it now appears to have been "repaired": those links now direct only to the regular blog homepage. Damn.

I am particularly saddened by Blogger's withdrawal of this facility not because it was being widely used and appreciated (I suspect it wasn't), but simply because the tip on how to set it up had been sent to me as a parting gift by Tony B, a very entertaining blogger who had also become an e-penpal of mine over the last few years. He was fairly elderly and in ailing health, and he passed away only two months later. I had liked having this permanent reminder of him in my sidebars. Dang you, Blogger!

Froog Solutions (25)

Froog's solution to the embarrassment of being invited to a party by an attractive young woman within seconds of meeting her....

Decline, politely - with explanations, and suitably hangdog facial expressions emphasising one's regret.

Of course, I repented of my foolishness almost immediately, but it was too late. I told JK - a witness to this debacle - that if he ever sees me doing something like this again, he is to intervene by giving me a firm slap.

Bon mot for the week

"There is always something left to desire, and the last thing longed for always seems the most necessary to happiness."

Marie Corelli (1855-1924)

Great Love Songs (35 & 36)

My little post yesterday about the comforting familiarity of being back in Beijing (where everyone seems to know me) of course put me in mind of On The Street Where You Live, one of the best songs from Lerner & Loewe's My Fair Lady. It was my old college drinking buddy The Bookseller (another big fan of musicals - it's NOT just a gay thing!) who first got me into the habit of singing this on the way home from the pub at night during my student days in Oxford... where there were just a handful of streets we seemed to traverse dozens of times a day... and where love seemed always in the air... and where there wasn't very much residential space in the city centre (other than the colleges themselves), so such late-night ebullience didn't seem too likely to disturb people's sleep. After lapsing from the habit for years, I found it powerfully revived on moving to Beijing - perhaps because I am so often walking home drunk at around midnight here. In my first year, particularly, returning each night from the 'Adventure Bar', I would frequently burst forth into joyous snatches of this song on the brief walk home.

Here's the scene from the film, with a young Jeremy Brett playing the infatuated Freddy (although I gather his singing was overdubbed by an actor called Bill Shirley). I doubt if this will stay up on Youtube for long, so enjoy it while you can.

And here's a great instrumental version by jazz pianist Errol Garner.

In fact, largely as a result of how ferociously cold Beijing was in my first winter here (and even in autumn; the second half of October was absolutely bloody freezing that year), it was another song from that show that I found myself singing even more often, the song that has become most associated for me with my sojourn here in Beijing - Eliza's fantasy of simple creature comforts, Wouldn't It Be Loverly?

Audrey Hepburn's singing in the film was famously dubbed by Marni Nixon, although some of her original test recordings of the songs resurfaced some years back, and are, I gather, included in the extras on the latest DVD editions. Unfortunately, I can't find Audrey singing this on Youtube, but you can check out her rendition of I Could Have Danced All Night. It doesn't have the polish or power of a professional singer, but there's a simplicity and zest about it that is as captivating as... well, as captivating as Audrey always was. Fellow devotees of the classic musicals may be interested in this posting, in which the same scene from the film as above is overdubbed with the original theatrical cast recording, in which Julie Andrews was the voice of Eliza.

I have often walked down this street before...

Some years ago, I had been spending quite a bit of time in the Pimlico district of London, just south of Victoria. Well, I had been a permanent resident there for 18 months or so after my return from my backpacking year, bunking with an indulgent college friend; and I'd been a frequent visitor for a few years prior to that. 

One bright sunny morning, a cute young German girl - probably a backpacker herself - accosted me on the street and asked, "Are you well-known around here?"

An odd question to ask a stranger! But I quickly realised that she probably meant to ask whether I knew the area well. Indeed, she was seeking directions to the nearest laundromat.

I couldn't help thinking, though, that by now, within this narrow web of streets, I probably was becoming known by sight to quite a lot of people. And in a few of my most regular haunts - the excellent Marmaris kebab house, the Indian corner shop where I made most of my small grocery purchases, the Spread Eagle pub where I played pool at least a couple of times a week - there were people who knew me by name. And I found that cosily reassuring.

I've never felt quite such a sense of 'home' with Beijing - probably because my 'territory' here is far more spread out (although I spend 90% of my time within the area of 4 or 6 city blocks I can readily walk to, even that is much bigger than Pimlico; and I do also range further afield, out east to Sanlitun, Sanyuan Qiao, Chaoyang Park, or Lido, or north-west to Wudaokou, and sometimes even to the more distant 'burbs like Caochangdi and Shuangjing). Another likely reason is the fact that there's such a terrible air of impermanence about everything: favourite bars and restaurants are often forced to relocate or close down altogether within a few years, and the expat community itself is in a state of constant flux.

Even with this much wider geographical range and a dwindling circle of friends, though, Beijing is the kind of place where you do tend to bump into people you know very frequently. When I first got back here 4 or 5 weeks ago, I didn't go out much at first, didn't announce my return to very many people, was trying to keep a 'low profile'. And yet, within my first few days in the city, I had run into (in a variety of locations).....  my old pool-playing mate Ben the Jerry, musician buddies Fluffy and Dan the Man, local bar owner Jeff Ji (not in his bar, just walking down the street), and a raft of other people. So much for my plan of living in seclusion for a while!!

Hmm, this post title sounds like a cue for a song, doesn't it?

HBH 303

It's not the booze we miss,

But the bar's casual friendships,

The cosy glow of home.

This week I have been mostly not drinking. Well, I have been abstaining from beer, at least. I will allow myself spirits, if you force me. But mostly I have been too ill to go out. And I'm missing it already: not the drink, but the society.

Cursed again - The 'Rule of Threes'

Back in town four weeks, so I was due to get ill, I suppose. Sure enough, I was woken in the early hours of Wednesday morning with the beginnings of an itchy sore throat and a raging fever.

After spending most of the day whimpering under the duvet (and catching up on at least some of the sleep I didn't get overnight), I was willing to risk crossing town to have dinner with a friend, but... just as I was leaving the apartment, my prepaid electricity meter (unexpectedly!) ran out.

Queueing at the bank to purchase some more electricity credit made me dangerously late for my dinner rendezvous. And then, just as I neared the restaurant (for which, of course, I had no address, and no good directions), my phone (unexpectedly!!) ran out of credit.

Why do bad things always happen in threes?? It is a strange Principle of Fate.

Unbelievable and terrifying as this may seem (well, it terrifies me), this was the 2,500th post here on The Barstool. Too much! Enough already!! Somebody STOP me!!!

Alas, poor Wudaoying!

We appear to be going through a particularly severe, over-the-top phase of pavement relaying here in Beijing. Sidewalks all over town have been partly or wholly ripped up, particularly in the Sanlitun bar district, making it irksome to travel far on foot. And, as happened at the outset of the global financial crisis 4 years ago, this work seems to be proceeding agonisingly slowly, has perhaps been abandoned for a while in midstream. It is especially galling that in so many places the workmen have laid out rows of loose bricks on the sand, presumably in preparation for the next phase of laying pavement; these are irregularly spaced and often very wobbly - an appalling trip-and-fall hazard. It's better to avoid these stretches of dug-up sidewalk altogether, and just take your chances walking in the road.

However, Sanlitun's got it easy compared to poor old Wudaoying Hutong at the moment. I hadn't visited this up-and-coming little bar-and-restaurant strip since I got back to Beijing a month ago, so was going to take a stroll along it to see what was new on my way into Sanlitun yesterday. I was soon forced back by all the half-arsed "construction" that is currently rendering the west end of the street completely impassable. I walked along the 2nd Ringroad instead, and checked out the eastern entrance to the street off Yonghegong Dajie: that was blocked as well. The works, whatever they are, seem to stretch along the entire length of this narrow street.

But it's really not at all clear what work is supposed to be under way. There are lots of bricks, lots of sand, and lots of workmen, arranged in clumps or piles or stacks all along the street; but no obvious productive activity. There are no signs I could see that the road is being resurfaced, or that walls are being rebuilt, or whatever. All that seems to have happened is that lots of sand - and, intermittently, lots of water - has been spread over every square inch of the road surface, reducing it to a muddy mess. Of course, this is discouraging any foot traffic. But the ubiquity of the piles of building materials, and the numerous wheelbarrows and sand-sieves and so on ranged along the street, and the gaggles of workmen mooching about doing nothing in the middle of the road, make the street equally unappealing for the attempted passage of motor vehicles. Businesses down there must have almost zero custom at the moment.

One might almost suspect that it's just a 'protection' scam by someone in the local government: an unnecessary and endlessly protracted "road improvement" scheme kills all the local tenants' business; hints are then dropped that a "community contribution", a "voluntary payment" to the "civic maintenance" fund may help to bring these works to a speedier conclusion. In China, this is all too plausible a possibility.

I can't imagine what else it could be!

Fate jabs me in the ribs again

A curious thing happened the other week.

I received an e-mail from someone I hadn't been in contact with for over a decade, someone whose e-mail address I'd forgotten was still in my directory.

Alas, it was not an actual communication, but one of those automated spam messages that indicates the sender's e-mail account has been hacked.

This rogue anonymous mail purported to come from a girl I'd fallen in love with when I was living in Toronto in the 1990s (this one, in fact). And the change of surname on the account announced to me that she must have got married.

After nearly 15 years, it really shouldn't cause me such a pang. And yet it does.

Bon mot for the week

"I like a barman who drinks. It reassures me I'm not being poisoned."

Grover (Josh Hamilton) to part-time barman and perpetual PhD student Chet (Eric Stoltz) in Noah Baumbach's very funny debut film Kicking and Screaming

A birthday present

Mike over at booksandmusicandstuff - just about my only surviving commenter on here these days - was kind enough to nominate this little blog for a 'Sunshine Award' last week.

Alas, I felt I had to decline the honour, since I don't really approve of these 'meme' things - and I can't think of any other blogs to pass the award on to (you're supposed to nominate ten, for god's sake!). Still, it's nice to get a little favourable recognition. And, since Music Mike is quite plugged in to all this 'social media' whatnot, there is perhaps a chance that his recommendation may bring in some new readers here. I'll keep a hopeful eye on the stats!

It was a happy coincidence that Mike should offer me this accolade just as this blog was approaching another major milestone (drum roll) - its 6th Anniversary. Yes, Round-The-World Barstool Blues started off with this post six years ago today.

I have determined to put the blog (both my blogs) to bed around the end of this year (I may change my mind, of course; but it's good to have a plan) - so, enjoy it while you can. Only three months or so of The Barstool left!!

This picture comes from a diverting 'visual history' of the barstool I found on a photo blog of unlikely treasures called La Dolfina. You might also check out this rather disturbing Scottish design, a barstool supposedly crafted for the greater comfort of kilt-wearers. This Barstool of mine makes no such concessions to your convenience - try not to fidget.

Excuses

Now that my great run of birthdays/anniversaries/leaving parties/housewarmings is finally over, I had been intending to embark in earnest upon an extended spell of abstinence TODAY.

But Wikipedia informs me that today is Independence Day for Costa Rica, El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua. And it's also Battle of Britain Day back home in the UK (although I can't ever recall there being any special celebrations to mark this event; it tends to pass completely unnoticed, which is a bit of a shame).

And tomorrow is Mexican Independence Day - which seems like an irresistible pretext to get busy with the tequila.

Maybe I'll give up drinking on Monday...

"Sorry, old man. Not following your banter."

Before I decided to illustrate this post with the classic Python skit, I was browsing the Web for some Battle of Britain pictures and turned up a number of interesting sites: Battle of Britain Beacon, The Spitfire Site, Fighter Pilot University, and Barry Weekley Art. Well worth checking out.

Our 'theme song'

Just lately, we've been enjoying a blast of '80s nostalgia down at my local: a number of almost-forgotten tracks from my student days have been starting to come up rather regularly on the music playlist. Who knows how these things happen? Foremost amongst these guilty pleasures has been Twisted Sister's We're Not Going To Take It - an anthem of teenage rebellion which, it seems, I never grow out of.