3 months clean

i've been off the ciggies for three months. I still miss them like a child but its slowly getting easier. I've been sick almost constantly since, which I'm hoping is just part of the body's way of cleaning house. The latest novelty has been pleurisy which was damnably painful and inconvenient.

Being sick hasn't interrupted my work too much, I've sort of pottered away through it all. My tolerance levels are fairly low though and the town seems filled with hillbillies and casual racists. Any chance I get I'm taking a break from bar duties while my tolerance and optimism are restored.

down all the days

there's a lot of sickness in my life and the lives of the people around me at the moment, so I haven't felt overly like blogging for a while. More deaths too. Its feeling like a russian winter. Unending and bleak. Anyway there's other stuff too. Better stuff.

Starting to play a few shows again. It feels good. My friend Hap has put out a new record with his band the Underminers, and its a seriously lovely record. Called Heart part of your mind it has a pink cover very like the Smith's Hatful of Hollow. The song are by turns gorgeous and uncomfortable. He has really put his relationship and himself under the microscope lyrically and if you know the couple it can make for awkward listening, but musically its very decent. There's some nice country and beat pop flourishes courtest of an old dude called Graeme Hodge and the production is very sweet and airy. They're gonna launch the record at my pub and apparently I'm gonna play the corresponding Melbourne gig. Good times a comin'!

The pub is trundling along. I'm resenting the paperwork side more and more, but have embraced the day to day minutae far more than I did last year. I'm enjoying pouring drinks more than ever. We seem to be having a better year than most of the small pubs around us so hopefully that bodes well for and good and profitable summer.

The dog is continuing to be a holy terror. He recently had an incident where he ate some magic mushrooms that had sprung up unbekownst to us at the side of the house and nearly died. Poor little fella was paralysed and convulsing and we nearly lost him. He pulled through though and since then has been a lot more unpredictable and creepy. There's a little bit Charles Manson about the little guy these days getting very aggressive if we inconvenience him in any regard.

my iron lung

breathing is awesome. Sadly its also pretty difficult at the moment. There's a big old infection perched in my lungs and walking is a chore, any exertion more than that is nigh on impossible. Which is making my working life fucken interesting. Short days are in order.

the wreck of the hesperus

this poor old blog is a rusting hulk slowly melting into the sand. Life goes on whether you write about it or not though. The pub still dominates my waking hours, though i am definitely spending less time there. I'm coping a bit better, and have a bunch of strategies in place that are keeping my head above water. The range from the puerile to the mildly illegal but seem to be largely harmless. Suffice to say as a longtime boozer, I'm getting better aquainted with the marvellous diverse uses of the hemp plant. Lize seems to enjoy my tranquil state as does the dog, on whose level i seem to be operating at least one or two nights a week.

There's been a couple of deaths in my circle of friends and aquaintances in the last couple of months, both larger than life characters, tougher, hardier men than myself. One went by his own hand, another through a bike accident. After the sadness, you feel vulnerable in a way. Mortality looms large. Anyway, vale Dan and Paddy.

Spent yesterday drinking in the sun with the staff. We closed for the Easter Monday public holiday and BBQed various meats and enjoyed jugs of watermelon daiquiri made from melons that sprung up of their own accord in the pub's back yard. A lovely day with very little unpleasantness and a lot of laughter. In the tradition of all staff parties there were a couple of incidents in the late evening, involving a divisional van and an errant young barman but no harm seemed to come of it all.

update

here i am. I'm thirty eight now, no smarter and no thinner than i was a week ago. Christmas came and went in a manic flurry. The pub was busier maybe than its ever been and managed to generate and consume vast amounts of money simultaneously. We survived and since then have had a couple of nice parties at the house (one for mates and one for staff) and a week at the beach I could ill afford but may have saved my mind if not my life. I have another shindig tomorrow - a BBQ and gig at the pub for my birthday. The band are ill prepared as usual so it promises to be an enjoyable farce.

ramble on

been married for thirteen years as of monday. We haven't done much special yet, though I did buy the girl a new car on sunday. Its a pimpin' turbo diesel Astra with all the candy so she's well pleased. I will continue to drive the leprosy car, so called because of it's mottled paint and tendency for bits to fall off. Three and a half years of Karova patrons vomiting on it have not done the duco any favours. Buying the car was deeply unpleasant. The car sales person was abrasive, weird and had funny old man hands. You would almost prefer to deal with a real estate agent or a slave trader or some such.

The busy time is almost upon us. The bookings are filling in at work and the worst of the winter doldrums seem to be receding. People seem to have a spring in their step and a buck in their pocket. The next couple of months should be fun.

days like these

things don't get any less complicated. Nervous breakdowns in the kitchen, waitstaff with pneumonia and a dickhead taking a header through the cellar door have all conspired to make my life a little more interesting than one would like. Top it off by being busier than a one legged man in an arse kicking contest and that one day I'm going have off this month is looking pretty awesome. It is fun though. A world class display of power shot consumption by the staff at their party a week ago was both funny and terrifying. Pleasingly they revealed themselves to be pleasant and hilarious when they indulge themselves and the lack of ensuing drama was a sharp contrast to the Karova days. That's not to say they weren't a bit sore for a few days afterwards but the lack of police involvement, fisticuffs and inappropriate touching was nice. Footy finals have been good too with some good craic in the bar. Word seems to be spreading on the quality of the meals and the soundness of the pints.... .... fingers crossed it stays like this.

the winter of our discontent

its been a long and bitter one so far. The swine flu and its many bastard relatives seem to be ripping through town and it seems every second person you talk to has been laid low for a week or two at a time. A few people I know have ended up in hospital with severe pneumonia.Lize has copped a dose of it and I had a little blast of something a week or so ago. Unpleasant stuff, especially when time off isn't really an option in our jobs.

Whilst I'm on the cheery stuff, a fellow licensee suicided last week. Never an easy reality to digest, it provokes some extreme reactions in people. I find the anger understandable yet somehow unfair. When you are in the frame of mind when popping your cork seems a valid option, consideration for the people you leave behind can't be that easy to come by. Poor geezer ended up necking himself in the cellar, which to be honest is starting to spook me out when I head down into my own to change a keg. There is something weird and grave like about the holes under the ground in which we store our beer. Hope you've found a happier place Glenn.

nice ones

sometimes pub's have truly nice nights. Not as many as you'd like , but we do have them. The nights where the customers are fun, polite and good company. When there is neither too many nor too few punters. Where the off duty staff sit around bullshitting with off duty staff from other venues and the on duty staff can sneak a quiet beer and a fag occasionally. Nights when the pints and shots are lined up along the bar glinting gently in dim light and its warm and friendly. I love these nights.

browntown

experienced my first brownout at the pub today. The electricity seemed to go on half strength. Lights dimmed, the till and the ciggie machine kept resetting and it played havoc with the beer system. Took me a couple of panicked phonecalls, some amateur electrical detective work and the discovery of a hitherto uncharted fuse box before I was a able to sit down and ram half a dozen fags into my quivering self secure in the knowledge the beer would be cold.

Still I must have been a bit low on sugar after my trauma cos Lize reckoned I was snappy and tense when she came in to see me after work. Crashed out at 8.30.

insomnia creeps

sleep's dried up again. So its podcasts and facebook, toast and tea. The rain hitting the corrugated iron should be soothing but it has me alert and a bit bothered. Trying to balance the books, the new winter menu and a bunch of other stuff keeps running around my head. I'm at the start of a fourteen day straight run and a bit more sleep would be great...

one punch

a young fella from Ballafornia passed away this evening. Got a whack in the head last Saturday night, hit the ground hard and sadly never woke up. Fighting comes naturally to young lads I suppose, and boooze and whatnot doesn't help. It's still a horrible fucking waste of a life and all things being equal didn't need to happen. I fought often myself as a young bloke, and honestly can't justify it. There were times where I was the one and the ground and others where I was the bloke standing there with blood on my knuckles shaking with rage. I don't know why we act like this, why the inner animal is so close to the surface sometimes. I feel horribly for the poor dead boy and his family. And there's a small bit of me that feels for the silly prick that killed him. Ten years ago, either one could have been me.

the boss is back

the girl is home. Thank Christ. Three weeks of staring in to the abyss are over. I'm a maudlin kinda cat at the best of times and there were a few dark moments in the boss's absence. But the sun's back out and shit is back to normal.

The pub is painted and the landlord has fucked off back to Calabria so it's a bit easier to relax in the workplace. Funds are still tight, but the boat seems to be pointed in the right direction. Perseverance is a virtue I haven't always posessed (this shambles of a blog stands testament to that) but when changes are tangible and peoples enjoyment is obvious its easier to keep on keepin' on. All my lines are up and running (Carlton Draught, Cascade Light, Pure Blonde, Guinness and Bulmer's), weekly specials are running (lamb shanks this week) and new non deadly bar stools are on their way.

For a change I'm slightly hammered, it's practice night and I'm still buzzing from Rainy night in Soho and a Message to you Rudy. You wouldn't be dead for quids.

solo

a bunch of stuff has happened since I last posted. Some good, some bad, some indifferent.

Firstly the girl is away. Three weeks in Thailand and China with her Mum. I'm not as good at being alone as I thought.

The band played it's first show at Swampy the bass player's birthday party. We were pretty good in parts. However we shouldn't have played that impromptu set after midnight. I can't remember what songs got played or even if they could be considered songs.

The pub is slowly starting to gain momentum. Some of the tradesmen stuff iis bewildering and frustrating me with the slowness of the process.

My baby sister had a baby herself. His name is Dominic and he is a cute fat child.

I've been drinking too much sometimes and going in to blackout a bit. Time to slowdown I reckon. As I said before I don't do lonely that well.

harvest picnic

snuck out of Ballafornia for the day yesterday and travelled on a bus with the girl and a few mates to the harvest picnic at hanging rock. Its a kind of foodie gig with a hundred or so stalls offering tastings and product and you lay out your picnic blanket and sample the wares in the shade of the big rock and some nice old gum trees. As was to be expected the place was ckockers with sniffing, swilling and nibbling Northcote types waxing loudly about floral notes, tannins and organic techniques of cultivation. It wasn't hard to ignore them after a bottle of two of shiraz though. Had cocktails from Der Raum (cheers Matty!), Daiquiris, cheese from Camperdown, more Daquiris, yabby paté (cue the Donald McKay jokes for Australian readers), Bass River and Witch Mountain red wine, fresh pistachios which were weird, buffalo sausage and three bundy and cokes on the way home. Music from Combo la Revelacion was excellent, Darryl Braithwaite was embarrassing and the flamenco guys set up near our spot were great. Sunburn and a mild hangover aside, a brilliant day!

7 weeks

there's a lot to say, but on reflection not as much as you would think. I've found a certain rhythm, an acceptable level where work and survival aren't mutually exclusive, Small pleasures, like a red bull and a fag while I read the papers before we open, or a porterhouse and chips and a glass of red after a busy service. New bits of joy like nips of cointreau with the missus after a hard days slog whilst overseeing the late staff like a slightly pissed but hopefully benevolent walrus.

I'l try to write more soon. To those who've wished me well or popped in for a pint and a feed, slainté.

openings

i'm tired, aching and a bit pissed. I'm also grinning like a fool. The pub is open and trading and its all mine. Happy Christmas folks. I'm going to bed.

stuck in the middle

we're meant to settle on the lease for the pub today. But as the clock ticks towards 3pm that looks less and less likely. The landlord seems to be selectively AWOL - unavailable to sign lease transfers and the like, and mysteriously close when it comes to picking holes in insurance proposals. Still theres no reason for him to hurry. As a matter of fact there might be some reasons for him not to. The existing tenants, from whom I'm buying the business, don't seem to have the scratch to pay this months rent. If he stretches the process out another week - not difficult seeing the lawyers start loading up the BMWs and heading for Portsea and Lorne by Tuesday arvo in readiness for the Christmas break - the poor buggers will be in full breach of the lease.

That leaves the landlord (if he chooses) in a position to change the locks and sell the business to me directly - a situation that wouldn't faze me personally but would be horrible for the poor girls in the pub. I might be reading more in to the guy's actions than there is, but I do have a sneaking suspicion something may be afoot...

Partyzone

lize's Christmas do on Friday night was a god almighty fucking bore. It was at a reception joint with a couple of other office Christmas parties, no free booze and some pretty staid punters. The lads entertaining sounded like they'd laced their Milo with opiates. Their piano muzak version of the Wind Cries Mary nearly had me in tears, for all the wrong reasons. General consensus around our end of the table was of an overwhelming sickly sweetness in the case of both the fish and the beef. A pre opened bottle of red and some confusion as to what actually constitutes rum didn't endear the barstaff to our group either. That said, Lize's work colleagues are a nice bunch who all seemed to find it equally dull. I think Lize misses the bar Christmas parties that always exciting even though someone always seemed to end up in casualty or having to make bail for a bar manager.

The upside of the quiet friday was we were very chipper heading off the Lize's family Christmas the next day. Held early due to imminent births and interstate trips for a couple of siblings, the day was a tremendously civilized excercise in nice drinks and lovely food. Red wine aplenty, duck, goose, turkey and ham with all the trimmings, pudding and rum cream constituted the main fare. Lize and I made a big jug of our current fave cocktail, comprising vodka, chambord, grand marnier, cranberry juice, fresh basil and cracked pepper. The Bing Crosby got a good lash on the ipod and the party didn't wind down till midnight.

pub time

it's getting close. If the vendor is sufficiently organised, the transfer will take place on Monday. The powers that be have deemed me to be a person of good character (chortle, etc) and approved the license. Suppliers are poised to deliver truckfuls of liquor and my nervous energy is building. Fingers crossed.

Before I get into the pub there is the small matter of surviving the weekend. Two Christmas parties (one for Lize's work, another with her family), a shitload of present shopping and the stocking of the larder with various seasonal treats and beverages must take place. I've got everything but time.