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.