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...