Way back in the days of my youth when I was told what it means to be a man…
I think it was in the second year of my Applied Physics B.Sc. course at the Lanchester Polytechnic in Coventry. One of the lads went missing for a while. It was not unusual for people to miss lectures, especially not the 9 a.m. ones. But Russel missed a week – again not to rare. Then he was missing a second week.
We asked one of the Lecturers. All that Dr. John would say is that the young man had been admitted to hospital, but he could not disclose any more than this as none of us were relatives.
All right and proper.
And realise – the internet, smart phones and social media did not exist at the time.
When Russel returned we asked after his health, and all he would say was that he’d been ill and had to go to hospital. Of course you don’t get away with that sort of answer to a group of 20-year-old young men (and one woman). So we badgered him, refused to buy him any booze until he came clean.
Eventually he had to admit that he’d had a very large and painful abscess in his anus. He had gone to hospital to have it drained under general anaesthetic.
From then on he was known as Honda…
You know the old saying – abscess makes the farts go Honda!
A great place with an unfortunate name. To me when I see the word ‘Barbarossa’ it conjures up the German invasion of Russia in June 1941. That invasion led to mass murder by German SS units as they tried to kill off all those ‘under men’ they saw as not being really human beings. Sadly, I am living through the 21st century parallel, as the people of Gaza are being systematically murdered.
A quick bit of research followed. Frederick Barbarossa was King of Germany in the 12th Century. He eventually became the Holy Roman Emperor from 1155 to 1190. He was known as a Warrior King, famed for uniting Germany, though he seems to have spent half his adult life fighting against Popes in Italy. It’s funny thet the Holy Roman Emperor was excommunicated. His efforts helped to expand the Empire. It seems that almost a thousand years later that same sort of religious expansionism persists.
And Barbarossa just means Red Beard in Italian, so I’m guessing he was a ginger.
This current restaurant has two parts. There is a closed part where it appears families go to eat. Then there is the open part where I am seated, which has a sort of bench area open to the roadside so we can enjoy the traffic noise and fumes. At the start I was here alone, eating beef brisket. Then in came a couple who had an entire room to choose from but decided to sit at bench area as close to me as possible. WTF! Why decide to sit right on top of the only other person in the room?
The guy keeps trying to catch my eye as a way of getting into a conversation because he can see me writing in my journal. He’s a loudmouth who I have christened as King Cnut.
The beef brisket makes me think of Howard Wolowitz in the Big Bang Theory as it seemed to be a running joke when he mentioned his mother and beef brisket. I wondered if it was a Jewish thing and Google worked again.
Beef Brisket is an Eastern European Ashkenazi dish, where cheeap cuts of beef are braised on low heat for a long time in order to soften the meat. Apparently it’s best if cooked with carrots and onions and sweet tomatoes.
The beer here is called Summer Pale ale and it is the best flavour on the island so far. I could almost see myself in a beer garden in the English countryside, if it wasn’t for the incessant noise of the motorbikes and scooters. To make things even better it’s cheaper than a pint in England, even though it is more than double the price of a large Bintang.
Thinking of the local beer… I can imagine Spike Milligan singing,
Bintang! Bintang! Bintang! Bintang! Bintang idle I poh!
Good old Spike – one of my childhood heroes. When asked why he called his TV series Q1, Q2, Q3 etc he said he was looking forward to getting to Q8!
Spike always identified as Irish even though he was born in India while his father was serving there. On his gravestone it says in Gaelic
I wandered up the back roads and into what could be central Sanur. Lots of resto/bars filled with Europeans and Aussies. I found a good supermarket which also has an ATM outside – 20 minutes’ walk from my hotel. I followed the road down to the beach, past the Holiday Inn and the Intercontinental; the kind of places you stay when you want a sanitised holiday. When I look at the pools and seating areas outside those sort of places I often think the guests could be anywhere in the world where the sun shines all day; Benidorm, Hawaii, Santorini, probably all look the same when you stay at those places!
Anyway I walked past Tapha because I’d already eaten at a Greek restaurant (which could have been anywhere!). On my google map I had noticed a bar a bit further along the beach so I went to explore. It is called Pier Eight Bali – turns out is part of the Intercontinental. I ordered a beer, which of course cost double what the local bars charge. I sat and listened to a guy playing bland pop on his acoustic guitar.
Two beers and the bland pop was enough for me.
I headed back along the beach. When I reached Tapha I realised the band was a Beatles cover, so I took a table and sat down to listen.
Kid Cock was there again.
This time there was a new lady fussing amongst the tables. The usual staff wear black T-shirts and black jeans, but this lady, maybe a Maître D’, wore a really nice red dress. The only downside was she had an arse the size of a small kingdom!
Sitting here, July 2026, listening to the music of a group that split up 56 years ago is just incredible. Every song seemed to be recognised by all the audience, many of whom were not even alive 56 years ago!
I chatted with the lads during the interval.
‘Yes I grew up in the 60’s so that is the music of my youth. No I never went to the original Cavern club, that was mostly rubble by the time I started visiting clubs in the 70’s. But Matthew street is still there, with a new Cavern, The Grapes, Flanagan’s Apple, and Cavern walks…’
The Beatles, Almaty, Kazakhstan
They started their second set with If I fell, which is one of my favourites. They moved on from early Beatles until we got to Don’t let me down and I could only think of Aisha. Then a surreal moment – as the band played a group of a dozen cyclists rode across the front of them.
My mind shot back to Edge Hill College 1980 when we organised the Bootleg Beatles to play at the college. 46 years ago – I wonder if they exist now?
Nostalgia is all in the past!
For some reason there are still lots of Abba tribute acts – which reminds me of the wonderful Will Farrel movie Eurovision.
More beers, more dealings with beach salesmen selling gewgaws and bangles. Time for bed.
That last post about Dr. Who reminded me of a joke I told my sister, but for many years she just didn’t understand it. I’m not talking about a sister as a child but as an aduklt professional nurse.
The joke;
‘What do Eartha Kitt and Dr. Who have in common?’
It was many years before she twigged. One time when I was visiting her and I had severe tummy rumbles I explained that I was dying for an Eartha, and promptly ran to the bathroom.
‘Eartha Kitt,’ she laughed as I returned. ‘I get it now!’
On another occasion I told my sons different old joke;
‘Did you hear about the guy who thought innuendo was the Italian word for a suppository?’
Two smiled, the youngest, Ben looked bemused.
‘I don’t get it!’
Many years later when I returned from one of my many travels I was telling them about how many Brits abroad will use shouty language to get food or drink. As an example I quoted ‘You-oh, get-oh me-oh, a beer-oh!’ as an example I heard in Spain.
Suddenly Ben laughed.
‘Innuendo!’ he said.
Finally, for now, am I the only one who recalls from secondary school, boys saying they were dying for a J. Arthur?
Watching the sun go down from the Resto restaurant on Sanur Beach. I suppose that having recently celebrated a birthday that puts me into my seventieth year on this planet, it is inevitable that I will reminisce.
A former colleague likes to post on Facebook about his love of Doctor Who, the epic sci-fi series from the BBC. I have vague memories of the first series with William Hartnell back in November 1963, the day after JFK was assassinated. If I remember rightly, the first series there was something to do with Cave men and apparently I hid behind the sofa because I was scared… Anyway it became a firm family favourite viewing for Saturday evening.
That was in the days when a typical Saturday was playing/watching football for the school or swimming in the morning, then Everton live or listening on the radio, then Dr. Who early evening. It was followed by some variety show like Morecambe and Wise or The Two Ronnies, or something like that. The evening would finish with Match of the Day (with hot pasties), and if lucky we were allowed to stay up to watch The Midnight Movie; and then TV shut down.
The point here is that we got to call Dr. Who Na Noo Na Nan as that was how the title music sounded to us! Mum would actually shout to us if we were in the garden or playing in the street ‘Na Noo Na Nan is starting!’
Halcyon days? – people still wore callipers from Polio, had smallpox scars, and seatbelts did not exist as standard.
I suppose they like to call it an Indonesian restaurant, and the menu has many Indonesian meals on offer. Though the breakfast menu is mostly offering variations on the Full English breakfast, albeit with chicken sausages and turkey bacon, which is my normal offer back in Oman. Yes they also offer things like Avocado with sourdough bread, though to me that is more of a western alternative breakfast for rich kids.
Back at the same place a few evenings later I tried Beef Rendang, a sort of spicy current made with coconut milk, and served up with steamed rice. I remembered why I don’t eat rice very often…
Around me the International Travellers, Influencers, Kite Surfers, and Digital Nomads, are ordering Indonesian delicacies like Fish and Chips, Burgers and Fries, and Bangers and Mash (only to be disappointed at the leathery beef sausages).
Then looking down the menu I see Nasi Goreng with variations, depending on whether you want chicken, turkey bacon, seafood or vegetarian variations. It takes me back to when I worked at the Royal Hospital School, which at the time was a full boarding school in the UK. About once a month they had Nasi Goreng on the menu, and we all thought it was some kind of exotic creation from the kitchen chefs. It turns out Nasi Goreng is just Indonesian and Malay for fried rice.
I am at a ‘Beach Party’ at a restaurant called ‘Tapha’ on Sanur beach. I have just celebrated my 69th birthday and I am probably average age for this gathering! There is a band playing all sorts of covers of well-known songs, including ruining Smoke on the Water and Sunshine of your love.
The band is a three piece, with a guitarist and a guy on electronic drums and a synthesizer for bass and things. Plus the singer, who has a great voice, is as wide as he is tall.
I couldn’t help but laugh when they played Knocking on heavens door, as most of us in the audience will probably be doing that for real very soon!
Of course they topped off the set with Sex is on fire, which had me giggling even more. For most of us old folks the sex would probably cause friction burns due to the lack of lubrication! I am reminded of the line I put in one of my Fairy Hannybooks, when they described a leather skinned, older sunworshipper as having a minge like a dried-out crab shell.
As the crowd slowly moved there came from the shadows a rumpled version of Kid Rock, though this one had missed the six-pack and replaced it with a beer barrel. He wore that same sort of faux leather pork pie hat too – I nicknamed him Kid Cock.
It really was an entertaining evening and I am sure I will return.
Watching the world today I see the beauty in nature and the sadness in humanity. Sitting at a restaurant on Sanur beach at the Retro restaurant. The wind in the trees that are part of the canopy of the restaurant; beautiful flowers offering us insights to nature; and dogs chasing their ball in the sand.
Then I notice couple sitting, not talking, living their lives through smartphones. Would they notice an earthquake unless it registered on social media?
And in the background, fascism raising its ugly head.
Miller – they’re all deformed, he says, as he looks like a Temu Nosferatu.
Then a secret smile; Trump means fart in England, a passing of gas which will dissipate in the air.
Sadness – Netanyahu murdering children in self-defence.
Putin watching his young men slaughtered so he can avoid going to prison.
A theme there – three nasty old cunts who are killing the world to avoid responsibility.
And July is the anniversary of the battle of the Somme, with 57000 British and Commonwealth casualties on day one.
I am in a down today…
Then they switched the lights on, and I am reminded of Bilbo’s eleventy first birthday party, with lights hanging from the trees. I see squirrels cavorting in the trees above my head and happiness returns.
When I was in St. Kevins Roman Catholic High School back in the 60’s and 70’s, we had 2000 adolescent boys. Sex was the dominant chat.
Puberty included the joke;
‘What did one leg say to the other?’
‘I see shorty’s growing a beard!’
We longed for the site of that first pubic hair.
One day after games when we were getting showered – if you weren’t dirty from the game Mr. Murphy would pick you up and drop you in a muddy puddle – what would they call that in the liberal 21st Century?
Anyway, P1 and P2 had games at the same time. Now there was a kid who seemed to have hit the hairy bollocks stage well ahead of the rest of us. So as we were showering, someone put the put lad on the spot by shouting ‘Stench, show us your knob!’
Fairy Hanny 