Blok M diary, October 2003

D’saster

It’s Saturday night, and the evening starts off well upstairs in D’s. The girls are out in force, some in their finery, all of them cheerful and lively. But by 11 o’clock things are going a bit sour, and there are rumblings of discontent from some of the guys. The reason? They’re being completely ignored. From the Reveller’s corner by the disco he can see two groups of guys - a couple sitting near him, and three perched on the raised area right next to the dance floor. And they’re all alone. In spite of heroic efforts to attract the attention of the girls, the young things blithely carry on with their own little games and chit-chat. One of the chaps next to the Reveller mutters to his friend, "What’s wrong with the girls in here?".

Even the Reveller gets the same treatment. Usually there’s a gang sitting round, chatting, drinking and laughing with him as many of them are old friends. But not tonight. The Reveller sadly reflects that he now knows what the Invisible Man felt like on a bad day, and wanders off to pay his bill and depart for pastures new.

As he waits for his bill the Reveller chats to a couple of his mates at the bar, and they tell him the same story. One guy, a Brit who’s been around for a good many years, says it’s happening more and more frequently and he only calls in for a brief drink now and then as there’s better company elsewhere. Another fellow reveller whose silver tongue can charm the proverbial birds off the trees shrugs his shoulders and says, "Guess I’ll see you in Lintas Melawai - there’s sure not much fun in here tonight".

All this is a great shame. D’s management treats the girls infinitely better than the other Blok M establishments - free soft drinks hour, the ladies’ lucky draw, dancing and fancy-dress competitions with cash prizes - and in return, all too many of them forget that they’re in a bar and treat the place like their private club.

LMentary

Peeling off his biking jacket and squirming out of his crash helmet, the Reveller rolls into Lintas Melawai a bit earlier than usual. Expecting the place to be in its habitual early evening state of torpor he prepares for the worst and goes into monastic mode. But wonder of wonders! The disco is already pulsing. There’s quite a crowd, and more are pouring in by the minute. The management’s euphoric response to this unexpected windfall? - turn up the disco volume to full blast, making even the most rudimentary conversation nigh on impossible. O tempora, o mores, mutters the Reveller to himself as he gets in a Carlsberg and wishes he had ear-plugs on him.

The Gods must be listening, as within a few minutes the decibels decrease slightly and the place resumes its normal thunderous pounding. Settling onto a bar-side stool, the Reveller is soon chatting with the girls - and it’s the same story all round the disco. OK, so you have to bellow to be heard, but there are the girls, chatting up the guys, just as nature intended. What a pleasant contrast they are to D’s stuck-up little madams!

After another vintage late night down Melawai, the Reveller finally straggles home at five thirty in the morning. But that, as they say, is another story.

Let them eat cake

It’s Thursday, and the Reveller hasn’t ventured Blokwards for three tragic days because some demon bacteria decided his innards would make a good home. After exhaustive tests the sawbones at SOS Medika pump him full of antibiotics and sombrely declare that a dietary change is advised, giving him a list of things that are "very bad food to be avoid at all time", and things that may be "taken in limitless quantities". Alas, beer is top of the ‘no go’ list. Now the Reveller isn’t a great beer drinker, but he does enjoy a few late-night bottles from time to time. But wait, there’s a silver lining to this cloud of culinary gloom - he may eat as much caviar as he likes, because this essential nutrient is specifically mentioned in the OK list.

To the Reveller, this ominously echoes Marie-Antoinnette’s infamous "Let them eat cake" response to being told that the people had no bread. One can only pray that the consequences are not the same, as within months of her fateful utterance the full force of the French Revolution was unleashed.

Playing fast and loose

One night, as he downs a welcome and long-overdue libation, the Reveller reflects that the fasting month of Ramadan will soon be upon us. Whichever way you cut it, that’s Bad News for the hardened reveller, and dire pronouncements by the Great and the Powerful about draconian regulations pertaining to the entertainment industry add to the impending sense of gloom.

But in the memorable words of the poet John Milton in his great epic Paradise Lost, "What though the field be lost? all is not lost". In other words, things could be a lot worse, because by the beginning of the Fast all the hot air and polemics will - like a Jakarta thunderstorm - have blown themselves out.