Jamming with the Bali Rastas

The place was rammed and it was not even midnight. I came upon the Apache Reggae Club completely by chance.

A smiling, petite teenager with a tattoo of Bob Marley on her uncovered navel beckoned me towards her, as I was walking the narrow pavements, constantly on the lookout for speeding scooters who happily use the pedestrian walkway as a way to avoid the congested traffic.

The young lady was thrilled that although coming from London I had Jamaica roots. She ushered me into the club, where the live band was playing a medley of Bob Marley songs. Apart from the massive portraits of Marley adorned across the club what I noticed that it seemed that every other person was a rastafarian of Balinese origin. The other patrons were white rastas from Australia.

I felt completely at home. Talking about the only gay in the village I was the only Jamaican in the club. As soon as I informed people of my heritage I was greeted with a loud Jah rasta far'i  and a warm brotherly handshake.

After every song the lead singer would drop some serious Jamaican patois as if he was straight from the slum Yardie streets of Kingston. It didn't matter a jot that most of the crowd did not understand him, it simply got them worked up into a frenzy. I was skanking with the best of them now, as the strong aroma of hashish circulated the dancefloor.

The band played well beyond 1am nearly 2. The club was still buzzing well after they're left the stage. I departed myself after several servings of Arak (local spirit) and diet coke. It was a minor miracle that I wasn't knocked over by moped whilst unsteadily advancing towards my hotel.

Just want to say a massive big up to all the Balinese rastas at the Apache and no doubt I will looking forward to jamming with them on several more occasions before returning to England.

Its Time To Hang Up The Disco Shoes

I am caught between a rock and a hard place. Staying in Kuta on the  coast of Bali, its  surrounded by an assortment of bars, 
eateries and nightclubs. You can the hear pumping and vibrant  sound of electro music, R&B and soul from your room.

In my advancing years I should of listened to the rational side of me. That I am a man whose best dancing years are behind him and not very much in front of him. The age of disco and the moonwalk is over. But no, my immature, irrational unconsciousness won through. I wanted to impress the Balinese with my body-popping skills. So I put on my tight jeans and dancing shoes and headed for Ecstasy & Oblivion (the main nightclub in Kuta), which also aptly summarise my night. 

The club was packed with locals and young Australians getting down to some serious techno. I had nothing in common with these clubbers. I was the oldest one in the place by a country mile and more. Doing the funky chicken and robot was not going to cut it. Everybody seem to be twerking which was beyond my capabilities.

By 2am I was exhausted. The smoke, the noise and gyrating bodies was too much for me. All I could think of was putting my feet up in front of the TV whilst watching Countdown and enjoying a mug of Horlicks.

I trundled back to my hotel, avoiding the Balinese ladies of the night offering untold pleasures for a price. As I tucked myself in bed I come to the realisation that clubbing is a young persons pursuit. Middle aged people like me simply look out of place like a black man at a Ku Klux Klan convention or Kevin Pietersen  in the England cricket team. Like Liverpool's Steven Gerrard its time to retire with grace and dignity, and hang up those disco shoes for them to gather dust. I had my moment in the sun its time now to pass the torch (or disco shoes) to the next generation.

I had one thought to console me that at least a good number Balinese and inebriated Aussies were able to see me moonwalk from one end of the dance floor to the other. Michael J would of been proud of me.

No Bali Happy Ending For Me

The flight was not as onerous as I imagined. Twelve hours to Singapore and just two from there to Bali. Felt reasonably fresh
as I landed on this wonderful island.

As I handed in my documents to the Customs Officer he gave me a stern look and asked if I was travelling with family or on my own. When I responded in the latter he gave a smirk. His grin was even more pronounced when I informed him that I was staying in Kuta ( a place infamous for its night-life and massage parlours). I tried in vein to convince him that my vacation was for all the right reasons and not for lascivious purposes. I had not won him over by the time he stamped my passport and waved me to the exit, with a passing comment that he very much hoped that I enjoy my stay over the next two weeks. His tongue was firmly in cheek  when he said it.

The taxi drive to the Swiss-Belinn  Legion hotel was less than 30 minutes. It was nearing 11pm by the time I checked in. My deluxe room was on the 5th floor with balcony. The accommodation was small but modern. I  fondly imagined over the next fortnight consuming the local beer whilst watching the sunset go down.

Although nearing midnight, I thought I would venture out to have a brief taste of what Bali had to offer. A few minutes into my stroll I was accosted by several different locals offering massages by beautiful Balinese females who were experts in giving tourists like me "happy endings". I politely declined their offers as I was not interested in these young ladies, however skilled they maybe.

One chap  with barely any teeth and a huge pot belly enquired if I was interested in men giving me a "happy ending". He would do it himself for half the going-rate. I firmly declared that I had no desire for anybody male or female in dispensing any type of ending; happy, sad or otherwise!

I was able to escape to a local bar without further incident. Whilst sipping on a bottle of Bintang (Balinese beer) I reflected on my  encounter with the burly Customs Officer. If I ever see him on my departure I will have a smirk on my face as wide as the Bali Sea knowing that I was never tempted to have a happy ending even if it was from a toothless fat bloke at half price. 

David Lammy MP Cynical Ploy to become Mayor of London

David Lammy - the Labour MP for Tottenham gave a TV interview on boxing day warning that the ingredients of what caused the 2011 riots were still prevalent and that disturbances would again happen if these were not resolved by the present government.


David Lammy Tottenham Labour MP

 The Labour MP went on to say that disillusionment amongst white working class people, blacks and asians which the present coalition administration have not address will be the catalyst for the significant disturbances in the future.

I could not diametrically disagree more with the Labour former minister. The riots in 2011 were instigated by criminal gangs who saw it as an opportunity to loot, rob, burn and kill without fear of being caught by the police. It had nothing to do with young men having no hope or not having a stake in society and more to do with a sub-culture where greed, avarice, instant gratification and obtaining what you want at any cost is the norm. These so called disaffected people are not interested in getting jobs, if they were they would be able to obtain one if they put their minds to it. Remember we have had several million people mostly from Eastern Europe come to the UK over the last 10 years doing low paid jobs because employers could not find British people to fill the vacant posts. This story is the same up and down the country.

The reality is that this a cynical ploy from Lammy to be Labour's candidate for mayor of London. He believes if he can predict another major disturbance hopefully next summer, he will be able to come along on his white charger and be the saviour of post-riot London and telling anyone who would listen he foretold this and he has the answers. Riots may well happen again but the causes will not be the ones outlined by Lammy. The reasons will be gang related as the result of the breakdown of the black family which has given rise to the problem of drugs, crime and violence in the black community. It was this that led to the 2011 riots and I am afraid it will do so again. 

David Lammy and others prominent in the black community are aware of this cancer eating away in their communities but are in complete denial or worse they don't care. The MP for Tottenham must know that people were murdered in the disturbances in 2011. Why would he want blood on his hands for the sake of becoming leader of the most powerful and influential city in the world. Maybe I have just answered my own question.