tim's experiment

More than 190 countries and territories are now in various stages of their battle with the novel coronavirus, which is probably not novel – I expect the bats have had it for centuries – but which we must not call Chinese flu.

As far as I can tell from the usual sources only one of these 190 countries and territories proposes to ban the sale of booze: Hong Kong. Clearly this must mean one of two things: either the epidemic in Hong Kong has some unique feature not found elsewhere, or our leaders are doing something stupid.

Personally I like bars. Long ago when I was a young man far from home, some of them became a second home to me. Indeed Arthur and Betty at the Ring o’ Bells in Lancaster became a sort of surrogate parents. I have passed many happy hours in a variety of bars since starting illegally young in the “jug and bottle” (carry-outs) department of a pub in Midhurst.

 Old-school Hong Kong journalists still cherish the memory of the Sing Bar in Luard Road, long since demolished for redevelopment. This establishment, usefully for late shift sub editors, stayed open until 6 am. At that time, if you were still thirsty, you could move round the corner to the Barrel Bar, which didn’t close until 7 am, after a rowdy hour of entertaining everyone else’s bar staff for a quick one and a few finger-guessing games before they went home.

So my view of the government’s proposal to ban the sale of alcoholic drinks, even in bars, for consumption on the premises is perhaps predictable. I accept that if the need arises we may have to close all restaurants and bars, to discourage going out of any kind.

But restrictions on booze look craven, the mark of a government which – crippled by awareness of its own lack of legitimacy — is “willing to wound but yet afraid to strike”, as Pope put it. The proposed ban has attracted a wide variety of interpretations.

One theory doing the rounds on the internet is that the government would like to close bars and restaurants, but to do so would involve claims for help or compensation. Banning the sale of their most profitable item will have the same effect. It will kill them off cheaply.

A more elaborate variation has it that the ban is a favour to the government’s friends in the insurance industry, who would have to pay up if establishments were forcibly closed, but escape liability if the government merely restricts the varieties of goods which can be sold. Do many people really have this sort of insurance?

A more interesting theory, outlined here, blames a story which has been amusing readers of the local tabloids, though it has all the hallmarks of an urban legend. This has it that an expat lady, having achieved an advanced state of inebriation in Lan Kwai Fong (our local Gomorrah, for readers of the tabloids) started a generous distribution of sexual favours.

This theory draws some support from Ms Carrie Lam’s introduction to the move, which went on from the obvious point that people drinking have to remove their face masks to do so, and concluded with “in bars, people sometimes get intimate after drinking, and this increases the risk of cross-infection.”

Get intimate? Since when did our chief executive talk like a court report from the old News of the World? It seems that Ms Lam not only has trouble with the word “withdraw” but also with the word “sex.” I shall leave the exploration of this interesting coincidence to more ribald pens.

Some people, as Hemlock observes, have discerned a “boozy rutting ageing gwaipo” stereotype. This may be a fair comment on the tabloids but not, I hope, on our leaders. There may well be a suspicion in some upmarket local circles that expat men have a predilection for booze and adultery. It is curiously common for despised groups to be accused of sexual potency and even abnormally large equipment. But I have never heard of the idea that middle-aged expat ladies are free with their favours.

A kinder explanation is that Ms Lam, who seems to be taking a personal interest in this topic, was horrified by a picture used by several newspapers of people in a Lan Kwai Fong bar. This was hardly worthy of Hieronymus Bosch at the height of his powers, but did include a large number of people in a small space, many of whom appeared to be shouting at each other.

And this brings us to the rather obvious deficiency in the proposed ban, which is that it is ludicrously indiscriminate. In the vast majority of places where booze is sold people currently sit quite a long way from each other. Customers are cherished rarities; there is plenty of room. And it is quiet, so nobody has to shout.

A small minority of bars like to have live music. This leads to a problem. The musicians wish to be heard, and use electric amplifiers for this purpose. People who wish to hold conversations have to raise their voices to get through the music. This makes the venue noisy so the music is turned up further. The escalation continues until the conversation people are shouting in each other’s faces because that is the only way to be heard at all, and the band are suffering self-inflicted ear damage.

The solution would be to ban not booze, but electric amplification. The band could play acoustic instruments and patrons who did not wish to listen to it could whisper.

But getting the government to change its mind once the latest brainwave has had Carrie’s endorsement is an uphill struggle. Prepare to drink at home.

Meanwhile a word about the “Chinese virus”. I am not the man to pass up lightly an opportunity to empty a bucket over Mr Donald Trump but the fuss about this label is ludicrous.

It is common for diseases, and many other things, to be named after places or countries, often for completely erroneous reasons. There is nothing French about “French leave”, nothing Dutch about “Dutch courage” and indeed the “French letter” (one of the numerous nicknames for a condom) is known in French as a “capote Anglaise”. Or is that a “Dutch cap”?

“Chinese whispers” is a harmless game and a “Chinese gybe” is a rather complicated mishap when running before the wind with a gaff-rigged sail. Goodness knows where these labels come from. A “Chinaman” is a technical term used in cricket which, like most of that game, I do not understand. It seems to be a kind of slow bowling.

A Turk’s head has nothing to do with Turkey (it’s a knot) and the Molotov Cocktail was not invented by Mr Molotov, who has enough to atone for. Brussels sprouts do not come from Brussels and Scotch eggs do not come from Scotland. “Old Spanish customs” (the printers’ term for various rackets which used to flourish in Fleet Street) had nothing to do with Spain. Yankee means American, except when it means the foremost sail on a cutter-rigged yacht.

Was the Brazilian invented in Brazil? Who knows? Who cares?

No doubt Mr Trump’s intentions in insisting on “Chinese virus” are unkind, but to label them racist is to take his babblings too seriously. To give offence is his aim. The most wounding response is a yawn.