IS THIS ALL THERE IS?

By Hans Ebert
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We were having dinner with a few cricketers over the weekend. Not just any cricketers. World class cricketers. Guys with whom I was and still are in awe. But heroes rarely last forever. Most eventually disappoint.

These cricketers were talking about their complete disinterest playing in a five day Test match, let alone a series. How much discipline was needed. Being kept under lock and key. Every move being scrutinised. But with there being the 20/20 game, One Day Tests, it was all very much about big money for almost nothing and plenty of models, actresses and groupies for free. It was a Dire Straits song.

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HAVE A HAPPY WEDNESDAY AND ‘SCUSE ME WHILE I KISS THE SKY…

Of course, we’re creatures who are riddled with quirks- like petty annoyances that have to do with, well, stupidity. A particular peeve is hearing someone say, “it’s raining outside”. Of course, it must be raining “outside”. When does it ever rain inside? Anyway, it’s been raining outside most of the day. More rain is forecast. For outside. On, by the way, what would have been Bruce Lee’s 78th birthday. Maybe the sky’s crying for Bruce and Brandon.

Today’s also a Happy Wednesday at Happy Valley racecourse. Some enjoy hanging out at the Beer Garden and singing and dancing in the rain. Everyone has their own bouts of weirdness. Maybe some will still be celebrating what would have yesterday been the 76th birthday of Jimi Hendrix. We sure don’t consume music like we used to when music kept that long train running. That’s for sure. That long train has been derailed. Even The Marathon Man has stopped running. Still, great music by great musicians live on. It keeps us honest. To ourselves.

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IT’S JUST ANOTHER GROUNDHOG DAY IN THE BLUE TICK TWITTERVERSE

By Hans Ebert
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You can’t even get your favourite Madras Chicken Curry from Jimmy’s Kitchen in Hong Kong anymore. So how the hell does one expect to be inspired enough to continue with everything else? But one still does. Trudging up those steps. Asking for forgiveness. Seeking redemption. Always searching for that elusive burst of inspiration. Settling for mediocrity because creativity is in such short supply. Listening to talk leading nowhere.

Gave up on reading Bob or Bill’s Big Book years ago that was going to lead to finding that higher power. That was a wasted journey. Cracked. Just another crutch.

Yesterday I went through eight business meetings. All in the same place. Only one made any sense. Why? He was smart. Knew his music. Can write. Really knows this thing called social media. Still excited about new musicians. Like artists from Mongolia. Told me things I never knew. How Hip Hop existed in Mongolia over twenty years ago.

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IS IT ONLY HONG KONG? OR HAS THE WORLD LOST ITS WAY?

By Hans Ebert
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It’s not what it was. Hong Kong. How long will a Hong Kong Belonger continue to live here? Really not sure.

Where did Hong Kong start to come apart at the seams? Probably when some of us thought everything was possible. And for some reason hit that brick wall of reality.

Everything changes. And not for the better. Friendships. Marriages. Careers. Trust. Priorities.

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THOSE SONGS THAT SOMEHOW LIVE WITH YOU (AND WE’RE ALL DIFFERENT)

By Hans Ebert
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Some make it through the rain, some fall by the wayside. A few make comebacks for whatever reason. A sync deal for Pringles. Included in a movie. Or television series. Or have always been there. But in the Lost And Found of one’s mind. Words that can’t be deleted.

A song about the one who got away. The one you let get away. Slipped through your fingers. Butter fingers. The one who wore your ring.

That song that meant everything about another time. And which suddenly is more relevant today.

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IT’S TIME FOR SOME FUNTING

By Hans Ebert
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It was exactly what was needed. Fun. Infectious fun. So infectious that the dancing magically morphed into a conga line. And all this taking place at a racetrack. At the venue known as Adrenaline of the Hong Kong Jockey Club.

The last race had been run and the international group of young millennials from the Beer Garden had been making their way up to Adrenaline to kick on before the last two races had been run.

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SLAMMING THE DOOR SHUT ON CLUTTER

By Hans Ebert
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Pulverising the senses with non-stop clutter. That’s how a friend describes it. Life in today’s social media mad driven would where, try as one might to escape the tsunami of information and misinformation and information overload that we certainly don’t even need, it catches up with you. And it’s getting worse. It’s the great plague of our time. It’s what negatively affects us with everything. Yet, many keep going to that well… To the abyss.

Left Facebook and Instagram. Updating both accounts had taken over. Taken over from trying to make my real life relationship with someone go somewhere. It was my compulsive personality running the show. She tried to wean me off it. Go cold turkey. Get out more. Exercise. Sexercise. Cook. But it didn’t work. She walked.

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LET ME TAKE YOU DOWN…

By Hans Ebert
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It’s stating the obvious to say that the Beatles were special. But to someone who decided to drop a tab of acid in his early teens for the first time not knowing what to expect, they took me on a Magical Mystery Tour.

It was a twelve hour trip to Camelot, the Wild West, where I was shot in the back during a poker game while holding a “dead man’s hand” and developed what’s known as a Wild Bill Hickock Complex. Even today, I cannot sit anywhere without my back to the wall. Hey, Bungalow Bill, indeed.

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