So, I have never been convinced that the Muslim paradise is defined by virgins that you can disport with. I lived in a Muslim country for 2 years and indulged in lengthy, indeed interminable, discussions on religion. There was nothing else to do – vide Good Ship Venus. Anyway, not once did the principally young men with whom I was in earnest conversation suggest that they were living a good life so as to be rewarded by lots of chicks in Heaven. The idea is nonetheless deeply rooted in the western psyche. I have spotted references thereto in both NYT and Economist recently. A bit like believing Christianity is based on eating flesh and drinking blood.
Anyway, any concept of my personal Heaven would certainly include Free Drink. My alcohol based cultural heritage has made the allure of Free Drink so strong that I can been seen at fancy gatherings anxiously casting around to spot the drinks tray just in case I miss out on an opportunity for Free Drink. It is disgraceful but I am now old enough to accept it. If Heaven is Free Drink then Hell is being offered Free Drink but not being able to partake.
This has been the ghastly scenario at the Smugglers Irish Bar where we play. Because I have to drive home, I have to drink water all night despite the song of the sirens cajoling and urging. It is Hell.
So this week the wonderful Kinjo San books me into a hotel near the bar. This seems to be accepted behavior in Okinawa – you go out on the batter and sleep in a hotel.
A great night of music and song and yes Free Drink. Pretty close to Heaven I suppose.