This started off with a hiss and a roar, detailing a young man's disillusion with modern society, and it's ridiculous notions. I was really prepared for something quite spectacular with the satirizing of modern concil initiatives (a roof over the creek to stop bathers getting wet by the rain, temporary art installations that have to be silenced from dusk til dawn, closing the local pub to build an eco-community) and the decision to open a pub in his house, which stands on the site of the original Grand Hotel.
However, once the pub opens the narrative descends into a chaotic set of sexual interludes between the married bar tender who's desperately in love with the singer, who in turn is also sleeping with The Lazy Tenor; desperate to force him to make something of himself. All the while the narrator (the young man) is floundering around putting off actually acting on anything, and getting hopelessly drunk while ignoring everyone who depends on him. At this point, the old town history collector starts having dreams that channel the past through an old transistor radio.....
... yes, a bit too much of a stretch to accept, and a senseless and distracting plot twist to unfold the mysterious history of the destruction of the original Grand Hotel. It was at this point I went "oh for crying out loud, COME ON!!" and gave it up as a bad job, as I could no longer summon any enthusiasm to finish the story. What a disapointment from a promising beginning.