The Buck starts here…

The day has arrived. In a few short hours from now, I will heft my pack onto my back & wave goodbye to a school, a town, & a country that in these last 2 months has become my home. Home. It’s a strange concept. One of the first questions a new acquaintance will ask is: “Where do you live?” It’s not an easy question for me to answer. The truth is, I live wherever my head & a pillow meet. It’s an idea i’m still adjusting to: Living a life of transit.

I have found that one of the strangest aspects of this transitory lfestyle is the swiftness with which relationships with other people can begin & end. People who are my pal for a day or two and then disappear on planes & trains to places far away. I feel priviliged that our paths diverged, even if only for a pizza & a glass of beer. These brief encounters have reminded me of the importance of living for the moment. A bus could knock me down tomorrow – but today I’m happy.

And I am happy. Yesterday I recieved my teaching certificate and graduated from my training course. I now have an opportunity to do something positive & fulfilling. To really make a difference. I make no apologies for my idealistic rose-tinted view of the power of education. There is a danger of allowing life to slip into a tunnel of mundanity. Of letting apathy & disillusionment dull our senses. I am grateful for the chance that has been afforded me, and I will use it to the best of my ability.

It’s funny. I enrolled on this course without even knowing whether teaching was what I really wanted to do. The last 2 months have helped crystallise the passions of my soul. There was no Eureka! moment when I first stood up alone in front of a class. I just knew. And the experience just kept getting better & better. My last class, on Thursday, was one of the most enjoyable I have taught to date. I had asked Ji, one of my trainers, for a popular, well-known song amongst Thai kids. She started humming the theme song from Titanic. Brilliant. J’Adore Celine. My lesson was on “holiday trips”. So I took a heartfelt song about Kate & Leo and ripped it to shreds. Here are the lyrics for “My Heart Will Go On” – Bucky style

La la la, la la la la la la, la la la, la la

I went on holiday
To the U.S.Aaaaaaaayyy
It was terrifc – it was great!
I was away for 3 weeks
The best thing was New Yorrrrrk
It was terrific – it was great!

Within 2 minutes I had the whole class on their feet massacaring this tune. It was terrific, it was great! I then got the students into groups & told them to write their own world-trip themed verses to the song. One of the ones they produced included the wonderful phrase:

“I went on holiday to China….the best thing was Thailand”

And they’re not far wrong. Thailand is a great place. A warm-hearted land of smiles. A Massaman Curry of deliciousness, a Tom Yum Gung of beautiful scenery. But the time had come to move on. The world is my oyster. I could head north to the vastness of China, west to the diversity of India, or south to the koala’s of Australia. But it is the east which is calling me. Colonel Kurtz is playing in the jungle. He wants me to come and find him. The Vietnamese tourist board have an interesting slogan: Vietnam: It’s a country, not a war. I need to discover the myth beneath the legend….

I’ve finally got around to posting up some pictures of my time here in Thailand. I’m sorry there aren’t more – but I’ve hardly picked up my camera at all in the last 2 months – something I hope to change in the next 2…

This is Blythe, Shirley & Amelia – 3 of the girls from my 1st teaching course, at the final party back in early september.

And here is John Rambo at the same event – crooning in that sweet Irish lilt of his

This here is my old school mate Fred and with him another old friend who I’ve since fallen out with – Ronald. Our clownish pal’s hands clasped position is called a “Wai’ and is a sign of respect amongst Thai people. Somebody, somewhere in the lovely Mcdonalds corporation worked out that if Ron did the “Wai” outside restaurants, the company’s profits would increase. Who said cynical capitalism was dead in Asia?

I saw this car in Bangkok a few weeks back. It was being used in a movie that was shooting in the centre of town. I’d like one please.

This bag of crisps caused quite a chuckle. In case any potato lovers were worried that their crisps might be different shapes…rest assured that the manufacturers have gone to extraordinary lengths to ensure that they all look the same.

I spent a lovely weekend in the old capital, Ayyuthaya a while back. This is one of the ancient temples still standing in the historical city. I’ll be in Angkor Wat in Cambodia next week, and with any luck will have quite a few stunning pictures. Providing I remember to re-charge my batteries of course..

And finally we have the magnificent Squiddle Siam english school’s Cat-in-residence. I think I’ve mentioned before that Squiddle has captured my heart like no cat before him. He’ll have forgotten me 30 seconds after I walk out that door. I shall remember him a little longer…

If clicking on these pictures just brings up a black box, wait a second or two. Once you have got bored & pissed off with waiting – get up, put on your coat, & visit a buddy who has a broadband connection. If you have no buddies with broadband connections, go to the park & play football. Its a fun team sport & it’ll keep you fit & healthy

It’s 4.30 am. An epic battle has just been won. Allow me to tell you the story…

I’ve spent this past weekend in Bangkok with my friends Jane & Ruth from my teacher training course. Our main focus? Food. As well as eating at the world’s largest restaurant (see the entry Wet & Large) we have also had curry from an award-winning Indian restaurant, and fresh spring rolls from a Vietnamese joint. Today was the finale. A Sunday Brunch Buffet at the Sheraton Plaza Hotel. We walked into the restaurant there to behold the most amazing spread I have ever seen. There was a carvery. A sushi section. A dim sum table. A Thai curry section. A Chinese area. An Indian area. Fresh seafood. Salads. Breads. Fresh fruit juices made to order. A dedicated pasta chef & 2 assistants to sprinkle basil for him. A cheese table. An ice-cream servery. A desert row. A swing band playing. And on. And on. And on.

Needless to say we were very happy bunnies. My two personal faves amongst all this delightful array of food were the tuna sashimi (raw tuna) & the ostrich meat. Ahhh. Ostrich. A friendly bird that likes to stick its head in the sand. An innocent in a world of guilt and murder. Once again I have sinned against the wild animal kindom. And once again Animal Karma is gonna have to retort…

3am. I’m awakaned by the sound of a pack of dogs howling at the moon. Either that or they’re ripping another dog to pieces. Either way, they’re bloody loud & they’ve woken me up. I get out of bed to use the loo. I open my bathroom door to find a humongous cockroach. Sitting on my bathroom floor looking shifty as if he’s been up to no good. Cock the Cockroach. I quickly shut the door, and search for a weapon. Oh look, there’s that piece of my clothes horse that I dismantled for just such an occasion. I return to the bathroom & open the door. Cock has gone. He’s scarpered. I need to think tactically if I want to catch him. So I turn out the lights & sit on my bed. A good tactician knows the importance of patience. I count to 100 & then turn the lights back on. There he is. On the floor near the window. I move surreptitiously towards him. I swing with my clotheshorse stick. But I’m too slow. 21 years of living as a domesticated mammal has numbed my killer instinct. Cock is under my bed before I can say: “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”

It’s time for a new strategy. I spray deoderant under the bed. I dont even know if this a useful weapon in my arsenal. Maybe he’s a smelly Cock and he likes the aroma of Lynx Africa. I slide my stick under the bed and move it around in an effort to cajole Cock to move onto open ground. I see him dart out, then sneak behind my backpack which sits in the corner of the room. I vault the bed and crouch in front of the backpack, waiting for him to emerge. Patience. I have a new weapon ready for when he emerges. A rolled up magazine. I spot movement to my right. How has he got there without me spotting him? This time my killer instinct is sharper. I swing hard & low and there’s a cockroach corpse on the carpet. I lean in to examine the body. It’s not humonguous. It’s not even enormous. What we have here is a medium sized cockroach. What on earth is going on? Then I spot movement to my left. Cock has darted back under the bed. The dead cockroach was a decoy. General Cock has sent Corporal Roach on a kamikaze mission to save his own skin. I lift an imaginary hat to my genius adversary and his loyal soldier. And then I sit on my bed to ponder my next move…

Patience. 10 minutes pass and I see Cock dart across the room to my wardrobe. I dart after him. He takes shelter behind the thick wooden panels. I manouevere the wardrobe so that my stick can get behind it. But its not enough. I manouevere it further, turning the whole thing around. I notice a wide alcove at the bottom. Cock must be hiding in there. I deploy two weapons systems: Stick; & Spray – but both prove ineffective against the enemy. Patience. I recall the history of Troy & Leningrad. A blockade is what is needed. Using books, I block off the side routes out of the alcove at the bottom of the wardrobe. When Cock emerges, it’ll be into a carefully laid trap. Patience. After 5 minutes, Cock emerges, see’s the blockades, and promptly runs up the wall and over the pile of books before I can make a move. Excellent play Cock, I think to myself. I’d forgotten the Generals ability to move vertically.

I step back 2 paces & survey the scene from a broader perspective. Cock may have escaped the siege of wardrobe, but he is still trapped behind enemy lines. Patience. 15 minutes pass. My rolled up magazine is locked & loaded. & then General Cock makes his first & last mistake. He advances into open country without air support. Docile Buck is gone. Being up for over an hour in the middle of the night is a great way to quicken your wits & sharpen your reflexes. Wild Buck is here. The magazine comes down on Cock’s head. He’s momentarily stunned, but the General is still alive. The magazine is dropped. A foot is swiftly stomped on it. The battle is over. General Cock is no more.

Today was both grand & surreal. two outings. 1 wet, 1 large. A Bangkokian kingdom of dreams….

It all started about a month ago. Bangkok is what you might call a congested city. There’s a lot of stuff packed in there. And the traffic jams are legendary. So the department of transport started building elavated roadways to bypass the gridlock. Of course these too quickly became the dizzy side of busy. So They built ele-elevated toll highways which bypass 2 sets of gridlock. So its a month ago. I’m riding on the bus from Bangkok down to Ban Phe drinking in the plethora of strange & wonderful sights. the driver of the bus has paid the 40 baht toll, and consequently we are soaring above the maelstrom below. I glance to my left & notice a shopping centre. One of many? Yes. One of the same? Err no. Coz it’s got a waterpark on the roof. Yes. Slides, pools, rubber rings. The whole shangalangdoodle. On the roof of a shopping centre. I vow then & there to return to this paradise.

Fastforward to today. The time has arrived. My friend Jane & I are in a cab & en route. We arrive. We get in a lift. We press up. All the way. Our destination is the roof. Leoland, to give the waterpark its correct title. We enjoy the delights of the slides, the jacuzzi & the “action” river. The action river is slightly on the passive side but lets not quibble. Its a waterpark on a roof! I hire a rubber ring and head for one of the slides which has been reserved for rubber ring drivers. I feel like I’ve joined an exclusive club, even though most of the park has rubber rings. The lifeguard dude halts me in my stride.

Lifeguard dude:“Ha sib.”
me: “Fifty?”
Lifeguard dude: “Yes. fifty.”
me: “Err. Fifty what?”

At this point a young bilingual translator child helpfully appears at my side. Apparently people over the age of fifty cannot use this slide. Ok. I dunno why that is, but it’s not really going to be a relevant concern for me for the next 28 years & 6 days. I try & persuade the lifeguard dude that depite my old-age pensioner disguise I am really a sprightly young chap of 21. No deals. Ahhh. It’s a misunderstanding. He’s not talking about age!! He’s talking about weight. Yes, I must weigh 50 kilograms or less to ride this slide. I have no idea how much I weigh in kilograms. I come from the U.K & we are pretty schizophrenic when it comes to weights & measurements. (A pint of milk with a litre of orange juice anyone?). So I tell my new translator friend to tell the lifeguard dude that I weigh 35 kilos. Perhaps unsurpisingly, he doesn’t buy it. I get on another slide. Another day, another weight problem.

10 minutes later. I run into my new translator friend on the steps. he tells me he misunderstood the lifeguard dude 1st time round. Apparently you have to weigh more than 50 k’s to ride this baby. I used to act. You want me to weigh more than 50 k’s – I can pull it off. I go back to the top, rubber ring perched stylishly on my thickset, chubby shoulders.

“I weigh 75 kilograms!”

No deals. I think he thinks I must be lying. Farang generally give the correct answer 1st time round. He’s just going on my word. It’s time to get dry…

Another cab. En route to another destination. This time it’s the world’s largest restaurant. The boys from Guinness world records popped round in 1991 & left a plaque so we know this aint no con. A few facts & figures to whet your appetite. This place can seat 5000 diners. I didn’t slip an extra zero in there. that’s 5000. About the same number of people who live in the Wiltshire village of Pewsey. There are 1200 staff. The restaurant takes up some 8.5 acres. Basically it’s huge. As well as the multiple seating areas arranged around a sort of stage on a lake there are numerable private (but transparent) rooms where families can sit, eat & sing karaoke to their hearts content. We (Jane, Me, Blythe & Ruth) were seated immediately opposite the stage, with only the water and a zip line seperating us from the treats that lay in store. This was either the table of honour, or the table of torture, depending upon how much you like “authentic” Thai dance performed by authentically bored Thai dancers.

The menu comes. There’s a heavy emphasis on seafood. I’ve seen the tanks of various aquatic creatures doing backstroke on the way in, so I know that I’m not going to be served a plate of Asda frozen scampi. (I’m not knocking Asda frozen scampi, but there’s a time & a place.) I decide that today might be the day for me to eat my 1st ever King lobster. They even say they’ll cook it anyway I like. & it’s only 250 baht. What a bargain. The waiter takes our orders & rollerskates away (dont ask) to fish my dinner out of a tank and sling it on the barbie. A minute passes. Another (slightly superior & more adept at english) waiter pops up & we start talking details. Does my lobster like football, will he kiss on the 1st date, etc etc. Apparently he wont. For the 2nd time today I’ve got a little muddled about weights & measures. Turns out that 250 baht buys me 100g of King lobster. And my not so easy new pal weighs in at over a key. I can’t really stretch to paying 30 quid for my dinner so Jeffrey the King lobster lives to see another sunrise. Tony the local river lobster, your time has come.

10 minutes pass. The show has begun by two men wearing rollerskates going down that zip line which is suspended over the lake. It has continued with some dancing & a synthesized sax. It’s kinda uninspiring. Then Tony arrives. I’m asked if Tony would like a little help taking his coat off. Tony would love a little help. Tony is taken away, undressed, & returned. His hat & gloves have been left. I guess me & Tony are going to have some head-ripping touchy-feely action before he moves into his new home in my stomach.

I eat Tony. I’ve been assured in the past that lobster is a wonderfully delicious shenanigan. Tony just tastes like a prawn. A big prawn. But still a prawn. Prawns have very high opinions of themselves. They go by the names “Tiger” and “King”. But they’re basically the ugly sisters of the aquatic world. I dunno, maybe a lowly river lobster like Tony can never taste as good as a King lobster like Jeffrey. I salute you both, Jeffrey & Tony. But dancing girls: if you want your 5000 capacity restaurant to have more than 60 people in it, try & look like you’re having a good time. And lifeguard dude: I am young enough, heavy enough, & ugly enough, to ride that slide.

It was Sunday. I was hi-diddly-happy. I had things to do, people to see, places to go. I set off early. I wanted to catch that worm. Into town I sauntered . People waved hello. I replied in kind. First stop was a general store. There’s the latest issue of TIME asia sitting outside. A whole feature on Avian Flu. My fave kind of flu. In like Flint. I’m starved of good printed news matter in these parts. Next to TIME asia is a 3 week old copy of the Daily Mail. It’s hardly surprising that it’s been sitting there so long: Who wants to read about asylum seekers & the Conservative party leadership race in sunny Ban Phe. Actually, I do. But The Daily Mail is something I glance at more for entertainment value than anything else. You’ve either got to laugh or cry. And I’d rather laugh. And rant a bit.

Next stop is the 2nd-hand bookshop. This is the only one of its kind in Ban Phe, and is owned by Jim, the husband of the woman who runs the only Irish pub for 100 K’s. He also organises the sweepstakes for every weekends premier league matches. I’m happy to report that I lost spectacularly. That’s 100 Baht I wont be seeing again for a while. I swap a book with one of Jim’s & he gives me some advice about my upcoming trip to Cambodia. Apparently getting from the border to Siem Reap is a 12-hour minibus ride from hell. I cannot wait.

Then I got me hair cut. Looking smooth. & finally I bought myself some swimshorts. Big, blue, flowery, lots of pockets. I’m set for the wet…

A few hours later & 4 of us are on a songthaew to the Novotel hotel, a 10 minute drive down the beach. This place was seriously nice. First stop: the restaurant. I needed a sandwich. Decent sandwiches are hard to come by. I order a club. Eating it, I begin to feel part of one. I read some of my TIME magazine. Apparently the U.S made some serious errors in the aftermath of their invasion of Iraq. You live and learn.

Then it’s pool time. I face up to the side, my toes curling over. I tense. I dive. I plunge into the smooth blue water. I swim a few feet, then head to the side. I clamber out. What’s that digging into my thigh? Oh, it appears to be my asthma inhaler. Must have forgotten to take it out of my pocket. Hmmm, is that something rattling in my other pocket? Oh yes, it’s that packet of mints I bought earlier. Could there be anything else hidden in the Aladdins cave of pockets that are my new blue shorts? Yes there could. My sopping wet wallet. I remove it from its waterlogged burrow & squeeze out the excess water. Everybody laughs. I laugh. Bucky is a plonker.

A few games of ping-pong, a plunge in the jacuzzi. The cash is slowly drying out. Phone numbers are smudged but still just about legible. Bucky is still a plonker. But .Sunday sure was a Fun day!

It’s 2a.m. & I can’t sleep…

The story begins on August 10th when this happened. I thought at the time I was just eating a locust. Little did I realise that I had severely pissed off the entire insect community. Well… tonight they got their payback..

The last few days I have become gourmet cuisine for mosquito’s. Other people’s blood tastes like Lambrini. Mine tastes like Moet. I can’t help the fact that my blood is delicious. It’s just one of those things..

So the insect community started off their payback by sending an army of mozzies on a Buck-Suckin quest. But the Buck is prepared. I have insect repellant, & better yet I have tiger balm. Tiger balm is an ointment made from camphor oil & er, some other stuff. It soothes insect bites. It also helps heal cuts. Oh, & it sorts out muscular aches. In fact there is nothing that tiger balm can’t cure. I haven’t tried amputating a leg and smearing tiger balm on the stump to make it grow back, but I’m willing to bet it would work. If someone else wants to try this then I’ll happily supply a free jar of tiger balm & a congratulatory pack of Rolo’s.

Phase 2 in the (slightly belated) insect retaliation for my consumption of their locust brother took place earlier this evening. I was walking home to the english school from dinner at a friends place. I walk past Mike’s house. Mike, as you may recall, introduced me to the locust back in August. Mike is standing on his porch with a mop outstretched in front of him. He calls me over. Over I go.

“What’s with the mop dude?”

I ask. He points at an overturned bin a few feet away.

“Check out the size of this fucker!”

He replies, as he flips the bin with the mop. A spider the size of Wales leaps out. Mike sweeps at it with the mop and the spider is knocked into the air & out of sight.

I continue my walk home. Upon arrival I chat to some of my fellow trainees for a while, & then I head upstairs to my room. As I’m opening my door I spot a cockroach the size of Cardiff sitting on it. Before I can spin him a spiel about having a headache and not wanting to share my bed tonight, the fucker is in. Ok. No biggie. I’ll just turf him out. Or kill him. It’s neither here nor there. He seems remarkably keen on hanging out however. & then I lose sight of him. I search high & low. I use a hanger to poke behind the cupboard and under the bed. I’m searching for maybe 20 minutes. But I can’t find him. Ok. He must have crawled under the door or through the air vent or something. And even if he is still in the room, I’m the size of Africa. Africa Vs Cardiff. Africa’s got to be the favourite. And Africa’s keeping that hanger close to hand just in case…

I turnn out the light and try & get some sleep. The howling dogs outside aren’t aiding my effort, but I start to drift off regardless. “Hmmmmm“. A low pitched hum awakens me. Where is it coming from? Am I the source of this low pitched hum? Is my bum making a hum? Or my tum? I turn on the lights. You’ll never believe who’s standing next to me. “Where have you been hiding Trevor?” I ask the cockroach as I shoo him out the door with my trusted hanger. I dont want him sneaking back in underneath. So I use some dirty shirts to plug the gap. And that’s when I notice another soldier in the insect revenge squad. Except strictly speaking he was an arachnid. Not as big as Mike’s Welsh visitor. But Brighton sized to be sure. This time I’ve had enough. The hanger gets used in a less benign manner…

So I’d like to take this opportuity to publicly apologise to the locust I ate on August 10th, and to any surviving family members he might have. I have offended against you & your community & I will endeavour in future to eat things of a sufficient size & temperament to ensure I receieve no more nocturnal score-settlers.

“Mos Eisley spaceport: You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.” – Obi Wan Kenobi – Star Wars.

I’m reading a book at the moment called Cocaine Nights, by a British author called J.G Ballard. He’s the dude who wrote the books Empire of the Sun & Crash, both of which were later made into films. (The latter quite controversially – it’s about people who get their jollies by shagging car crash corpses). The narrator opens the book by describing how much he likes border towns. The feeling is mutual.

I’m in Nong Khai – the Thai town just across the Mekhong river from the Laos capital Vientiane. I wasn’t supposed to be here. It wasn’t part of my plan…

I woke up this morning in my Bangkok hotel room, & packed my bag. I had breakfast with my friend John, and then headed off alone to the airport. A few hours later I arrived in Udon Thani in the northeast of Thailand. A minibus then brought me to Nong Khai bus station from where I intended to catch a bus headed west alongside the Mekhong to the chilled-out town of Sang Khom. It was all so easy in my head. So damn simple.

“Bus to Sang Khom?” I asked hopefully to anyone who looked remotely official.
“Tomorrow” replied anyone who looked remotely unofficial.

There being no timetable for me to check, I took them at their word & got a cool looking tuk-tuk to a local hotel. I figured it might be worth asking the dude in the lobby if he knew anything about buses. Turns out he knew loads. Better yet, he knew it all in english. He told me that whilst it were true that there were no more buses to Sang Khom today, there were plenty of buses to Loei which went through Sang Khom.

“Ahhhhhhh”

So back I get on another cool looking tuk-tuk to the bus station.

“Bus to Loei?”
“Tomorrow”

So back I get on another cool looking tuk-tuk to the hotel.

I check in. I realise I haven’t eaten in hours. Guidebook recommends a Vietnamese restaurant where you roll your own spring rolls. Cool. Shame the guidebook is 2 years out of date. Never mind. I see a sign that says Good Food. I know that no-one would lie about a thing like that. So in I go. I’m shown to a seat overlooking the Mekhong. Laos is a stones throw anyway. (You’d have to have a pretty powerful arm to actually hit it though). I order fish. They bring it to me in a dish shaped like a fish. I really dig that. Next time I want my steak in a dish shaped like a cow. A few K’s up the river is a bridge that links Thailand & Laos. It’s called the freindship bridge. You might assume that a bridge called the friendship bridge that links 2 countries in the spirit of friendship would be called the Thai-Laos friendship bridge. You’d be wrong. It’s called the Thai-Australian friendship bridge. The Aussies stumped up a lot of the cash for it apparently.

So. Border towns. The grey zones between X & Y. The places where anything goes. & I’m here unexpectedly. I could catch up on some sleep or watch HBO on the telly. But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to find me a bit of action. I could smuggle some heroin across into Laos. I could pick a fight with some ladyboys. But these options sound a little tame. I feel like I have to do something bigger & bolder. & I happen to know just the thing. I’m gonna find me a karaoke bar!

Let me just take a moment to explain about karaoke in Thailand. It’s absolutely huge. Thai people adore karaoke. Every town has several karaoke bars. Music shops have whole sections selling karaoke CD’s. I spent half an hour yesterday in a karaoke “booth” in a mall in Bangkok with my old mate Freddie. These are soundproofed, transparent rooms with some seriously powerful speakers where you belt your little cotton socks off. We were jumping around, falling to our knees, swinging the mikes & generally acting like plonkers. The Thai people in the other booths were taking it really seriously!

Its time to go. I can smell the insanity of this place from here. I need to hit those streets..

So I was on another night train. Coming back up from Surat Thani to Bangkok after a week or so on the island of Ko Phangan. I was with two friends – John & Shirley, & a dude called Ken who’d we’d met at the bus station a few hours previously. We’d been smart this time. We’d booked far enough in advance to actually get seats together. Result. Once again it was not my intention to go to the disco/bar carriage. But once again fate intervened. And that’s saying something since I dont even believe in fate. This time fate sent along the nice man whose job it is to transform the seats into bunks. He’s very good at his job. I didn’t have a stopwatch handy but he can turn a seat into a bunk (pillowcase, curtains & all) faster than I can fart. Trouble is, he’d decided to do the whole seat-into-bunk manouevere at 7.45. Which is kinda early for bed. So off we trooped to the disco/bar so that we could carry on talking without having to swing upside down from our bunks like monkeys in order to do so.

We were greeted to the bar carriage by a waitress who wouldn’t have looked out of place on the field at Twickenham. And what a friendly lass she turned out to be. She leant over us & pointed aggressively at the menu. Once we had ordered she brought Ken the wrong meal & then insisted that he should eat it anyway. She kept trying to fill John’s glass with beer even though he doesn’t drink & didn’t want any & had told her this. She tried to stop Shirley from drinking the whiskey which she had purchased from the vendor in our carriage before circumstances had forced us to move. She threatened to tell the police on the next table that we were breaking some unkown rule. And throughout it all she kept reminding us that we should be happy (i.e. buy more booze).

Some people might have got pissed off with this. They may have even walked out of the carriage in disgust. Not us. We had a better plan. It’s silly & juvenile but its a hell of a lot of fun. Here’s how it goes:

Whenever this utter bitch of a waitress would come over to hassle us, we’d tell her just what we thought of her. Some choice comments included:

“You do shag horses don’t you?”
“You are such a nasty cow”
“Why dont you bugger off swiftly you damnable piece of crap”

And we’d say it with a smile. As long as you dont use well-known words such as fuck, shit or bitch there’s no problem.

Now behind this rather pathetic game there is a somewhat serious issue. It’s a sad fact of life that some people are twats. Obviously we all have the propensity to be twats from time to time, but some people are twats 24/7. Another fact of life is that some people work on trains. I have noticed that some people who work on trains are twats. Not all by any means, but some. Let me give you an example. A few years ago I was on a train in Belgium with some friends. It must have rush hour or something coz this train was packed. So packed that we were stuck in the bicycle/luggage compartment – standing, without a whole shedoodle of wiggle room. After getting smacked in the head by some dudes bag for the 43rd time, I decided to maybe have a little peek in the next carriage. the 1st class carriage. It was empty. So two of my friends & I sat down in it. We’d been there oooh about 30 seconds when up pop two guards.

“You cannot sit here, this is for 1st class passengers only.”
“There are no 1st class passengers!”
“You cannot sit here”
“The other carriage is full. There’s no where else to go.”
“You cannot sit here.”

And on it went. Eventually of course we had to move. So back to my point. People who work on trains can be twats. It’s a small pond & they’re a big fish in it, & crucially – there’s no where else you can go.. Now in England, or even in Belgium where they speak pretty good english, if some power-hungry bureaucratic fuck is gonna start being a twat then you can bet I’m going to argue the toss with them. No question. People like that prosper because not enough people stand up & say “Hang on. Why are you treating me like a number when I’m actually a human being?” Unfortunately though, this waitress was being a bitch in Thailand. and my Thai isn’t up to much. So we had to settle to being juvenile & calling her an “elliebird smelling hippo” and other such pleasantries. It’s not big & it’s not clever but it sure did make me feel better.

It all started on Monday – the day I arrived here on Ko Phangan. We had gone to a bar near our bungelows to celebrate the birthday of a dude called Paul. A wonderful time was being had by all & much beer was being consumed in an atmosphere of joy and happiness. & then it started to rain. Nobody was surprised. Nobody was shocked. This is after all, the rainy season. Somebody was a plonker, though. This moron decides to run the 10 feet of outside pathway to get to the loo, which is undercover. Said moron forgets that the floor of said loo is made of smooth marble. Said moron falls arse over tit and takes the full weight of his body on his right elbow. Said moron slopes off home in the rain & pain – slightly insane coz he couldn’t get a train.

I didn’t know it was possible for a smooth surface to make such a deep hole. and jeez did it hurt. But my week of pain didn’t end there. Oh no. On Tuesday the canoeing episode (see entry below this one) took place, & I suffered several pulled muscles. Thursday I got a massage – my 1st – which helped ease Tuesday’s pain, but not much of Mondays.

Which brings me to yesterday. We had moved to the other side of the island, to stay with a friend who has some bungelows here. We all agreed that a quiet night was in order so we sat in his neighbours living room & watched a dvd. Near the beginning of the film a really cute & fluffy dog came & sat nearby. I went to the bar or the toilet a couple of times whilst the dvd was playing & each time I would stroke the dog. This is because I love dogs. I have always wanted a dog. It has always been a dream to have a dog in a house in the countryside. Not a little rat-dog either. A normal sized fluffy dog that doesn’t need to get a pedicure or a little tartan coat or any of those other ridiculously indulgent things that people with more money than sense spend on their pets. There is actually a shop where I used to live in brighton called Doggy fashion where they shampooed & blowdried your dog for you. I mean come on!

Anyway the film finished & I headed for the bar again. As I went I touched the dog on his back & he turned round & bit me. & I mean he really sunk his teeth in. I was so shocked. This is supposed to a man’s best friend. More importantly, he’s supposed to be my best friend! I washed the cut (just a scratch really) and went to lie on my hammock. I began to have doubts about whether I’ll ever get a dog. What if this is an omen? Now I’ve heard it said many times that people are either dog people or cat people. I’ve always considered myself a dog person, but over the last few weeks I’ve become quite attached to Squitto the cat from the english school i lived at (& will return to in 10 days) in Ban Phe. My faith in canines was low. I went to bed.

I got up this morning when the dogs owner came by to my bungelow to apologise. I told her there was no problem, & she assured me that the dog had been vaccinated againt rabies (Et, the friend we’re staying with, told me the same last night). And then a few hours later i met Et’s dog Golden. & just like that my faith in dogs is restored. Golden really lives up to his name. So now i’m thinking maybe I can be a dog person & a cat person. The 2 dont have to be mutually exclusive. something to ponder anyhow…

& so tomorrow I leave Ko Phangan on the night train back to Bangkok. Its strange but all the “injuries” I’ve suffered have not diminished my holiday here one iota. if anything they’ve made me appreciate being in such a beautiful place more.

Take care of yourselves, dont run barefoot on smooth surfaces in the rain, & always, always let sleeping dogs lie..

Yesterday afternoon some of my mates & I decided to take a break from bathing in the clear blue sea, swinging lazily on hammocks & eating delicious barbecued seafood on the beach. We wanted a bit of action. A bit of physical exertion. Well we certainly got it.

We hired some canoes and set off for the next beach along from ours – around a small rocky headland. Just to give you a sense of perspective this should be a trip that takes about 20 minutes each way, although clearly winds, currents & the threat of giant octopi thrashing at ones boat might alter this slightly. The canoes we were rowing were pretty standard 2 person ones. Thing was, there were 7 of us. So one canoe had to take 3 people. Fine. No problems.

So we head off, make great progress & get to the other beach in about 20 minutes. We “park” our canoes on the sand, & go get some food at what is reputed to be one of the best restaurants on Ko Phangan. It was pretty damn good. We ate, paid, returned to our canoes, hung out on the beach for maybe half an hour, and then prepared for disembarkation back to our beach. On the outward trip I had been shipmates with a girl called Shirley. She decided that she quite fancied swimming part of the return leg. So we got the “extra” person, Caroline, on our boat so that Shirley could jump off & the 2 of us could take the canoe back to its home.

Things started looking dodgy from the off. As I tried to get on the canoe to depart, it flipped. Ok. We were in waist high water so no tragedy. We managed to all board the boat again and set off. We proceeded to the headland. And this is where the trouble really started. 3 people in a 2 person boat means that the boat sits lower in the water. The smallest nudge to one side makes people overcompensate & try to swing to the other side. So the boat rocks from side to side & invariably the canoe is going to capsize. Which of course it did. We manage to flip it back & attempt to reboard the canoe. I think you can probably guess what happened next. Yep, it flipped again. By now I’m really wishing that I was wearing a lifejacket. Hell of a reassurance those babies are. So this is the 4th time we’ve boarded the boat & we manage somehow to stay in it.

New problem emerges. Big waves. Because you can’t be side-on to a wave, we actually needed to row into it, thus heading out to sea. By now I’ve pulled fuck knows how many muscles and am not a happy bunny. Getting back on a boat in choppy water takes a fait bit of energy. Energy I’d have really preferred to conserve for the rest of the arduous rowing we faced ahead. Shirley then decides to go ahead with her planned swim & jumps off the boat. Me & Caroline push on for our home beach. I dont know how long that row took, but it felt like forever. distance is a hard thing to visually calculate in the water. I really didn’t fancy falling in again either. I’m not sure how many times I’d have had the strength to re-board & re-board & re-board. Added to the sheer physical exhaustion, we were also quite worried about Shirley. Remember that thing about distance calculation. Not limited to people in boats. Swimmers understimate how long a swim is going to take too.

After an eternity, we started nearing the shore. & in true poetic style the tune blaring out from a bar we were close to was I’m Gonna Get Thru This by Daniel Bedingfield. How apt. We reached the sand. I fell out of the boat & crawled the last few feet. and this is where I had my Kevin Costner moment. Anybody who’s seen the film Robin Hood: Prince of thieves will remember an incredibly corny moment near the beginning where our Kev, playing our Robin, falls to his knees and scrunches up a bit of sand in his hand. & this is what I did. Dry land (actually wet sand but lets not get hung up on the details) never felt so good. My face must have been an absolute picture because my mates on the other canoes who had arrived ages before us were doing their best not to crack up.

We got the boats back to their owner & a couple of the girls walked down the beach to meet Shirley when she got in. I was quite worried for her. Knowing how hard it had been for us, I imagined she must have had it pretty tough too. After another seeming age, she turned up. Exhausted. Relief doesn’t quite encapsulate what I felt right then. Next move was to the supermarket to buy myself a nice big bottle of scotch, and to the bar to get a bucket of ice and a glass.

Of course everybody else found the whole story pretty funny, which I guess it was. But then, all stories that end well have a humorous side. It’s the other kind that dont always lend themselves to mirth.

So. My advice to you. And to myself. Dont put 3 people in a 2 person boat. Wear a life jacket for peace of mind. And dont drink too much scotch on rocks or you’ll wake up with a headache…