The Brokenman Is Finally Repaired : Chapter 1”Whither Must I Monger”
My latest Siamese sojourn began as usual at the Balkan enclave known as Heathrow airport. It is difficult to appreciate that this absolute dog’s breakfast of an airport is the principal portal to a major city like London. Terminal three does however have its redeeming features in that it accommodates a number of Asian airlines so there is no shortage of Asian beauties to view whilst waiting.
Having checked my bag in early I had time to hang around the Thai Airways check in area ogling the Thai staff and other lovelies checking in. After 20 minutes of blissful gawping I realised this innocuous voyeurism could be construed as crime in the politically correct environment of today’s UK. I believe there is an offence still on the statute books which relates to this leering at young ladies in a lascivious manner called scopophilia which probably carries a six month sentence without the option of a fine. This arcane law is similar to that of garbooning which relates to the “sniffing of young ladies bicycle seats in warm weather” which I must confess I have not indulged in (well not lately).
Conscious that my harmless activity could draw the attention of the constabulary, I moved on and took a look at the Korean and Jap airlines desk instead. There was also an Indian airline but it held little interest, I can see quite enough Indians in West Bromwich.
On boarding the plane I hear my name and feel a tap on my shoulder with the instruction, sir would you follow me please? I feared the worst; my first thought being maybe the vibrators in my suitcase had been activated. I had visions of my luggage shuffling its way onto the baggage conveyors completely unaided. In fact I was receiving that most coveted of prizes for the seasoned traveller, an upgrade to business class! In the next seat was a delightful Thai lady of my own age. With an amiable companion, a comfortable seat and wonderful service the 11 hour flight passed quickly in relaxing comfort.
I arrived relatively rested and refreshed. In less than 90 minutes from landing I am through the wonderful Suvarnabhumi airport and checking into the Mothership. The now well practised procedure of pitching my bag, showering and changing into an appropriate drinking shirt is executed with characteristic efficiency. Within 15 minutes I am in the Nana’s Golden bar where the usual suspects Frugal Phil and Union Hill are waiting to force a cold beer upon me. Also there are three other luminaries of the Stickman/Schoochers fraternity Foster, Fanta and Sick Water Buffalo. I also received an unexpected but pleasing call from Jodi (is a Thai girl) on Foster's phone, welcoming me to Bangkok.
Following completion of the welcoming pleasantries and obligatory piss takes after putting ourselves outside a couple of beers the party repaired to Soi Cowboy.
Although Foster is highly respected as a writer and an erstwhile pillar of the community, since I first met him last year I am always reminded of the prankster we all knew at school. He is the one who always had a length of string, a stink bomb and a
catapult in his pocket, the one who would put a frog in the teacher’s desk. With his cheeky grin and a wicked glint in his eye I picture him in short school trousers permanently planning a bit of gentle mischief.
Sick Water Buffalo is the very epitome of a respectable gentleman; you could easily picture him as the serious and sober chief accountant at an international bank. However the last memory of our previous meeting was of him in the Mandarin bouncing a delightful
little poppet on his knee allegedly testing the furniture.
Fanta is a phenomenon; on the one hand he has an almost maniacal exuberance and sense of fun whilst on the other an overwhelming intellect that must be the 8th wonder of the world. I am puzzled how a bloke can fit so much brain into just one head. One
minute we were sitting having a cigarette outside the Tilac discussing Aristotelian logic and the construction of syllogisms, next minute we were against the rail at Sheba’s counting the hairs on a dancer’s mudgeon.
I end up in Suzy Wong’s and see the legendary writer Dean Barrett sitting in pole position. I introduce myself to him and tell him what a great admirer of his work I am, to which he gave a huge smile and his customary riposte “well I still ain’t buying you a drink”.
By this time Union Hill is comfortably ensconced with a delightful little stunner with unfeasibly long legs and is clearly contemplating stepping up a gear in his constant quest for hedonistic gratification. He suggests we repair to Soi 33 in the company
of his long legged companion and her friend. He pointed out her friend who was on stage directly in front of him to my right. There was no denying she was a magnificent specimen of Thai womanhood with a well toned body
even the ubiquitous tattoos did not detract from her splendid appearance. Towering above me on the stage she took on Amazonian proportions and scared the shit out of me.
This is a dreadful confession for a hardened monger with 8 campaigns behind him to make, but I experienced a moment of sheer panic and terror. I can not explain my uncharacteristic and irrational reaction but it was as if my whole self confidence drained
away from me.
Whether it was because it had been some months since I had a woman or it was my first night in a go-go for some time or I was still pissing Birmingham water I do not know but I was intimidated by the
sheer sexual aura of raw sensuality she radiated. I completely lost my “bottle”.
I joked “she is man's work and I am but a boy” but Union Hill is a very perceptive fellow and as a pal he recognised my anxiety and thankfully covered my discomfiture with a witty
remark. I tendered my apologies and returned to the Mothership to regroup my thoughts with a good nights sleep.
I wake refreshed the next morning too late for the Nana breakfast so take a late repast in the Bus Stop. I reflect on the previous evening and conclude what I needed to get back into the saddle was to take a comfortable day time girl from the Golden bar to restore my equilibrium. I have habitually taken girls from there, they are a little older, experienced and understand men of a certain age.
They are usually happy to spend all afternoon with you giving you a condensed “readers digest” version of the Thai girl friend experience at least until their shift ends at 7.00pm.
There are not too many girls working there that morning but I was pleased to see Jay, a pleasant little minx in her mid 30s. She was on my list of things to do last visit but having a full dance card never got around to it. Intending to rectify this omission,
I barfined her and took her to my room with indecent haste. Stripped down she had a soft fleshy body built for comfort. Now relaxed I took my time and found her surprisingly responsive. She had 4
wobblyjisms before I even put it in (which is just as well because she didn’t once I did put it in). When later I questioned her about her unusually ardent response she informed she
had not had sex for 4 weeks. This encounter restored my mojo and put me back on track, the only disappointment was once she had her pleasuring she couldn’t wait to go.
I meet up with Phil in Booza bar in Soi7/1, also there is Brian a retired bank manager I invariably bump into on my visits. He had hardly said hello before he starts his customary tirade of abuse to me about football. But being a dingle (Wolverhampton Wanderers fan) what he knows about football and 40 baht wouldn’t get him a decent haircut. By explanation a recent academic report on football supporter’s rivalry
claimed the deepest antagonism between fans in British football is that between West Bromwich and Wolverhampton Wanderers; it far exceeds the traditional perceived local hostility between say
Arsenal and Tottenham or Man United and Man City or even Liverpool and Everton. The enmity permeates all aspects of life in the Blackcountry where both clubs are located. It is irrational but
nevertheless real against which even the tribal hatreds of Rangers and Celtic pales into insignificance.
We escape, not before it gets heated but before it comes to blows and repair to Soi Cowboy. I am hungry so Phil introduces me to the fish and chip shop just around the corner from the Old Dutch. It was very authentic like traditional British fish and
chip shops of 30 years ago. The fare was tasty and good value, I would certainly recommend it.
We start off in the Tilac bar until the end of happy hour then shift to Rawhide. Rawhide is a favourite of Phil’s which earns him quite a bit of teasing from some of his pals who claim the place has a peculiar smell. I have never noticed it but
I have worked in smelly Foundries all my life so my olfactory acuity leaves much to be desired.
I like the Rawhide, there are some lovely girls there and the shows are quite diverting. I am now back to full match fitness so I barfine a delightful little poppet who claims to be 23. She was a toothsome little morsel who, as we say in the Blackcountry
“
wor tew pennorth a coppers” (meaning she was exceedingly petite). When I stripped her down back at the Mothership she quickly entered into the proceedings with a rare
gusto. She had a lovely little body with a djim like a puckered pinprick.
Needless to say she looked wonderful in a West Bromwich Albion shirt (small youth size).
She takes a late breakfast with me in the excellent Bully’s before departing to do whatever it is these girls do in the daytime. I get my haircut
by a delightful little poppet in a saloon on Nana Tai. She told me my friend Brian had been in earlier but she notified me that she had refused to cut his hair on account
of him being a dingle, he clearly didn’t know enough about football to get his haircut.
I later meet up with Phil in the Booza bar. That evening we were meeting another stickman stalwart Bangkok Bob. He arrives on time and takes me to an Australian establishment near Soi Cowboy for dinner whilst Phil departs on some errand to the salacious
Soi itself. Bangkok Bob is a personable chap who having worked as a sports commentator for some of the leading British newspapers had a fund of entertaining anecdotes
to impart. The bar had a pleasant ambiance, the food was good and in Bangkok Bob’s agreeable company a couple of hours quickly passed before it was time for him
to make an assignation at the new Coyote bar in Nana Plaza and for me to take my position next to Phil in the Tilac bar.
The new Tilac is very impressive; the makeover has certainly got my vote of approval. With a large and diverse array of girls on display there is something for everyone in this bar. There are a couple of real crackers there as well as some interesting
older girls. I recognised one exotic creature who was once a mamasan in one of the upstairs bars at the Nana Plaza. She is a magnificent specimen and I was tempted
to barfine her. However when Phil departs for his beauty sleep, I decide to take a look at the Nana plaza.
I find myself in the Mandarin which has always been one of my favourite haunts. However there is an uncomfortable dichotomy to the place. The upstairs stage accommodates some quite young looking girls, certainly too young for my taste. I get the thought
that if anyone ever wanted to arrange a Gary Glitter tribute evening, upstairs would be the place to host it.
The downstairs stage is far more to my taste with some wonderfully sensual exotic older girls; I find a good vantage point and settle myself in. I notice one of the mamasans is an ex dek serve from a couple of years ago. I also notice an absolutely gorgeous
little Issan bunny sitting by the stage. She is only about 5’ tall and a little on the chubby side but she has a face of such divine beauty that Michelangelo
would have had the paint stripper on the Sistine chapel to start all over again if he had seen her.
It is often said (mainly by Thai men) that the farang are left with the dregs of Thai womanhood, the poor girls of the Issan to whom Asian men would not give a second look. There may be an element of truth in this, but every so often you see the Issan
gene pool of poverty and hardship throw up a veritable goddess of such sensual splendour that the insipid and inbred Chinese Thai hi-so bloodlines could
never hope to emulate. I bob my tongue out at her and flash a grin; she returns a smile that would have illuminated the bar if the power failed. This prompted
the Neanderthal sitting with her to put a protective arm around her and cast me a threatening glance.
My attention is diverted by a pair of wonderful breasts appearing before my eyes which I instantly recognise as the augmented maiden from my last visit. As my regular reader will recall I had wandered into the Mandarin in the company of Dave the Rave
(of Angelwitch fame). When he saw these magnificent man made mammarys he stood speechless, probably for the first time in his life and I thought I
had gone deaf.
On that occasion she informed me that she had already been barfined by a Japanese guy who instructed her he would be back later to collect her. As it was then almost 01.00 she assumed he was not going to show and was willing to come back to my room with me. At the time I was quite taken at the prospect of taking a girl on a bar fine paid by a son of Yippon. Maybe it was a subconscious revenge for the fall of Singapore and the unpleasantness with the Bridge over the river Kwai. However at 01.05, with a lack of consideration typical of the Japanese, the thoughtless sod returned to collect his prize dashing my plans.
With no Jap in sight this time I barfined her with somewhat indecent haste.
Back at the Mothership she did not disappoint. Stripped down to nothing (other than the ubiquitous Albion shirt) she looked wonderful. There was no mistaking her breasts were exceptional but I discovered they were not actually her best feature, she possessed
a djim as tight as a freemasons handshake and she entered into the proceedings with an unexpected fervour. I was just getting into my stride approaching the vinegar strokes (known in France as les coupes vinaigrette) when just my luck I get those abdominal cramps that double you up in intense pain.
Prendre mon abdomen a la agonie aigu, jai fait rouler pas de femme et sur la chamber, mais fait attention mon erection de penis debander.
I wonder is this enough Francais to get this sub into the French submissions section also? Well no, probably not.
My augmented Angel leaves around 7.00 the next morning but rather than get up I decide on a Lazy day. That evening finds me once again in Soi Cowboy. I start in Sam’s for a light repast and watch the Portsmouth Tottenham game. I flirt harmlessly
with the young girls there before crossing over to the Long Gun. I am joined by an impressive looking creature with a splendid
body and an exceptionally beautiful face. It is a little early for action so I chat with her and suggest she approach “After
Dark “magazine about including some photos of her in a future issue. After a couple of drinks she gets bored with me
so I make my way to the Tilac.
I take my beer in the duckboard area outside the Tilac so I could smoke a cigarette (I can not use the English phrase smoke a fag as it is too easily misconstrued) and catch the tail end of the Everton West Ham game. On the adjacent table I spot two enchanting little minx that command my immediate unwavering attention. They are both dressed in “civvies” which suggests they have either been barfined or they have a night off from the bar. I begin chatting with them and they confirm the latter. The one girl was cute and friendly and reminded me of Amanda Holden an ageing English starlet often seen on British TV. She informs me she worked in the Tilac bar but had the evening off to be with her friend who also had the night off from Playskool in Nana plaza. They were collecting her mother from Ekkami bus station to stay the week with them. The friend was even more bewitching, if you could imagine an Asian Kate Beckinsale you will fully appreciate my interest. I bought them a drink and turned on the charm to which they responded even though they were ostensibly off duty. They were both lovely and as bright as buttons and because they were not under the usual pressures of bar duty they quickly relaxed. They provided an entertaining conversation one only rarely gets with girls in the bars.
A further couple of drinks and things were proceeding quite nicely; I could envisage a Siamese waltz on the
horizon, when unfortunately I meet my “man of Porlock”.
Completely uninvited a young guy in his early 30s stands in front of me and addresses me with,
“Don’t you think it is despicable the way we come here from the rich west and exploit these people?”
Now unfortunately it seems inevitable that sometime during a visit to LOS I am going to encounter the prize wanker whose only purpose in life is to cause me grief, usually some arsehole with his knuckles scraping on the floor. It is somewhat expected
when in Pattaya as it goes with the territory. The city of sin attracts the detritus from all over the
world. Sadly some of the very worst specimens are my fellow countrymen I am ashamed to say. Fortunately
I rarely encounter these problems in Bangkok. Tonight appeared to be one of those exceptions.
I ignored him but he continued to harangue me.
“It is the worst form of capitalism using our wealth to take sexual advantage of these girls”
I could not believe this Pratt was for real so in an attempt to deflect his rant I enquired “where are you from?”
when he replied he was from Bradford I was shocked as most of the Yorkshire men I have ever
met have been sensible down to earth pragmatic blokes. If the Yorkshire men I know had heard
him they would have tarred and feathered him on the spot.
Ironically a young Thai urchin chose that moment to ask to shine my shoes prompting a further tirade
“And getting them to polish your shoes is little better than slavery”.
He was beginning to annoy me by now and I could see my two little sweethearts were getting uncomfortable, so I told him
“You can not be from Bradford you talk like a split arse or a soft southern Jessie”
This failed to deflect him and his nonsense continued
“We all ought to be ashamed of ourselves for what we do with these poor girls”.
I stood up and looked him in the eye; although taller than me he was quite scrawny and I quickly established he presented no physical threat. It was clear he was totally inebriated, as pissed as a drayman’s nag and this had prompted his diatribe
of drivel.
Using the diplomacy my management experience imparted I tell him,
“I am going inside for a pee and I really hope you have gone when I return”.
Four shakes later I return to find my inebriated irritant had departed but so had my two toothsome targets for the evening. I asked the dek serve girl where they had gone she informed me “they no like loud man talk you so they go”.
Just my luck, if they threw me in a pool full of women’s
tits I would come up sucking my thumb.
More disappointed than angry it was almost 0100 and too late to start the process again. I took a taxi back to the Mothership intending to go to bed but find I am still thirsty. I enter the Nana hotel cocktail bar a place I very rarely frequent once the
sun is over the yardarm as the dragons that inhabit
it terrify me. I settle myself on a stool at the
bar and order a drink. I start to watch the football
on the TV but it fails to engage my interest and
I find my attention drawn to a lady sitting alone
at the table nearest to me.
She was probably in her mid 40s but had retained her figure, her hair was in good condition and her face was very attractive. Her clothes were well cut and appeared expensive, all in all she looked cultured and refined and completely out of place in the
Nana cocktail bar. Now I am probably one of
the most Inquisitive blokes the good lord put
skin on and the incongruity of this classy
lady and the sordid setting fascinated me.
My curiosity finally got the better of me so I joined her and offered her a drink. I complimented her on her chic and elegant appearance (realising I may have inadvertently put the price up). I just could not resist remarking how out of place she appeared
in these surroundings and she must have
an interesting story to tell. She smiled
but remained unforthcoming claiming she
was just an ordinary freelancer who needed
the money. I remained unconvinced, her
English was quite cultivated and she had
an air of quiet sophistication. I persisted
asking what specifically she needed the
money for. She conceded that she needed
to pay her rent. My enquiry “how much?” was met with the inevitable leu te khun (up to you) so I proffered 1500 baht. “I was expecting more than that” she exclaimed to which I replied “I could not possibly pay more than 1500 baht to a woman from the Nana cocktail bar (I would have my mongers licence revoked) “unless” I continued “she had an interesting story to tell.”
Resigned to the pressure of my inquisitive prying she sighed and with a smile explained she had a small business preparing food for the street vendors. A family member had been ill and she had to care for her. She had neglected her customers who found
new suppliers. The consequence was
she now had no income and her rent
owed.
“You’ve pulled fetch your coat” I said and escorted her the short
distance to my room.
I must confess when I take an older girl I am rarely disappointed which is not always the case with many younger girls. Tonight was no exception. Although past the first flush of youth this lady still had a good body. There was a hint of nervousness and
shyness that was quite endearing.
She entered into the spirit
of things with a grateful eagerness
hardly ever encountered with
young princesses. Her physical
response was unfeigned she
was as moist as a mermaids face flannel and her djim surprisingly tight.
When I introduced her to Mr
Tongue her excitement was genuine
and vocal. After her third
climax she turned over onto
her knees and arched her back
presenting her shapely arse
up in the air for me. This
was a new experience for me.
For some inexplicable reason
I recall an old limerick, the
last three lines being:
Her upended condition, invited coition, so he nipped up behind her and ad 'er!
In the glow of our post coital languor she explained that she had not had sex for over a year. She also confessed she had been married to an English chap for eight years and had lived in London with him for a time. They had divorced about three years
ago and she had returned
to Thailand.
Unprompted she disclosed that she now regretted the circumstances that initiated her divorce. She had listened too much to the other Thai brides in their community and they had told her now she was in England she could act like British women and do what
she liked. She
admitted she acted
like a bitch to
her husband until
he tired of her
and sent her back
to Thailand. She
acknowledged that
in the years since
returning she had
seen a decline
in her fortunes
and wished she
had paid less heed
to the ill advice
of her fellow countrywomen.
This was the first time I had ever heard a Thai woman admit she was at fault over anything. Her remorse was real and I felt quite sorry for her. She stayed with me all night but refused my offer of breakfast and left around 0600.
I take a late breakfast at the Bus Stop to sit and have a chat with Katie a girl in her late 30s who works the dayshift. I have known her since I first came to Bangkok but have never barfined her. She is a little chatterbox who will happily sit and gossip
with me
as long
as I buy
her drinks.
She can
recall
all the
girls I
have ever
bought
into the
establishment
over the
years.
I consider
her a friend
although
I acknowledge
I am probably
fooling
myself.
I passed
a couple
of hours
recounting
my recent
exploits
to her
and listening
to her
tales about
bizarre
bargirl
behaviour
and the
perversity
of the
culture.
That evening I was expecting to be joined by my old pal Nat. She had phoned earlier informing me she was coming up from Chonburi and would be at the Nana by 8.00 pm. Those acquainted with my previous ramblings will know a central theme has been my association
with
Nat
who
was
my
first
TGF
back
in
2003.
Our
relationship
has
matured
and
developed
over
the
past
three
years;
we
have
become
true
friends
and
regularly
keep
in
touch.
She
manages
the
business
interests
of
a rich
English
guy
for
which
she
receives
a good
salary.
She
also
owns
a few
modest
business
ventures
in
her
own
right
and
lives
a very
comfortable
lifestyle.
Although
we
are
no
longer
intimate
we
are
good
friends
and
I always
spend
some
time
with
her
on
my
visits
to
the
Kingdom.
For some time she had entertained the delusion that her employer would leave his UK based wife for her. However on my last visit it was evident she was growing weary of the lonely existence she was leading and beginning to see her aspirations as little
more
than
wishful
thinking.
She
had
also
started
to
see
the
futility
of
keeping
herself
for
this
man
as
he
only
came
to
Thailand
twice
a
year
for
two
weeks
at
a
time
and
then
principally
to
collect
his
money.
She is no great beauty and is quite chubby by Thai standards but she is intelligent and enchanting and no woman has ever captivated me like her.
8 o’clock passes so I phone Nat who gives me a new ETA of 9.30. Knowing the Thai concept of time I figure this gives me a couple of hours drinking time before her arrival. So after putting myself outside a beer or two in Big Dogs, at 9.00 I observe
a
tradition
and
repair
to
the
Angels
disco
see
the
enchanting
dance
troupe
do
their
first
set.
I
have
always
loved
the
simple
routines
performed
by
these
charming
young
girls
who
so
obviously
enjoy
dancing.
I
consider
my
vacation
is
incomplete
if
I
do
not
see
them
at
least
once.
For the first time I was a little disappointed, the hypnotic syncopated Issan/Laos rhythms that previously accompanied their routines had been replaced by a brash techno beat. They had definitely lost something of their allure for me.
A 9.30 call to Nat confirmed my suspicion she had not yet started her journey so I told her to phone or text me when she arrived in the Nana lobby. I made my way to the Nana Plaza. Rainbow 1 never disappoints with a plethora of eye candy on display. Maintaining
my
brand
loyalty
a
visit
to
Rainbow
4
followed.
I
ended
up
in
Playskool
where
I
was
joined
by
an
adorable
little
minx
who
hailed
from
Ayutthaya.
She
was
pleasant
and
entertaining
and
had
I
not
had
a
prior
engagement
we
would
have
been
making
the
short
walk
to
the
Mothership
for
activities
of
a
carnal nature.
At about 11.45 a text appears on my mobile “I am wait in nana lobby if you not want me I go home”.
I
check
bin
and
make
my
way
to
meet
her.
Despite
her
contrary
inclinations
I
am
pleased
to
see
her;
she
is
dressed
with
an
elegant
chic
a
little
older
than
her
33
years.
I
frequently
tease
her
that
given
a
few
years
she
will
be
putting
her
hair
up
in
that
weird
big
hair
style
so
beloved
of
a
peculiar
species
of
middle
aged
Thai
women.
You
know
the
style
that
gives
them
a
bizarre
appearance
that
conveys
terror
to
most
farang
men.
Back
in
my
room
we
exchange
gifts
and
catch
up
on
our
respective
gossip.
Unfortunately
an
inconvenient
incidence
of
the
curse
precluded
anything
other
than
discussing
our
plans
and
ultimately
sleeping.
The
next
day
we
take
a
late
breakfast
at
the
Bus
stop
and
spend
the
rest
of
the
day
in
relaxed
indolence.
That evening Union Hill and his wife collect us and drive us to Tawandang cabaret restaurant on Ram Intra Road. it is a fascinating place with a huge stage and seating for well over 3000 diners. Reminiscent of the dinner clubs we used to see in England
20
years
ago
like
Night out in
Birmingham
or
the
Fiesta in
Sheffield.
You
could
see
top
class
entertainment
or
even
the Drifters and
eat
soup
in
a
basket,
but
sadly
they
are
no
more.
Our ladies are both daughters of the Issan so as soon as their bottoms touch the seats, food is being ordered in quantities appropriate to feed a battalion of light infantry. Meanwhile Union Hill is engaged in the more critical issue of our beer supply.
The
company
was
convivial,
the
food
excellent
and,
as
usual
I
talked
so
much
I
did
not
notice
the
entertainment
on
stage,
although
I
was
informed
it
was
very
good.
Union
Hill
and
I
drank
our
customary
British standard shedful whilst
the
ladies
ate
the
equivalent
of
their
own
weight.
On the way back we spot a large open air karaoke bar. I can only assume that Union Hill was still thirsty because on seeing it he immediately turned in. It was an impressive establishment and with a batch of toothsome young Thai maidens on stage murdering
some
Asian
classic
I
envisaged
an
entertaining
evening.
As
our
party
got
themselves
settled
in
a
prime
position
I
went
looking
for
the
song
book.
I
was
stopped
by
a
group
of
mean
looking
Thai
men
who
directed
us
away
from
the
stage
area
to
what
can
only
be
described
as
a
portacabin
or
trailer
at
the
edge
of
the
property.
This
cabin
was
about
12’
by
8’
and
housed
an
array
of
karaoke
equipment
and
a
small
screen.
With
six
comfortable
chairs
and
a
low
table
it
was
a
self
contained
karaoke
unit.
It
also
represented
a
quarantine
box
where
they
could
isolate
the
unwanted
farang
from
the
rest
of
the
clientele.
There
was
a
time
when
this
treatment
would
have
annoyed
me
but
now
I
am
inured
to
their
ignorant
xenophobia
and
adopt
a
resigned
pragmatism
to
it.
True to form the girls began ordering food as soon as their bottoms touched the seats and Khun Hill ordered the beer. Reconciled to the situation I found the song book and began selecting numbers to croon. Once I had done irretrievable damage to a couple
of
Beatles
classics
to
get
the
ball
rolling,
the
beer
had
begun
flowing
and
Union
Hill
tackled
the
repertoires
of
Frank
Sinatra,
Neil
Diamond
and
Elton
John.
He
made
a
wonderful
job
of
these
which
suggested
since
our
last
karaoke
encounter
he
had
been
practicing.
Practicing beforehand is a very dastardly thing to do, it’s just not British and the sort of thing best left to Johnny foreigner. We didn’t get three bronze medals in the Olympic Games or second place in the Eurovision song contest by training
or
preparation
and
I
told
him
so.
Union
Hill
merely
said
shut
up
and
drink
your
beer
you
silly
old
fool.
The
arrival
of
what
seemed
to
be
three
ton
of
Issan
comestibles
brought
the
girls
to
life
and
they
commandeer
the
mike
for
some
Thai
tearjerkers.
The
inevitable
rendition
of
a
Tom
Jones
medley
by
my
pal
from
the
valleys
was
contrasted
by
a
few
songs
from
the
musical
theatre
by
me
and
things
deteriorated
from
then.
When
I
started
belting
“Yellow
river”
we
all
knew
it
was
time
to
go.
The next morning Nat and I take a taxi to Wireless Rd for an errand I had to make at the British Embassy. It is a couple of hours before it opens so we take ourselves to a little café nearby. The remarkable thing about our relationship is we are
never
short
of
a
conversation.
One
of
Nat’s
best
assets
is
the
sweetest
most
melodious
voice
I
have
ever
heard.
To
listen
to
her
talk
about
even
the
most
mundane
subjects
is
a
delight.
The
time
passes
quickly,
before
we
know
it
the
Embassy
opens
and
I
am
in
and
out
in
next
to
no
time
task
completed.
That evening I had first hand experience of the volatility of Thai women and an insight into their weird sense of drama. Recognising it was going to be an hour or so whilst she performed the task of getting ready to go out for dinner I proposed I go to
the
nearby
internet
café
to
check
my
mail
and
leave
her
to
her
ablutions.
I
suggested
we
meet
in
the
hotel
lobby
about
7.00
pm.
Once outside the hotel I experienced an acute attack of thirst that was stronger than the curiosity about my emails so I stepped into the Golden bar for one beer. On seeing me one of the regular girls who knew me comes and joins me. She is actually Union
Hill’s
“blocker”
in
that
bar,
the
one
who
claims
possession
of
him
and
prevents
him
taking
any
other
girl
from
there.
Notwithstanding
she
is
an
interesting
lady
and
always
has
a
tale
to
tell
so
I
get
comfortable
and
one
beer
becomes
four.
I
look
at
my
watch
and
it
is
7.15
but
I
am
unconcerned
as
I
figure
it
will
be
another
20
minutes
before
Nat
even
thinks
about
meeting
me.
As
expected
she
is
not
in
the
lobby
so
I
continue
back
to
the
room.
I
knock
at
the
door
but
I
can
not
get
her
to
hear
me
and
after
five
minutes
call
her
mobile.
I am surprised to see her in the corridor walking towards me with a face like thunder. She launched into a tirade of abuse “I waited 30 minutes in the lobby then came outside and watched you for 20 minutes with that bargirl and you walked past me without seeing me”
I
opened
the
door
to
let
us
in
the
room
and
her
harangue
continued
along
the
theme
of
what
a
butterfly
I
was
accompanied
by
threats
of
feeding
my
willy to
the
ducks.
After
30
years
of
handling
the
unpredictable
and
violent
workforce
of
the
Foundry
industry
and
20
years
of
marriage
listening
to
the
rants
of
a
disappointed
western
woman
I
was
largely
unconcerned
but
prudent
enough
to
look
sufficiently
remorseful
and
penitent
as
she
berated
me.
Then
without
warning
she
smiled,
pushed
me
on
to
the
bed
and
practically
raped
me.
In the post coital hiatus whilst gasping for breath I enquired what that was all about. She laughed and said she knew my talking to the girl in the bar was innocent but she enjoyed a spirited argument because she loved the making up after. This confirmed
my
opinion
that
the
sense
of
high
drama
that
pervades
the
behaviour
of
Thai
girls
is
the
result
of
watching
far
too
many
soap
operas
on
TV.
The next day we take a taxi once more to the British Embassy. I am impressed with the professionalism of the staff at the Embassy I am dealt with politely and efficiently and receive the affirmation certificate
I
require
with
the
minimum
of
inconvenience.
I
exit
the
Embassy
and
Nat
is
waiting
with
the
staff
from
an
agency
she
has
previously
made
arrangements
with.
They
take
us
to
their
office
nearby
where
after
some
form
filling
we
are
conveyed
by
taxi
to
the
Amphur
for
the
Sathorn
district.
Following
completion
of
some
further
documentation
we
are
taken
into
a
small
ante
room
where
the
director
of
the
Amphur
performed
a
pleasant
little
ceremony
and
blessed
us
with
water
that
had
been
touched
by
the
King.
As I walk out of the building the enormity of what I have done hits me and I desperately need a cigarette. I am a married man again.
I will repeat this for the readers who are hard of hearing; I went and got myself married! The Brokenman is a married man, his mongering days are over. I still have a week of my vacation left, a honeymoon to attend and further meetings with friends (including
with
BKKSW
and
Jodi)
arranged.
Chapter 2 may well be worth my reader’s attention.
Stickman's thoughts:
A very nicely penned report and well up to the usual high Phet standard!
