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The Brokenman Is Finally Repaired : Chapter 1”Whither Must I Monger”

  • Written by Phet
  • June 3rd, 2008
  • 32 min read


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.

Thai Dating, Singles and Personals

Stickman's thoughts:

A very nicely penned report and well up to the usual high Phet standard!