Readers' Submissions

She’s Lucky, Yes, Her Husband Is Dead!

  • Written by Markin
  • August 24th, 2013
  • 10 min read




My name is Martin and my legal wife is Ant. We have been married for thirteen years. A success!

Let us not forget that Nanthana is dead – I know you've been trying to. (see previous submission) Mine is arguably the best legal Thai-Anglo marriage that I know of (perhaps it's the best in the world for all I know).

But then, as Einstein causally pointed out, all is relative.

Marry a Thai woman and relocate her to your homeland and you will quickly and somewhat surprisingly meet other Thai / Farang couples. These are those that I know of in London. They are real. Names changed? Maybe.

By the way, I do not lie or exaggerate. So:

1. Tig and David. David dead (heart attack while on the toilet).

2. Surnam and Rob. Rob dead (suicide).

3. Pym and Les. Les dead (heart attack while not on the toilet).

4. Poon and Patrick. Patrick, having relocated to Thailand, dead (stopped taking medications for various ailments).

5. Kim and unknown husband name. Husband dead (cause unknown).

6. Big Da and unknown husband name. Husband dead (cause unknown).

7. Dang and unknown husband name. Divorced.

8. Small Da and Manny. Divorced.

So, of my sample 66.66% of the males are dead (none woke up after three days), 22.22% of the couples are divorced and 11.11% are married (in only two of the cases was there a significant age difference between the partners).

We are the 11.11%. I am neither divorced nor am I dead (I view the later as a matter of no small importance – to me at the very least – all is relative).

Animal lovers fear not – in none of the cases of death was by tiger nor was feeding of the ducks involved.

Am I really saying that the statistics are representative? No. Really no!

Behind each of these names is of course an individual story. Margret Thatcher (may she be spinning in a particular ring of hell) said, “There is no such thing as society, there are only individuals.” She was of course wrong. Someone much more sensible (Luke Murphy) said, “There is no such thing as individuals, there are only societies.” He is of course correct. How else could we talk about Americans (meaning those from the USA) or the French (why we would want to talk about the French I don't know) or Germans (why we would want to talk about the Germans I don't know) or Kenyans (why we would want to talk about the Kenyans I don't know) or New Zealanders (why we would want to talk about the New Zealanders I don't know – baa), or the British or Thais? The list could go on – you get it (how many nations are there in the world? I'm sure I could find out – perhaps someone will let me know). And of course nation does not equate to society or culture. In Britain it would be foolish to think that being Irish is the same as being Welsh (baa). Nations are not homogeneous, they are fractured by cultures and position within that culture. But nonetheless we are all shaped by our over-riding cultures / societies. Individual differences exist (of course) but…. we are all shaped by our over-riding cultures / societies. (Read some of Emile Durkheim's stuff or anything in fact that is not underpinned by the mind boggling notion of the supremacy of Individuality).

Back to some of the individuals in the list :

Tig and David

David had been an engineer in Thailand – something to do with oil (or perhaps he was a cook). His partner in business was Bob. Tig was from Isaan but not, I assure you, beautiful or in any way attractive. They had met in Bangkok. My legal wife was, as I understand it, first a cleaner for Bob and then a third stringer for him; he had a wife in England and a mia noi in Thailand. Thus Ant was third string but did attend official receptions at the British Embassy in Bangkok and got to fly off to Hong Kong and Malaysia for business meetings. I fear this shaped her vision of what life in London with me would be like. Ho hum.

So this is how I came to meet David and Tig in Britain.

David was a millionaire – really! My legal wife and I visited his house twice. His detached house with a horseshoe shaped gravel drive overlooked the strangely named Leeds Castle (the castle is in Kent, a long way away from Leeds). He was a really nice person – generous to a fault. With no sign of big face, he asked if we would like to have the water-feature in the garden turned on. I said yes (I like water). A Victorian wheel was turned with appropriate squeaking. A plume erupted; water spurted from orifices of stone fish – enlivening the coy carp in the pond (small lake). Water-feature? Hmmmm.

Later Tig took my legal wife and I to her room. For no apparent reason she showed us a 'photo of a man from Iran – she was having an affair with him. Where did they meet you ask. At a meat packing factory where Tig went to work at 5 o'clock every morning. You go figure.

On the next visit – David's birthday – there were many Thai / farang couples. The women gravitated to the kitchen where they danced with their tattoos. The men stayed in the garden (grounds) and slagged-off their wives. We made our excuses and left – my legal wife did not understand why.

Tig was packing meat when David died on the toilet. He was discovered by the maid.

My legal wife often, often, often says, “Tig lucky.” I say, “Yes, her husband is dead.”


Poon and Patrick

Patrick had been a teacher (so was I before I retired, although my official title was lecturer – small status mercies). He was a short man from Eire. He had come to education late in life – previously having been a building worker. He suffered multiple ailments – heart, liver, bowel, prostate and osteoporosis. He was always cheerful and smiling. We met via small Da. Big Da runs a chanting group in London that small Da went to.

Patrick and I would often find ourselves in the same pub on Kilburn High Road – the old man's pub, actually called The Egg. Hey it's cheap.

Patrick was an interesting man certainly not boring or one themed. But he would invariably mention how much he looked forward to living with Poon in the house that he already owned in Isaan. He talked of his garden there. Poon was working at the B.B.C in London – catering (something in oil). Years went by – Poon would not leave her job. You go figure.

Patrick's health worsened (osteoporosis) – Poon relented. They moved to Isaan but did not give up the tenancy of their flat in London. They were in Thailand for 5 months till Patrick died. Poon says that Patrick stopped taking the various medicines he needed to stay alive. He must have really been enjoying life with Poon and his house and garden, don't you think?

On the day of Patrick's funeral, in Thailand, Poon ‘phoned me three times (before, during and after the funeral). The point of the calls was her gaining access to Patrick's teacher's pension (she will receive half his pension till the day she dies – or longer if her relatives don't inform the British authorities of her death – tell your children to tell their children and through the generations to look out for Thailand's oldest woman – 347 maybe).

Poon, now with the house in Thailand, tenancy of the flat in London, Patrick's life insurance and half his teacher's pension for the rest of her life is back in London working at the BBC. You go figure…..but then she does have a new man – an accountant at the BBC.

My legal wife often, often, often, often says, “Poon lucky.”

I say, “Yes, her husband is dead.”

Surnam and Rob

Rob was a geologist working in Thailand, again something to do with oil. He was British but lived in Perth (which I believe and many Australians grudgingly concede to be in Australia). He paid for Thai lessons and I am told spoke reasonable Thai. When in Thailand he stayed at the Landmark on Sukhumvit. He knew Thailand well…..sure he knew the foyer of the Landmark like the back of his hand. Surnam was my wife's best friend (whatever that means for Thai women where friendships seem to mean temporary alliances). She was ugly. I mean ugly. Yes, ugly. This is simply a statement of fact not a slur. I would like to say she has a good personality but this would not be true. Rob and Surnam married and went to Australia where he owned a big house. Something went wrong in the oil business and Rob's life. Fuelled by drink Rob sent Surnam to Thailand, organised his files and cut his wrists. He was 47 years old. Surnam returned to Perth, the big house and Rob's life insurance and savings. She has since gone back to Thailand and her ya-ba using son…..you go figure. My legal wife often, often, often, often says, “Surnam lucky.”

I say, “Yes, her husband is dead.”

Pym and Les

I met Pym and Les in London via Manny and small Da. I will normally tolerate anyone. The second time I met Les I made no excuses and left. He was a life-long social security sponger and malingerer of the highest order. He had a successful marriage. He controlled Pym via having a box to which only he had the key. Untold treasures and deeds of a financial nature were in the box which Pym would get on his death. He duly died and the box was opened – some say it held a dirty pair of underpants and an empty bottle of whisky. Pym continues to live in a nice council flat with a garden. She also works at a local massage parlour six doors away from where I live (it was once called the Nana). She folds towels (yeah, right), her daughter also works there (she likes sex, my legal wife says) – you go figure. My wife does not say that Pym is lucky.

I could go on through the other coupling originally listed but I've grown tired of this and would prefer to be writing about Nanthana.

Have I any advice? Well yes!

1. Do NOT marry a Thai woman – the odds are truly against you (see the official statistics above). If you don't think the odds are against you then go and pick a three legged horse with a blind, drunken jockey and bet all you have on them. Hey, perhaps, ”You lucky man.”

2. Met a Thai woman and thinking of marrying her? This is what you do: go into the hallway where you live. Bow your head. Now run. Yes, run as fast as you can. Fast as you can. Head impacted against the end wall of the hallway? Good. Still thinking of marrying a Thai? Repeat the process. Can't run? Get into a wheelchair and perhaps get a real friend to help. No hallway? Just beat your head against the nearest wall. You will feel better or at the very least suffer sufficient brain damage to get you to forget the name / looks / personality / email address / telephone number / bank account number(s) and location of your intended.

3. Only thinking of going to Thailand and possibly finding a soul-mate (I truly loath the term soul-mate)? The solution is simple! DON'T GO TO THAILAND.

My name is Martin and my legal wife is Ant. We have been married for thirteen years. A success!






Stickman's thoughts:

In most of the cases above were the men aged a decade, 2 or 3 more than their wife? Then odds are they will die first, right?