What Ifs And Maybes And Fat Girls Singing
I read with interest the numerous submissions bemoaning the decline of the naughty bars of Bangkok and the absence of joy found therein. I also find slightly worrying the various reports of the deterioration in service and attitudes seen in Thailand in general. When I came to Thailand in December last year I must admit even a myopic old fool as I could not fail to notice the changes since my first visit some ten years ago.
Whether this decline is a function of social change bought on by economic development or just entropy I have no idea. It could also be that many experienced mongers become (de)sensitised with over-exposure to the naughty bar scene leading to one's senses being dulled.
This is similar to the previously reported phenomena known as porn blindness which afflicts gentlemen who spend excessive time in onanistic activity on the internet with a left-handed mouse. It is alleged that the effect of this includes loss of sight and growth of hair on the palm of your hand (I bet you looked). When porn blindness occurs, the victim becomes jaded and viewing conventional erotica no longer has a stimulating effect. The sufferer has to seek more and more esoteric material to arouse him.
The idea of entropy is borrowed from thermodynamics and suggests there is a natural tendency to disorder. If not maintained any system will eventually deteriorate and fall apart into disrepair. It is an effect commonly observed in the rusting of steel, collapse of derelict buildings or decaying of dead flesh.
I can see certain parallels with my own life and have definitely been in decline in the six months since my return from my last Thailand trip. I have felt lethargic lacking in energy and somewhat dispirited.
I assure you I am not seeking sympathy. I don’t actually do self-loathing or pity or anything as dramatic as it is far too much effort but must declare I realised I have become lazy. I am drinking and smoking too much and my eldest son commented I was not quite as fastidious with my grooming of late. My youngest son and his girlfriend have returned and I am ashamed of the state of the student squat that my flat has again become. I am not enjoying the best of health and must confess I don’t really like the person I am becoming.
My financial situation remains uncertain. After working hard for three years developing technical education for my industry I feel I am still trying to get off the Normandy beaches pinned down by heavy enemy fire three years after the D day landings. This year I have not had a lucrative certificate course which has augmented my income in the two previous years. The course I delivered in Scotland last year funded my Thailand trip in December.
I am even questioning if I actually want to return to Thailand even if I could fund a visit. Irrespective of the recent bombing, the news that my beloved Golden Bar is about to close and that Nana Plaza now has seven ladyboy bars dampened my enthusiasm. The additional news that the kingdom would be receiving over a million uncouth Chinese visitors every month filled me with gloom.
Regular readers however will not be alarmed by my melancholic declarations as they recognise this is merely the natural state of affairs. From previous experience they will have identified it is only being a miserable git that keeps me happy.
I start each day with a smile ….and get it over and done with.
My lack of success with women probably does not help my disposition. I seriously doubt that I will ever find a woman in this country as they are so fussy. I am not even experiencing the customary misadventures or memorable putdowns from English women that provide interesting anecdotes to amuse my friends.
I must however report I did have an unusual feminine encounter a couple of weeks ago. I received a note from a lady on the POF dating site. She enquired if it was me she had spotted on the escalator at our local Morrison’s supermarket. I had just returned from my weekly shopping expedition so confirmed it was. Never one to miss an opportunity I began a correspondence with her finally persuading her to meet me for a drink the following week.
The meeting was arranged at a local family pub and she requested we meet on her way home from work. She was around my age and worked as a phlebotomist at a local hospital. I had been to a meeting at the Institute offices that afternoon so was already smartly dressed. When she arrived I was disappointed to see she was still in her work gear wearing her hospital whites. She was a pleasant lady, a little overweight and looked considerably older than the photos on her profile but as I am no oil painting myself I made the necessary allowances.
However, what I did find disturbing was the overpowering smell of hospital morbidity and BO I received from her. You would all know that smell of death and disinfectant associated with medical establishments. I was really surprised that a respectable middle-aged lady did not make the effort to remove her work gear and make some attempt to freshen herself up before embarking on a date. The rest of the date was not a success, and like many women of a certain age she was only interested in talking about her grandchildren and her dogs. As they say in the TV detective programmes, “The interview was terminated” after one drink and we have not contacted each other since.
It begs the question: Have western women become so empowered and indifferent to men that they deem no effort is necessary when meeting one? It is most disturbing.
I am accused a being misogynist and hating British women. In truth I appreciate that British women are amongst the most wonderful and desirable females in the world. There are many who are educated, cultured and generous of spirit. This scepter’d isle has produced millions of intelligent, caring and amusing females. Unfortunately, they are all either happily married to successful men or pursuing careers. They are off limits to me and blokes like me. We are left with the rejected, the recycled and the perpetually disappointed. <My single mates here in New Zealand swear by what they term "imports" (mainly Chinese, Japanese and Brazilian) so maybe you might want to shift your focus away from the English roses? – Stick>
I was recently asked by Jayne, a lady friend I have known for years, what sort of woman I was actually looking for. Dancer # 21 at the Tilac immediately came to mind but mindful of the source of the question I moderated my response. I stated that although I could put a list of requirements, all I actually wanted was someone who cared for me, was willing to share my life and maybe put some stability back in my existence. Jayne gave me a smile and made a somewhat enigmatic remark, “I have known you for some time…..be careful what you wish for.”
I have become friendly with Debbie over the past year or so. She is in her early 40s with a very pretty face but being quite a fat girl makes her look older. I considered trying my hand with her once but quickly established she still coveted younger men so developed a friendship instead. She recently had a fellow of her own age but found all sorts of faults with him claiming he was boring. We often chat at weekends and she regularly bemoans to me her lack of success with young men. I like the girl but feeling a dose of reality was in order I declared, “To be honest, Deb, you are a big wench so maybe you should lower your expectations and aspirations a little”. I could see I had offended her when she replied, “I am not a big wench; I just have a few extra pounds”. Seeing her delusion I declined to continue. She didn’t speak to me for a month but began again last week claiming I was the only bloke who gave her a decent conversation.
This obsession of middle-aged women with young men is disturbing but understandable as everyone seeks youth. What I once perceived as merely a few silly old bats deluding themselves they are still attractive to much younger men has become almost universal.
I see Dawn and Rosie on Friday nights at the Karaoke in the “Pisshead and Ponytail”. Dawn is a pleasant, chubby girl in her mid 30s; Rose is a quite delectable lady in her late 40s. Both are divorced mothers. Both have pleasant singing voices and with their interest in music have somewhat gravitated towards me and often sit and chat with me. Dawn is lovely but far too young for me. Rose is a science teacher at a prestigious local school. She is charming and intelligent and our weekly conversations are engaging and entertaining. I am quite taken with Rosie but am not arrogant enough to think I could get off with her and I recognize her preference is for black guys. However, I know she enjoys my company as she often refers to me as a kindred spirit. I do suspect I have already slipped in to the dreaded “friend zone” with her but I relish her company. Last Friday I was enjoying the conversation with these two lovely ladies and was at my most amusing and entertaining when two young men take seats on the adjacent table.
These two Neanderthals were in their mid 20s with the ubiquitous tattoos up their necks and knuckles scraping the floor. From their chavvy demeanour and brainless banter I established they were only a few IQ points from licking the windows of the special bus. They would certainly have to take their underpants off to count to three. The response from Dawn and Rosie on seeing these unsavoury young men was almost pavlovian. They all but threw themselves at them, simpering at every banal and uncouth outburst from these creatures.
I looked at these lads who were not particularly good-looking or muscular. The one only needed a red tooth to complete a snooker set in his mouth and the other had decidedly Simian features. Their attire was underclass scruffy but the girls were positively salivating at their attention. The two lads soon got bored and moved on and Dawn and Rosie’s attention reverted back to me as if nothing had occurred. I considered asking what attraction those lads had but the question would have been rhetorical as I already knew….they had YOUTH.
It was a salutary lesson that no matter how cultured the females are, if it is a choice of an engaging conversation with an older man or attention from boorish young men the latter will always prevail.
There is a strange dichotomy to my situation. Whilst close friends and readers of this site know that I am a sad old tosser, many of my general acquaintances and people in the pubs I meet in my perambulations around my town perceive me as a successful ladies man.
Now I can hear you all laughing. The old fool has finally lost it and is now having delusions. Titter ye not and allow me to explain. There are a number of reasons why they have this erroneous perception of me.
Most people know I am well travelled and have worked in many places including China and USA and I am seen as a man of the world. Often working away and the weekend trips last year to my Thai lady friend in Bristol have merely confirmed their image of me.
I have previously described the group of attractive lady friends I have. Although our friendship is purely platonic, every month one of either Clare Elaine or Sara take me out for a drink or a curry. I always make sure that we pop into one of the hostelries I frequent so I can be seen with my stunning companion.
I gave similar exposure to the two Thai ladies I was recently squiring. Both Nee and Dee were eye catching women and no doubt enhanced my reputation in the community. Although I no longer relate my Thailand adventures to all and sundry for obvious reasons, most of my acquaintances know of my occasional visits to the kingdom and surmise my activities without the need to be expressed.
I do appreciate that my readers know this impression of me is mistaken and that I haven’t had carnal knowledge of a white woman for 10 years. The truth is I am a penniless old fart who lacks the social skills to interest the modern breed of western woman. However I have done nothing to dissuade my acquaintances of their misplaced perceptions. A man has to maintain some semblance of dignity…or at least the illusion of it.
A guy in my local pub has a Russian wife. He is about my age whilst she is about 8 years younger. They met on the internet a year or so ago. Valentina is cultured, elegant and was a school teacher in her native Khabarovsk on the border of China. She has a pleasant singing voice and I have been encouraging her to sing on the karaoke. Her husband claims she is boring but I chat with her a lot and find her quite enchanting. Knowing how naturally hypergamous women who enter the UK can be, I suspect in two years time she will have moved on to pastures new.
Being in her company reminds of some ten or so years ago my late pal Brian trying to persuade me to go on holiday to St Petersburg in Russia with him. He claimed it was to see the historic sights but as he was a recent widower I suspected his intention was to find a Russian bride. In the end I elected to visit Thailand instead. I often think I may have made the wrong choice as I could have been welcoming a Slavic beauty at Heathrow with snow on her flip flops instead of my capricious Thai wife a few years ago.
This started a chain of thoughts of “what if”. It is common knowledge my career and fortunes seen more ups and downs than an adolescent's foreskin. There was a time when I was a highly motivated and dynamic individual respected in the business community and admired by my peers. The question is raised, at what point did things start to go wrong for me – was there a single event that was the tipping point of my decline?
I had the (misplaced?) thought if I could establish the genesis of my downfall it could perhaps help me plan a strategy to improve my fortunes.
There is a long list of culprits for the tipping point event. I have always felt I should have never sold my first house. It was a pleasant 3 bed semi on a modest estate in which we lived happily for over 10 years. I should never have allowed my first wife her frivolous journey into middle class status. The subsequent purchase of a four bed detached executive box with obnoxious snotty neighbours (who knew their rights) put a financial burden on me. The resultant hamster wheel slowly eroded my spirit. Resigning from the position of technical director of a leading corporation was a decision that did not endear me to my first wife who saw the chimera of her lifestyle evaporating. The fact the company closed within 3 years of my departure anyway did little to assuage her growing disaffection with me.
One definition of love is if one partner has a boil on their arse the other will cheerfully burst it. I believe my first wife would not piss on me if I was on fire.
I think another one of the tipping points was when my wife arbitrarily decided to stop having sex with me and would not discuss the subject. After three months I decided if this was her choice then my choice was to cease being a beast of burden to her and refused to spend any of my money or time on her or her capricious desires.
I do appreciate my behaviour escalated our eventual divorce.
If I ever had a platform to address British womanhood I would advise wives when they get to a certain age to not take their husbands for granted. I would also counsel them to avoid the elaborate sex avoidance strategies they all seem to develop.
I would ask four questions.
1. Have you had sex less than once in the past three months?
2. Did you make your husband beg on that that occasion?
3. Have you refused sex more than 3 times in the past 2 months?
4. Has your behaviour been influenced by “advice” from your female friends?
If you can answer yes to any of these questions then….
YOU HAVE LOST YOUR HUSBAND ALREADY.
He is already having an affair or is seriously considering having one.
If your husband is working hard on the treadmill to feed you, keep a roof over your head and two wardrobes full of nothing to wear, is it too much to let him get his knob wet twice a month? A common excuse is that you are tired because you are also working. Unless your job contributes at least 40% of the household costs it is a hobby and the argument has no validity.
I do wonder how many lonely, old, divorced women now regret keeping their husbands on unnecessarily short rations during their marriage. I suspect many of them realise their husbands would not have strayed but for their mean-spirited actions at the time. I know a few women who fall into this category and I am glad I have got that particular rant out of my system.
After my divorce I experienced some anguish on finding the world had changed but a trip to Thailand revitalised my spirits and gave me my soul back. Of course it opened a new can of worms and the inevitable falling in love with a Thai woman. I eventually married said Thai lady and bought her back to live in the UK. As predicted by many this enterprise did not have a happy ending. Within six months of her arrival she had left me to work in London and within the year had returned to Thailand. The following year we were divorced at an Amphur in Chonburi.
The tipping point was in October 2008 in the wake of the worldwide financial collapse I lost my job as Operations Manager of a local foundry. Although I got another job within a month I believe this was the point when my wife Nat panicked. I suspect she saw the security I offered disappear and began immediately to make alternate plans for her future. At that point I ceased to be of any interest to her. If I am fair this is understandable and in retrospect I do have sympathy for her living in a strange country and fearing destitution must have been scary for her.
I do believe if I still had that job and we had enjoyed some stability for a year she would still be with me now. In the following year a Thai restaurant opened nearby and Nat would certainly have been employed there. This would have given her money to send back to Thailand and satisfied her need for involvement in a local Thai community.
I recently met with the owner of the company that made me redundant. He confessed letting me go was a mistake and he soon wished he hadn’t. He explained I was the highest paid employee and as I had the least service my redundancy was less so I was the cheapest staff guy to get rid of. He also admitted without me the place was in chaos for six months as no-one could do the numerous tasks I did. When business finally recovered the following year he felt too proud to admit his mistake and ask me back and had to employ three people to do what I did.
I admired his honesty but it was of little comfort. It did however make me realise the futility of exploring what ifs and maybes. What’s done is done, the past cannot be altered and the sensible action should be to just get on with what life presents.
I have added another watering hole to the list of hostelries I frequent. “The Benefit Claimers Arms” has undergone an extensive refurbishment and gone upmarket. They have entertainment in a large lounge with live bands and tribute acts on Saturdays plus the ubiquitous karaoke on a Friday. My favourite evening is Thursday when they have an intimate karaoke in the smaller bar where the DJ is a delicious temptress named Carla. The pub has a late licence serving till 1.00 at weekends and the joint is really jumping.
This has however attracted the interest of the local wide boys and drug dealers who use the car park for their activities and the venue for meeting their moles. This has prompted me to refer to the establishment as “the Hoodlum and Harlot” although observing their ineptitude the appellation “Wide boy and Trollope” would be more appropriate.
Whilst the leader of this troupe is the caricature six foot black guy his lieutenants are all young chavvy white men and posturing buffoons to a man. I find the whole troupe quite laughable akin to Ali G’s “Staines massif”.
I must however admit the presence of these self styled gangsters means the place is often full of scantily clad and slutty young fillies that are most pleasing on the eye and there are some real beauties amongst their number. It is confirmation that young women have no sense of discernment and will always pursue bad boys. Alex the gang’s baron has two vehicles, a BMW and an Audi and always keeps one of them overnight on the car park. I always park my own car next to his and every evening as I depart I sneakily urinate up the side of his vehicle. I appreciate it is a futile gesture but I feel better for doing it.
I have also entered another singing contest, this time on Friday nights at the local casino. It is a slightly different format with six weekly heats until a grand final in September. The winner of each heat receives a prize of £100 whilst the final offers an £800 reward.
I entered the first week believing I could sneak a result before the good singers in the area realised the existence of the competition. I sang first and on hearing the subsequent six singers felt confident I had it in the bag. However the final contestant was a big wench with a powerful voice who belted out one of those power ballads fat girls tend to learn. The judges (clearly brainwashed by TV talent shows) awarded her the prize. I was a little disappointed but a subsequent £50 win on the roulette table compensated a little.
The following week I entered again and this time sang in the last but one spot. Again I felt confident I was in with a chance. Then the final contestant stepped forward…..bugger me it was another big unit belting out the same song I believe was made famous by Adele or some other fat girl on TV. Predictably she was awarded the prize. I had a chat with the manager organising the contest and suggested he advise his judges to expand their horizons. I pointed out at this rate they would have a final consisting of eight fat wenches all singing the same song.
The third week no fat girls appeared. I sang ok but the heat was won by a pleasant young black fellow singing a modern upbeat number. He was much better than me; in fact this week there was a couple of singers better than me. The good singers in the area had at last heard of the contest and were turning up. My window of opportunity had gone and from now on I could forget winning and just enjoy the participation. The contest had generated some interest, the casino was busy and some old regulars had returned. This meant there were a few people I could socialise with as well as ogle the delectable Polish girls who work there.
My friend Sara contacted me for a chat the other week. Sara is in her early 40s and is quite a babe. Unfortunately she lives 50 miles away in Stratford, but of more significance she is the mistress of my solicitor pal Devin. She told me of her friend Linda a widow who was getting bored with her lack of social life in Stratford. It appeared the gentlemen of that fair borough were only interested in talking about the value of their houses and pension schemes or occasionally events at the golf club. Sara was bringing her friend up to the Black Country that week and suggested we make a foursome at our Thai restaurant.
We met up on the Wednesday evening. Linda was a slim well presented lady of indeterminate years although from her wrinkles I surmised she was a few years older than me. I was under threat not to mention Thailand as the subject is apparently an anathema to western women. Linda turned out to be a cultured well travelled lady. She entertained us with tales of living with her late husband in Singapore and Indonesia and journeys on the hippy trail to Nepal in her youth. I was on my best behaviour and restricted my anecdotes to amusing tales from working in China. Although Linda had spent time in Thailand I refrained from mentioning my own experience of the kingdom other than providing confirmation of Linda’s own observation of the often bizarre cultural vagaries seen there.
The food was good and I think the evening was a success. When Sara and Linda departed to Stratford they suggested we should repeat the evening in the near future. I have no idea if Linda was interested in me although the occasional touch on my arm indicated she was not totally immune to my charm. I suspect she was not particularly seeking someone for a relationship but merely an occasional dining companion but one never knows.
As I drove back to Wednesbury I reflected on the evening and the possibility of a relationship with someone like Linda. I considered the inconvenience of the distance to Stratford especially with my aged Mondeo that is almost old enough to vote. That apart I was desperately out of practice with the mechanics of a relationship. I would have to consider how to behave on meeting her family and friends and engage with her children. I would have to develop a new and appropriate repertoire of conversations.
The whole concept of commitment is one I must rediscover. I would have to consider arranging dates at interesting venues. The investment in time necessary seemed quite daunting the more I thought about it. I currently do what I want; go where I want when I want without answering to anyone. I would have to curb my habitual perambulations around the local hostelries if only to carefully husband my limited finances. I would have to consider the needs and wants of a partner and modify my behaviour accordingly. I may have to procure a new wardrobe and would have to bathe more often (only joking). Of course future trips to Thailand would be out of the question as they would be difficult to justify whilst in a relationship.
I suddenly got the cold sweats and had to stop off at a local hostelry for a beer to calm myself down. I concluded a relationship could be too much pain and effort for the benefit derived. I finally understood the words my friend Jayne gave me …“be careful what you wish for”.
Last week, I travelled with the Director of the Casting institute to a prestigious foundry in Ashford Kent. There are no local colleges teaching casting technology so they are looking for us to deliver some technical education to their employees. The Certificate course proposed comprised three or four days every month for eight months over a year. There is a high probability we will get the contract which means I could get an additional 10 days work from Sept to Nov at a higher rate than I get from the Diploma work. This could yield me a supplementary £2k by December.
There are obviously many sensible things I could do with this windfall. However the call of the kingdom is strong. I could repeat my visit of last year arriving early December and returning just before Christmas Eve. I would avoid the New Year high season and evade the dreaded run up to Christmas at home.
So what if the Golden Bar is closing, Stumble Inn and the Hilary bars offer similar services. What about the seven ladyboy bars in Nana Plaza and the one million Chinese visitors? By December the new Bangkok Bunnies bar could dominate the plaza and the Chinese tourists are unlikely to affect Soi Cowboy or anywhere in lower Suhkumvit. It may be an opportunity to seek counsel from pals like Union Hill and Bangkok Barry and make serious plans for the future.
So what should I do?
Next week is my 60th birthday. Although I am not usually known for celebrating birthdays or Christmas, I have arranged a karaoke party at my local that certain pals are calling “the rave before the grave”. I am looking forward to it and meeting up with old friends. Once that is over I will give the decision my full attention.
Watch this space.