So after getting oiled up a bit in my room I went to meet Pooky and Rung at Lucky Beer, which was every bit as manic and terrifyingly loud as I’d dreaded it would be.

Weirdly enough they were sat with a pretty sound guy from Pangbourne, which is just up the road from where I’m from. I don’t know what the deal was between him and Rung, if he’d pulled her or he was paying, but he was closer to Pooky’s age, and Rung’s a bit older than me. Either way; they were together, and they were going to The Club.

I was like: Fuck off; it’s mind-meltingly loud here, and you want to go somewhere louder? Not in this life. Pooky didn’t take much convincing to come with me instead, so I took her off round Rambuttri where people respect sound.

We had a few drinks, came to my room and had a great fuck. I even managed to come. Actually in her too, ‘cause for some reason, once we’d switched to her on top, she almost surreptitiously whipped the Johnny off my knob, and started riding me again.

Mildly concerning, but at that point I was too into it to complain much. I did mention something about not wanting kids and she said not to worry, so I’m hoping she’s on birth control. If she’s not; it’s her fucking fault.

I can only assume that she pulled it off me ‘cause it was taking me ages to come. If it was some underhand attempt to get pregnant, she’s a very silly girl.

She’s making a fucking career out of laying on my bed too, which to be honest was okay for a while; it’s been a few months since I’ve slept with a chick, and fuck-knows how long since I’ve snuggled with a 25 year-old, but she needs to do one soon.

Also mildly concerning were the noises she was making about wanting to be my girlfriend, but I’m pretty sure she knows what the craic is with me. Doesn’t mean she has to like it though, I s’pose.

Judging by the amount of action her phone has seen since she’s been laying here ignoring it, someone must want her to fuck off and leave me alone, so I have an ally in my struggle to get today the fuck on track.

I wouldn’t mind banging her again, but I’m not sure if I can be fucked to initiate it. Yeah, fuck it why not? Gotta be worth a go, eh?

*

Well; no, not really. She might as well have not been there. She barely seemed to notice I was there; just laid there and let me do it. Put more effort into the snuggle afterwards. It was just a posh wank, really.

So, anyway, that’s 101 chicks for free. They say gentlemen stop counting at 100, but do I seem like a gentleman to you?

While I was walking about last night I ran into this Dutch guy, Johnathon, who lives here and I’ve known for ages, and he was talking to a fit chick called Aaliyah from ‘Russian Siberia’ but she looked like she was of Mongolian descent. She was off to RCA, unfortunately, but later on I saw him sitting in exactly the same place with another fine-ass chick. Fair fucking play, dude! It looks as if just outside Rambuttri Village might be a fucking good spot to hang out in to pull chicks. It’s where I met Pooky and Rung, anyway.

Also worthy of mention are the weird, ancient-looking, steam-powered fans that have descended on Vader’s. They do the job, for sure, by means of cylindrical fans, I’ve just never really seen much like them outside of industry.

Old Ma Vader’s special recipe grilled chicken deserves more than a mention; it deserves a clap if you ask me. Fuck knows what she does to it but it’s probably the nicest gai yang I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve tasted a lot. It’s pretty much all I eat meat-wise.

I finally had to ask Pooky to do one when even after she was awake and sat up she showed no signs of wanting to go. She didn’t make a fuss or anything though, which was a relief. Just after she left, Rung phoned me asking if I knew where she was, ‘cause she’d been trying to phone her all day. Pooky was playing with her phone before she left so she must have seen the 200 missed calls even if she managed to ignore the (admittedly quiet and inoffensive) ringtone.

I dunno if I’m gonna bother hooking up with her again tonight, but I expect so; those two are only in town for a few more days so it would be a bit dumb not to, even if she is a bit of an annoyingly playful cow when she’s drunk.

Well it seems like it’s been forever since I really felt compelled to scribble out this blog, and fuck it; it’s great to be back.

Nothing too remarkable has happened to me yet; last night was just a fucking whirlwind of saying hello to fuck-knows how many people.

Compared to the last time I arrived in BKK, which was really a non-event, yesterday was madness, with people dragging me into places off the street to shake hands, and trying to get me to eat and drink with them.

It’s nice that people like and remember me, but before I’d even checked in to a room was not really the time I’d have chosen for a superstar welcome.

After promising Lord Vader and Doo Lek that I’d go back for beer later, I kind of snuck out of Sitdhi the back way so I could get some beers in before greeting the people that I needed to.

I turned down the invitation to sit with Bee, thinking she probably just wanted to rinse me for beer. She’s fit, but she’s gonna have to go out of her way to let me know it’s on before I put any more effort in to trying it on with her.

Then I went and said hello to Mai and Chon who hang out on the corner where I used to work trying to sell tattoos. Mai reckons that if I want to do that again it will probably be cool despite the fact that Gai has gone to Krabi. Seeing as standing in the street getting drunk and chatting to folk was the best job I’ve ever had, I might end up trying it again, despite the shit money.

But I was hoping that when I got back there would be loads of tourists about to try and sell to, but it’s just as slow as when I left; slower, maybe. Probably something to do with those fucking inconsiderate bombings that Thai terror-twats think are funny.

I made friends with a couple of chicks from on holiday in BKK from Surin (NE Thailand) who I’m pretty sure are hookers, who were just beering it up near a Seven on Soi Rambuttri.

I challenged them on it, because that Seven used to have the gayest fridge in BKK. I’d actually complained about it to the staff twice before. But it turns out it’s been fixed now, so I got myself a brew and joined them.

The younger one, Pooky, who’s 25, pretty much made me escort her to the khazi round Rambuttri Village, and was receptive when I started stroking her back, and didn’t get arsey when I told her that I never pay chicks for sex. Me and her could well be on if we see each other again.

But they wanted to go to The Club and dance. Fuck. That. I was way too tired for that horseshit, so I gave the older one, Rung, my number and left them to it.

So I came back round to Vader’s, but I soon started feeling fagged and fashed.

I ended up in bed somewhere around midnight then up again at three, deciding to try and catch Arsenal vs Munich. But the attendant at the desk at Sitdhi had it on as I was leaving, and it was 4-0 Munich, so I fucking binned that idea.

But on my way to Popiang to get a beer, I crashed in to Wee and Apple, coming the other way. They’re both staying at Sitdhi, which is a result as it means I won’t have to stump up the 100 Baht chick-tax at reception to bang them.

I’ve never banged Apple yet, although she wants it, but I’d been thinking about Wee for about a week ever since she got in touch to apologize for trying to hassle me for dosh when I was in England, which I’d rightly surmised was Gar’s doing, and not Wee’s.

So we had a bunch of drinks, at Ole Bar, or The French Connection, as I’ve always thought of it, and then we ended up on Wee’s bed, which was all good until another three chicks turned up to play fucking cards!

I know how Thai chicks can go at it when they play cards, and there was no way I was willing to sit through a couple of mind-numbing hours just to get laid, so I binned it and came to my room, waking up at a respectable 2p.m., which I’ve decided is the optimum time for rising if you’ve got fuck-all to do in BKK. Enough time to have breakfast, work out, and run any errands, but not so far away from beer o’clock that you’ll get bored.

Apologies for the lack of chuckles in today’s post; for some reason, I’m yet to regain my bone-on for writing, quite; and a good few of you have expressed looking forward to my pulling my finger out. Probably, I’m just a bit fucked after the journey (a stop in Bahrain was fun, for a few pints and a couple of crunches, and it saved me loads of dosh, but a straight-through flight leaves you feeling much better) or maybe not getting my end away last night bummed me out a bit, dunno.

But Rung from last night has just belled me asking if I wanna hang out with her and Pooky again tonight (does the Pope shit in the woods?) and I’m a couple of big San Migs in now, and I’m certainly cheering up.

Also as Joe and Dave (who’s sadly been recalled to Merseyside to face charges of being a scouse twat) will be glad to hear; I applied for a job today that if it comes off might rival getting pissed in the street for best occupation I’ve ever had. I’m just waiting to hear from them now. Psyched.

Fuck it; Rung’s just phoned me again from some retarded Khaosan noise-pit. I’m gonna go and see them, but I give it one beer before I’ve got the right hump with that shit.

2007

I went with Goong to see Epic Movie, which was roughly as pleasurable as sitting on a cactus for ninety minutes, and then took her out and got her fucking smashed. She came back with me, because there are horror stories about taxi drivers and drunk girls (but she feels safe with me???) and immediately passed out on the bed.

I think that we actually made quite some progress, relationship-wise (which actually puts the fear of God into me.) Goong made the first move to kiss me for the first time, and opened her heart about all sorts of shit.

The next morning Goong puked five times. The last time was in a bag, on the 79 bus on the way to Siam Square so she could get the sky-train. I said goodbye to her at Siam, and, being as it’s a busy place, and there are loads of fit women about, I got the horn, big-time. I was set to go to Chewit’s for a bath and massage, but in a cruel twist of fate, Chris, who is normally dying for a Chewit mission, had scored a load of porn from Panthip Plaza the previous day, and had already had about eight (so he told me) wanks that morning, and wanted to save what little seed he had remaining for a date with Wee (a new hooker he’s seeing, with gargantuan breasts for her frame) that evening. We had to sort out tickets to Vietnam anyway, so I begrudgingly called off Chewit’s.

Chris’s porn. He bought this Manga-style, cartoon porn, called Sleazy Train (what the fuck is it with the Japs and sex on trains? I can only assume it’s because they spend so much time crammed into them.) The premise is that a section of line is going to be closed due to lack of travellers, so the driver (who is four generations deep in railway work. How fucking Japanese can you get?) goes around corrupting very young girls (schoolgirls anyway) and turning them into ‘bottomless sex-pits’ and ‘raving sex-monsters’ so that he can charge ‘perverts’ the normal rate to travel, but they get to have orgies with the aforementioned ‘sex-pits’. It’s graphic as fuck, believe me. It’s also fucking hilarious, I really cannot do it justice here. Gave me the horn a bit too, so a complete winner!

To get tickets to Vietnam, we went to see an old friend of mine called Yo-Yo, who works in the same travel agent as an ex-girlfriend of mine Nok (absolute fucking psycho, but a nice girl.) I’ve known Yo a lot longer, since my second trip over in 2003, and I’ve always thought she had a fit body. Not so much on the boat race, but she’s no Quasimodo.

Yo mentioned to me that she didn’t have a boyfriend, and perhaps it was just in passing, I really don’t know, but egocentric cunt that I am, I reckon I could pull her. This leaves me with a dilemma: Do I risk a long friendship, and possibly partial alienation from a few people I like, for what could only be a part-time thing (I would of course, explain the situation to Yo before I did anything, I’m not a complete cunt)?

Well obviously, the answer should be no. But I find myself thinking about her more and more. Me and Chris decided to get her a bottle of whisky to say thanks for getting us a good deal on our tickets and visas, and I’ll be pretty surprised if she doesn’t ask us to help her drink it (she half-jokingly suggested that we buy her it.) If this happens, I’ll almost certainly try it on when I’m drunk. I’m no letch, but I can’t resist chatting women up. What can you fucking do?

Can’t remember if I mentioned it before, but when I visited Pee at Spankey’s to give her back her hair, she fucking gave me the chub, in spades. I’d pretty much decided there and then, that I had to fuck her again.

When I called Pee that night, she was pissed already, and some daft cunt had paid her bar-fine and then just fucked off! (I think it was because he deemed her too pissed to be at work.) She told me that she’d had two Singhas, and eighteen tequilas (I’m sure she was exaggerating, but probably not much; she can fucking drink.) Either way, she was still standing, and playing pool better than me (to be honest though, I wasn’t that interested.) Me and Chris both thought at first that she was going to be a fucking nightmare, but she turned out to be fine. I didn’t even have to try hard to pull her; she briefly mentioned something to Chris that suggested I’d have a job on my hands, but after that she was all over me.

Chris found a bird, probably the wrong side of 35, with the most enormous breasts I have ever seen on a Thai girl, natural or not (they were, Chris doesn’t like fake tits. Fuck it; he doesn’t even like firm tits much! Nutter.) Chris thinks that they weren’t quite as big as this bird he used to bang in Hua Hin (who hates me to death, because she thinks I split her and Chris up, which is bollocks, he’d just rather drink with me a lot of the time) but I think he’s wrong. Seeing as he has the ‘hands on’ experience, and an utter fixation with breasts though, he’s probably right.

The four of us went back to Chris’s to watch Ace Ventura 2 (I’m always mugging and pulling faces, and people are constantly accusing me of looking like Jim Carrey, which I don’t mind at all. I even dress a bit like Ace Ventura when the weather allows, but honestly it’s because I like the clothes, not because I want to be him.) To my great surprise (when I watched that movie with my ex, Kay’s mates at my old restaurant in Udon Thani they fucking pissed themselves) neither of the chicks seemed very interested in it (although Pee loved Spike, the monkey) so me and Pee fucked off to bed.

As a quick aside; I think I forgot to mention how used and cuddled and played with, the Doreamon I bought Pee was when I’d visited her just three days after giving it to her (didn’t mean to, but she clocked me going in to Nana, to visit Goong.)

Also worthy of note, is the fact that Pee jacked in her 14000 Baht (which is fucking good for Thai people) a month job at Spankey’s, to go back to Cathouse, because she had good friends there. I swear, if I could put up with Pee for more than a day at a time, and if I could afford to keep her (other people buy her shit, so I don’t have to) I’d consider marrying Pee.

If I’m not careful though, I may not have much choice in the matter. In the morning, Pee found great, squealing delight, in poking my semi-hard dick, to make the muscles spasm. Of course, I couldn’t put up with much of that without getting the horn, full on. I had to fuck her. Jing jing (Thai for for real, or really!).

You, fucking try not to fuck Pee when she wants it. After that, you can tell me I’m a dickhead. I know for sure, she’s the worst bet, when it comes to lack of gnarly diseases, but fuck it. Stand in my shoes, and I fucking defy you to refuse her sex.

That morning though, I didn’t have any Johnnies, so I thought I’d try the ‘pull out’ technique. It had always sounded like some horse shit to me, but I was fucked for viable alternatives. I just about managed, but I jizzed all over her pussy, and when I looked it was so much like Chris’s Manga porn, I couldn’t believe it. OK, sorry. Pretty disgusting image, but it’s true.

Then next day, I decided to pacify May, whose last words to me were: Fuck you, don’t ever call me again! I love it when birds say shit like that to me. I really can’t think of one occasion when they’ve actually meant it. It just makes   me think that they like me more.

Fucking did as well (pacify her,) although we argued continually through the night. At one point, May fucked off in a mood, and I set about telling her mate Bee how much I liked her (Bee, not May.) In the middle of this however, she indicated to me to look behind. May was sat listening to everything that I was saying. Well, I don’t know how much she heard, but seeing as she was calm, and I still have my knob, I don’t think she heard it all.

We fucking drank until 11 a.m.

Either way, I ended up violating three of May’s orifices at the same time the morning after (but when I put in a request to bum her, she said ‘I no ladyboy’.) Alright, fuck it. Just in case you’re wondering, I had my dick in her mouth, and I was kind of holding her like a six-pack with thumb and index finger (erotically, obviously,) it was cool either way.

I’m writing now, pissed as shit. Can’t sleep, ‘cause I was up too late last night. May’s here. Not sure if she can sleep either.

2007

So it was that I start my day at work having had no sleep. The minibus ride out to the Impact Exhibition Centre, was cramped, but mercifully short. We got fed as soon as we got there, and it wasn’t the fucking omelette that I’d feared it would be, so things were going pretty well.

I knew a few of the other extras from the castings I’d been to, so there were plenty of people to talk to, and having not just gotten up (from no sleep), I was actually in a pretty good mood.

It turned out that we were coppers rather than security guards, proper English bobbies in fact, complete with hi-vis jackets, truncheons, and tits on our heads (although mine was a horse-riding hat with a badge stuck on it) although the ad was set in Japan.

A chick I knew called Christina was rightly amazed how much me and Chris looked like coppers. We got photos, and my friends in England will piss themselves when they see me dressed up like that, but compared to the other two guys who were playing cops, we were born for the part.

Shooting was on a strip of road outside the exhibition centre, and for the next six hours we stood about in the blazing sun, diving in to shade when we could, rationing cigarettes, chatting a bit to relieve the boredom between shots, and praying for it to be over soon.

Then came lunch. The meal was okay, and we had about a forty minute break to wash ourselves down, strip off a little, drink water and chain a few smokes.

We were amused to see that Christina had Chris’s picture on her mock-up staff pass, and not one but two people had my name (which is fucking uncommon anyway) on theirs. Even more amusing was a black guy who had Mr. Balls Durant on his.

Everyone was fucked by lunch, and we’d been told that there was one more shot to get before we finally packed it in. It was the money-shot though, where the ‘hero’ a famous Japanese marathon runner, leaps over the finishing ribbon, and fucks off into the distance, because he doesn’t care about winning the race (it turns out that the ad is for a casino chain; so go figure) and the next guy through (Christina’s boyfriend, Jansen) gets all pissy and tries to start a fight.

Unfortunately, this scene actually required some ‘acting’, and we all had to look surprised when Nobby leapt over the ribbon. It took fucking ages. And then the sun went in, which was more comfortable, but made shooting impossible because the rest of the ad was in bright sunshine.

Some of the Thai extras (I’ve never seen a large group of Thais so lacking in fit women!) who were on 150 Baht a day, were doing a rain-dance so that they’d have to stop shooting.

At one point one of the cameramen cracked up at me and told me to calm down because I was naturally just behaving like I was in a mosh (which is how it felt) rather than trying to control one, which as a copper; I was supposed to be.

We didn’t get home until about five o’clock, we were fucked, and I’d been up 25 hours, with no more chemical aid that a can of diet coke, about twelve hours before.

After that we went swimming, went drinking, checked out Sukhumvit, turned down a couple of fit hookers who were up for coming to ours for a party, couldn’t be fucked to pay their prices, ‘cause I knew at that point I’d be a useless cunt.

I bought a cool Shogun Assassin T-shirt off a girl’s back, for 500 Baht because she really didn’t want to sell it, then took it off in Popiang ‘cause it smelled sweaty, and when I moved outside, they must have found it, not said anything then flogged it for about 20 baht to some street stall! Cunts! And when I went back yesterday to ask for it, they were fucking rude to me!

I ended up sleeping after 39 hours, which is an absolute record for me, chemically unaided anyway, and I even managed to shag May, although I didn’t use a condom (must stop doing that) and I can’t remember anything about it. May left in a huff that morning, with only 200 Baht for her taxi, but she’s texted me since, so she’ll be alright.

The next three days were all spent with Orm, who after asking if she could stay one day, has magically turned it into three! At first I wasn’t having it, but she pleaded, even offering me money (which I wouldn’t take, but I have accepted some Star Wars DVDs, that I was going to buy off of her, for free) so I caved in, and actually it’s been quite pleasant, and she’s had the good sense to go off with her friends in the day, and leave me to my own devices.

I didn’t really have a lot of choice when it came to getting laid elsewhere anyway, because on the first night, Orm’s teeth chafed the end of my knob so much that it looked as if I had a gnarly rash on it, so no other chick would have gone near it anyway!

Me and Chris went to look at movies on Khaosan, and Chris bought a fucking hilarious documentary called METAL: A Headbangers Journey, which was pure fucking Spinal Tap all the way, except these fuckers take themselves seriously.

After that, we went down Nana to visit Pee, and return her hair (she pulled out her extensions in my room once, and I kept them intending to give to my mate Tom with dreadlocks.)

Pee has stopped working at the Cathouse, and moved next door to Spankey’s, which is an altogether different establishment. For a start, a small bottle of Heineken costs 135 Baht, which is extortionate, even for Nana. And when mine arrived it was three-quarters frozen, like a fucking Slush Puppy, and damn near undrinkable. But when you sit in there you know where the extra money went.

I thought the girls were all fucking gorgeous, stunners every one of them, they made Pee, who is definitely gorgeous, look plain. Chris on the other hand, with his tit-fetish, didn’t fancy any of them, the weirdo.

Me and Chris had the best seats in the house, because our table had a platform and a pole on it, and a non-stop parade of girls took turns to come down from the stage, mount our table, and then shake their beautiful naked asses in our faces.

Pee was warmer with me this time, although she did sit next to Chris, and keep kissing him to make me jealous, which it did slightly, and I’m fairly sure now that I’m going to shag Pee again, although I can’t afford to go in Spankey’s to see her, and it’s almost torture for me in there anyway.

I visited Goong, which was of little event, then met May, who was all pissed off at me for spending three days with Orm (who, by the way, managed her first three orgasms during those three days, so probably even her husband should be thanking me. You’re welcome, Sunshine!) I ended up having to buy May a fucking Durian (the stinkiest fruit in the world; banned from most guest-houses,) to pacify her, before she passed out on the bed. Banged her this morning though.

I also bought Orm a couple of CD’s (shit ones) that she wanted because I didn’t want her saying that the only thing I ever gave her was an itchy minge. She was really pleased. Out of any of the girls I’ve been with, I pray that I haven’t given her anything (I think I’m clean, but I’m not 100%) because if I have, she’ll be in a lot of shit, with a husband who’s obsessive compulsive about hygiene, on the other side of the world. Worse than that, she might even come back again, which is unthinkable. As Chris said to me when I voiced these fears though, it was all her choice, and she kept chasing me, so I can’t take all the blame for anything that happens.

Chris got me out of bed this morning with the news that Reggie, our pet snake’s, tank had gone rancid, because some bits of eel that he hadn’t eaten had rotted, and there were flies and faeces and shit in there.

Turned out Reggie had died too, which is fucking rubbish, and we feel guilty as hell, although we don’t know if it was the wrong eels that killed him. We got them for free from the owner of a great little restaurant, called Jai Sabaii Gai Yang, which roughly translates as ‘contented grilled chicken’ although something is probably lost in translation here, as I’m not entirely sure how contented a grilled chicken would be. Slightly less than a live one, strutting around and pecking at seeds I’d think. Anyway Chris nicknamed the place ‘Scratch patch’ for some reason, and got pretty friendly with the owner, because of being able to speak Thai well. Either way, we should have sorted Reggie out better, so the blame is with us. We will not be getting another snake.

2007

Anyway, after poking my fingers in May’s ass, I went to a Mormon wedding. I shit you not. My friend Jeff is from the states (Oregon, I think,) and teaches over here. Nina, his new wife, who is Thai, must be one of about ten Mormons in the entire country (there’s more than that actually, The Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints was crawling with them, but there’s fuck all, nationally speaking.)

The funny thing is: They were together for twelve weeks before they found out they belonged to the same church! Jeff and Nina aren’t practising Mormons anyway, they smoke and drink and (hopefully) fuck just like anyone else.

I was actually one of the smartest dressed guys in the room! That does not happen very often. I figured I’d go Reservoir Dogs style: black shoes, white shirt, black trousers, black tie, sunglasses for the journey there (I didn’t wear them at the wedding; I’m not a fucking phantom.)

Everyone else, with the exception of the church officials and the (four) best men, came dressed kind of smart casual with patterned, short-sleeved shirts and shit. I don’t give a fuck though, ‘cause I looked fucking cool, and a few people told me so.

The wedding went on a bit, and I was part way between being moved to tears (alcoholism plays havoc with your emotions) and being bored to tears.

One saving grace was Nina’s sister. My fucking Christ! She’s a professional dancer in hip-hop videos or something, and she is fucking stunning. She’s so far out of my league that she’s playing for the national team (2015: loser; pull your fucking pants up,) but that didn’t stop me making eyes at her every time I saw her, and I received a really warm smile on one occasion that I’ll cherish forever.

I’m sure she’s got blokes dripping off her; every cunt in the room’s jaw dropped when she stood up to conduct a hymn, and she was there with the drummer from a really big Thai band (he was an ugly cunt though, and apparently married as well. I sat next to him throughout the service, and I thought she was looking over at me! (2015: that’s more like it,)) but next time I see Nina, I’m gonna get all the information, and I shit you not, if I pulled her, I’d fucking convert to non-practising Mormon, and marry her faster than a bullet in the Millennium Falcon (2015: spoken in haste, and hopefully jest.)

I also got to see Danny, Robbie, Michael (who is the real life Uncle Monty from the Withnail movie) Zach, and Tom, and a whole host of other characters that I rarely bump in to. And the ubiquitous baby that everyone seems to have had while I’ve been away.

Booze at Nat 2 was free for most of the night! Fucking dynamite! I had been a bit worried about seeing Tu, but she was fine, said she’d missed me, and we’ve arranged to meet tonight.

I did hear though (though not from a reliable source,) that rather than being the sweet, innocent little country girl that I thought she was, she’s been hanging out with every fucking falang going!

I don’t reckon she’s fucked them all though, because she wouldn’t go all the way with me, even though we were naked in bed. Tom told me she was fifteen! I’m really not sure about that, but I have to find out. Fuck! If I’ve been naked with a fifteen year old girl, it will have been the first time ever for me (I lost my virginity late; probably explains a lot to those more insightful than me.)

After all that though; I ended up meeting May at Popiang, getting far Too Drunk to Fuck, yet-a-fucking-gain, and knobbing her this morning. I’m off for a swim now for the first time in about three days.

I ended up bumping the meeting with Tu, mainly on account of conversation being so awkward between us, but also because we were at the petrol station bar, and we crashed into a girl who lives in our apartment block. Chris recognized her because of the fucking great bull-ring that was hanging out of her nose. Her name was Katie, and she was an exchange student from Australia, and then her (far cuter) friend from the States, whose name escapes me, came over, and was giving me the proper horn, despite being on the chubby side.

Chris told me the next day that I dropped some appalling bullshit: Is that why you’re here then? For the Thai girls? (Pause, slightly too long) No. I’m just really in to Thai culture. I’m not really good at bullshitting on the spot. On the rare occasions that I do tell lies, I’m far better off planning them an hour in advance. Anyway these two probably clocked my bullshit a mile off, but at that point, after they had just been talking about despising someone they knew who’d brought about a dozen Thai girls home since they’d been living with him (2 years or so) it wasn’t going to put me in good stead to tell them that I’ve shagged more than that in the last six weeks.

Chris had to fuck off home, so I went to Silk Bar, which opens all night, and had another beer while the girls had a Sang Som bucket. Conversation flowed alright, but after the cute one told me she’d been seeing an Isaan guy, I just gave up.

My record of pulling falangs is crap, and although they did ask if I was coming back to Pinthip (my apartment building,) I do live there, so I didn’t take it as much of an invitation. I just went off to find May again.

The next night was a ‘no-drink’ night (about the second one I’ve had in two months) because me and Chris had work as extras in a commercial the next day, and we had to get up at four in the morning. Fine.

Orm came round, we watched a movie. I didn’t touch a beer, Chris had a couple, Orm had five or six and got pretty pissed.

Having gotten up at four in the afternoon that day, and although I was yawning like a bastard, I couldn’t get any sleep. Orm sat and listened to music, singing softly but out of tune, which was annoying, and sank a few more beers before coming to bed.

I was frustrated at feeling tired and not being able to sleep, and Orm kept moaning at me for moving, so I took my book out on the balcony.

Of course, being a drunken Thai girl, she wants attention if I’m awake, and doesn’t appreciate the fact that I’d rather try to relax with an activity that can often lead to slumber.

After a while I started to lose my temper with her constantly blubbering away in Thai about how I’ve changed, and how I should just say that I don’t want to see her, and all that shit, over and over and over, completely ignoring anything I say anyway, blindly ignoring the obvious fact (which I explained ad nauseum) that I’m a lot more friendly and talkative when I’m drunk.

Following this fucking inconvenient (I now have about two-and-a-half hours left to get some kip) outburst is all kinds of attention-grabbing shit; crying in the bathroom (I’d removed the razor that I’d had to buy that day, for my first wet shave in over a year,) sitting on the stone banister that fronts my balcony, with only a thin, hollow metal rail to hold on to, and repeatedly locking herself out of the room (dickhead; what the fuck? But it did mean that I had to keep going and unlocking it and opening the door, which keeps the room cooler, so she still had my attention.)

Eventually, I fucking lost it. I fucking bellowed at her (in a hushed voice, if that’s possible) to fuck off. Get the fuck out! Fine! If that’s what you want to hear, I don’t want to see you. Fuck off!

Would she go? Would she fuck. I was at the end of my fucking tether, so I decided to work out, at three in the morning, to relieve some stress. She sobered up a bit, and apologised for being a drunken knob (my words; not hers) and I calmed down, and when 4.30 finally came, we left on amicable terms.

2015

Apologies for the lack of content on here recently: it’s mainly because of lack of internet access, but also because my punishing job and the gay hours it insists upon leave me with fuck-all energy or enthusiasm for anything else, really.

I love it, in a way: mad-ass exercise, and not having to deal with the rest of humanity on a daily basis, but if it was my full-time future, I would surely despair sooner rather than later.

Even at weekends all I wanna do is relax, recover, and smash beer. For now though; it’s fine. And come November, I’ll be smashing the granny out of it in BKK again, and have stuff to write about every day. Just bear with me for another month or so, innit?

2007

Over the next few days, I got laid every day, of course, but it was just the same old chicks. The most interesting thing that happened was me and Chris going to Chatuchak weekend market in order to buy shoes, trousers and shirts. We walked out with a pair of sunglasses each, and a snake between us. (2015: that’s not some sort of gay copulation rite; we went two’s on buying one!)

Chatuchak is a hideous, crowded, immense warren of alleys, lined with small shops, normally about ten feet square. It might be the cheapest place to get just about anything you want, but fucking finding whatever that may be is a nightmare, and after we’d bought Reggie (the snake, named after the one in Raiders of the Lost Ark) we had no patience or energy left for shopping.

Buying a pet between two people, I was prepared for much rumination as to its name, probably drawing up short-lists and shit. Reggie was the first thing I suggested, and Chris said ‘That’s a coincidence! I was thinking of Reg as a pet’s name this morning!’ Done deal.

Reggie is a red-tailed pipe snake, about eighteen inches long and an inch in diameter. He’s pretty much dark grey, with lighter stripes on his front, and he spends most of his time buried in the earth we put in his tank (people must have thought we were mental, digging up dirt with sticks, and then hauling it away in a bag) so he’s not the most exciting cunt, but I do think he’s cool.

Yesterday was a mixed bag. Firstly we went off to a casting, which for me was the best one yet, on account of it being over really quickly. I had to dance to ‘Sexy Back’ by Timberlake, which I actually like. Chris outright refused to do it, and fucked off to a German restaurant where he paid 200 for a microscopic sandwich.

I thought that it was Pee’s birthday (although it was actually two days previously, whoops!) so we took her a stuffed Doraemon (a sickening, cutesy, blue, flying, cartoon cat, who’s fucking massive in Asia.)

When I taught English, I used to entertain myself mutilating a self-drawn picture of him in a hangman-style game. Every time they get a letter wrong: Doraemon loses a limb, or gets his teeth smashed in and so on.)

When we first got to Cathouse, Pee was genuinely pleased to see us both, and chuffed with her present, despite the fact that it was two days late. After that though, she spent most of the time cunting me off, although in a reasonably good natured way, which makes me think that it still stings her that I told her I had a girlfriend.

Seeing Pee, and still having not really gotten anywhere with Goong, I was sorely tempted to see if I could knob her again, but I think I’ve probably cooked that goose, and it would be suicide as far as Goong is concerned anyway.

Chris wanted to go and bang a hooker we’d met at a bar on Soi 11, so I went with him, the surprise stag party that I was supposed to be attending having never materialized. One of the girls at the bar, Mam, recognized me from before, and was all over me. She looks her age in the face, but her body’s trim as fuck. She said I could give her whatever I wanted for short-time, and I said 500 Baht.

Chris and Lek came with us, and we got rooms next to each other at the Hotel PB. PB has mirrors on all the walls, and weird, reclining seats, a bit like a doctor’s bench, complete with stirrup like attachments to put women’s legs on.

We started off on this bench, but it was fucking uncomfortable, so staying in her, I picked her up, fucked her freestyle standing up and holding her for a while, then smoothly laid her down on the bed, without withdrawing.

Smooth. Then it all went tits up. Two minutes after getting on the bed, Little Jack decided he wasn’t having any of it. Complete flop-on. I was gutted, and more than a little embarrassed. She did her best to help me out, gobbling me, fondling my balls and sticking her fingers in my ass, but to no avail. I wasn’t even that drunk.

I got pretty depressed, which was vastly exacerbated by the sound of Chris making Lek scream in the next room. Mam was gutted too, I could tell she was well into me, and disappointed at not getting her satisfaction. She gave me her number and told me to call her direct next time and give her the bar-fine instead of her boss. I am going to go and see her when I finish writing this, because such a bad performance cannot go down as my only encounter with her.

After that, we returned to Khaosan, me in a grump, and we met a Chinese girl, who liked my tattoo, and we got chatting, and I think I’m in with a chance. I’m hoping to meet up with her tonight after I’ve banged Mam, and visited Goong.

*

Well all three missions were accomplished; I gave Mam a good seeing to, and one thousand Baht; I went to Big Mango to visit Goong; and I met up with the Chinese chick, whose name was Lizzie.

After a few hours of drinking with her and her mates, I was getting mixed signals, and eventually decided that I was very unlikely to pull her, and I certainly don’t like those odds.

Whilst I talked to them though, I ran into a guy called Lawrence, who I know from previous trips, but had completely forgotten about. He’s pretty sound and from down south, England, so I was glad to meet him again.

Giving up on Lizzie, I went off to see Mae, who it turns out is actually called May (there is a difference, although it’s subtle,) and got horribly drunk (I blame the peach flavoured Absolut that Lizzie gave me,) and had to be almost carried home.

Too Drunk to Fuck; of course.

May has told me before, as she did the next day ‘I don’t like fuck in the afternoon.’ I believe I’m changing her mind on that matter, ‘cause she certainly seemed to like it when we did, and today she didn’t even bother with feeble protests.

That day we went at it sixty-nine, for fucking ages. I poked my finger in her ass, which she seemed to enjoy, and then I fucked her, hard, for a long time. I gave her 300 Baht ‘for a taxi’ as I did today.

She grinned at me, and shook her head, then told me that all her mates keep telling her to stay away from me, because she can get far more money elsewhere, which is absolutely true. She doesn’t stay away though, which makes me feel really good. May is up there with the fittest birds I’ve banged (totalling 64 now) and I don’t know why she likes me. (2015: fucking please. If only I’d known my whole life what I know now…

But anyway the next post’s a fucking curveball and no mistake, so stay tuned, innit?…)

2007

Next day, Orm was back on the case, but having let her down for the past three nights or so, I decided that I could handle her for the evening. I’m glad I did. Her friend had straightened her hair for her, which she didn’t like, but I thought looked fucking rad.

She’d also brought me more cool stuff; some small dumbbells; a cool, red paper Chinese lamp, which is not much good for reading by, but as Chris correctly surmised on seeing it, great for shagging by; a wicked Bruce Lee poster; a four-socket extension cable, which I badly needed; and more coat-hangers than I have clothes.

Orm was three sheets to the wind by the time she arrived, and whilst lively and entertaining, was also a bit noisy and annoying when we were trying to watch movies on Chris’s TV.

I forgave her during Narnia, which was fairly gash anyway (if you thought the kids in Harry Potter were annoying, you should check out the four incredibly murder-able little fucks in this movie.) Only Ray Winstone walks away with his credibility intact (2015: which is more than you can say for his performance in Indy 4.) And the white witch. But that’s pretty much it.

I wasn’t prepared to have Sin City ruined for me by Orm’s half-English, half-Thai babble, and neither thankfully was Chris, although he was still feeling rough, so he kicked us out halfway through anyway.

Orm had been banging on all evening, over and over, as is her style, about the new Hannibal movie, and how it made her want to slash and tear the insides from falangs who have a lot of women and ignore their phones when people (not everyone Orm, just you, because you phone far too much) call them. She even had a go at Chris for not answering his phone when she called him! As Chris told me indignantly afterwards: it’s not his fucking duty to answer the phone to anyone who calls him, it’s up to him who he speaks to!

Although Orm was mostly jesting with the slashing, emasculating, and eviscerating business, I did have second thoughts about sleeping with her that night. Glad I did though, it was quite possibly the best shag I’ve had with her, and I even managed to shoot. I think it must have been the hair.

Orm did sort of get me to promise to see her one day a week for the two-or–three weeks ‘till she’s off, which I expect I can manage. I sorted out some visa details for her on the net too, which wasn’t as much hassle as it sounded.

Chris was finally back in action the next day, and after receiving a call from the phantom Sharran, about some definite work (albeit badly paid) for both of us, playing security guards (if we have to stand next to each other, they’ll probably give me heels to make me taller, but if it’s good enough for Cruise and Stallone: I can probably lower myself to do it,) we set off to do something we’d been meaning to do for ages.

Back before Chris was even over here, when I’d gone down the river with an English bird Amy, I’d clocked this spooky building, which she’d told me was a government building, abandoned because it was haunted. I’d been fascinated by going there ever since, and finally got round to it yesterday.

To find it, I just led Chris in its general direction, and after ages following narrow, twisting paths, between corrugated-iron, and wooden shanty-shacks, some built over the Chao Phrya itself, and no two of which were the same, all the while getting soaked by the intermittent showers of rain, and the drops from the roofs that overhung the path, we finally found it.

I could quite believe that no falang had ever bothered exploring this labyrinth or trying to visit the old, haunted house, and we stuck out like Mr Bean’s ears.

I looked a proper twat too; not wanting to get any decent clothes dirty and sweaty, I’d dressed in knee length beige shorts, flip-flops, and a green-camo vest that looks as if Schwarzenegger should be wearing it instead of me. Just to add insult to injury, I topped it off with a pair of aviators, which I insisted was part of getting into character for my role as a security guard. I looked like some South American army chief on holiday.

At first we came to the house from the back, through a gateway that didn’t look at all like we were supposed to go through it, and along a veranda that fronted some old workshop-looking places. Sounds of life came from within these, and the brief glimpse I got through the one, large, open door looked as if someone was squatting in there, which is brave for Thai people, so close to a haunted house (no one would question the fact that it’s haunted, there’s fucking ghosts everywhere in Thailand.) We could only really glimpse the back of the house through a lush, jungle-ridden swamp, which I would have been dubious about traversing in fucking wellies let alone flip-flops. We took some film and photos and left to try to get to the front, which is pretty much right on the river, save for the front garden.

After more cramped, winding alleys and passageways, the rain kicked in hard, and forced us to take shelter right outside someone’s house. The people inside clocked us through vent-holes in the concrete wall, and came out to offer us shelter, we declined, having both been guests in stranger’s houses in Thailand before, and knowing how awkward it feels, but Chris (who is a fucking handy cunt to have about sometimes) asked the guy how to get to the old house.

We moved on in the rain, because standing outside felt awkward after having been invited in, and we had to traverse a thin, slippery, mud walkway, with only a foot-high, eighteen-inch-wide concrete river siding between us and the manky, muddy, water of the Chao Phrya ten feet below us on the other side.

Finally though, we were rewarded, albeit in a slightly stunted fashion, because although we could get a great view of the house, the wicked looking spikes that topped the front wall refused us entry.

The building was a gothic-looking affair, with high stone arches along the lower storey, and large arch-shaped windows, boarded up with corrugated iron sheeting, lining the top storey.

A balcony with ornate stanchions supporting a heavy banister rail ran the length of the top storey, with a central, two-pronged staircase giving access to it on the outside. Some of the arches led through to interior courtyards now overflowing with water weeds due to the ground and the front garden being sodden with the rain and its proximity to the river. (2015: when I wrote this I wasn’t expecting to be able to include a photo which sums up the last two paragraphs without a word.)

Gutted; we again took film and photos, and then had to climb along the concrete river siding for about twenty metres, to reach a pier from which we could get back into the maze of alleys.

The six or seven guys who were sitting drinking on the pier looked highly surprised to see two falangs arriving from such an unlikely route, and they offered us a glass of beer, which we politely declined.

That night we got even more drenched by torrential rain. Chris’s first night back in action after his illness, was supposed to be a whirlwind tour of as many girly bars as we could fit in, but we got stuck, less than thirty metres away from Beer Garden, and had to have a couple of beers in The Winking Frog.

We arrived there, drenched (the water at the curb-side was over my ankles and it had splashed all the way up to the backs of my knees,) climbing over fences and along two inch thick bits of raised concrete, sharing a pink umbrella, that was making fuck all difference (a lady at the end of Soi 7 sold us hers for 50 Baht) and looking like a right pair of fags. We were, quite deservingly, ridiculed by the denizens of the Winking Frog, and forced to stay there uncomfortable and wet, for three beers before we could move on.

Beer Garden wasn’t much fun either, and despite being the youngest and probably most attractive blokes in there, we got very little attention from the ladies. Alright we were pretty much making an effort not to catch anyone’s eye or waste their time, but still, it was strange. We think perhaps it was the fact that we looked neither rich, nor desperate, that made us seem like a bad earner.

I took Chris to Soi 1 Plaza, which was much better, and we went round a couple of bars, and arranged to go back to Sexy tonight for a double-date with Ja and her friend. Then we came back to The Hood, I hooked up with Mae and that was it. Mae certainly seemed impressed with our sixty-nine before: she was banging on about it in Popiang, and was eager to repeat in when we got home. This morning she asked me for cash (not for the sex, for a taxi) so I gave her sixty Baht which was all I had in my wallet (except the 500 that was hidden in another section) which was enough to get her home. I don’t really feel guilty about that: she’s a hustler from way back I’m sure, and I bought her a couple of beers and some grub.

2007

Last night (the evening of the day I sixty-nined Mae, although chronology hardly seems to matter in this journal, I thought I’d just mention that again, ‘cause it was fun) Chris was out of action with a sore throat, so I took the opportunity to have a nice, restful, cheap night in.

Not in this fucking life.

What I really did was head down to Sukhumwit to check out new places to grab chicks.

My plan was to grab beers out of the Seven, wander around, check things out, then every time I had to piss or take a dump (2015: or even just go to the toilet?,) I’d get a beer somewhere and use the khazi.

First off, I walked up the way from soi 4 (where Nana Plaza is) not really expecting to find much, but just wanting to satisfy my curiosity.

Well shit; I found a complex of hostess bars called Soi 1 Plaza, which I only saw the ground floor of, which was surprisingly empty of customers. (2015: it’s gone now. No big loss; trust me.)

I went in to the last bar, which I think was called Sexy Bar, and got fucking mobbed. There was four or five chicks pawing at me, wiping my brow, massaging me, asking me questions in Thai, and fuck knows what. If I’d had even a couple of beers I’d have been better equipped to deal with it, but as it was; it was like being a foxy white chick at a football match in Delhi.

They clocked it too, and kept telling me to calm down and not be scared, because they don’t eat men and shit, but I felt like screaming ‘Just fucking leave me alone for a second and I will calm down!’ But I didn’t, and it was alright, just a bit much for my fragile sensibilities at that moment. (2015: fucking pussy. No fucking way I’d have put up with that horseshit these days.)

I played Jenga with a girl called Ja Ja (Binks?) who reminded me a lot of my mate Dave’s pregnant girlfriend Pym, who I always thought was cute.

They told me that there’s a disco on the fourth floor (I seriously doubt I’ll ever get the compulsion to go there; at that moment it could’ve been an all-you–can-snort Scarface ride at Universal, and I’d still have gayed off.)

Anyway, I had to leg it from Soi 1 Plaza, ‘cause it was just too much at the time, but I definitely plan on returning once Chris is back in action.

My initial mission brief, or the reason that I was wandering in Sukhumwit, was to find out where the fuck the Beer Garden was.

Beer Garden, isn’t a fucking garden at all, although the high roof does give it an ‘outside’ feel. I’d been there once with Chris, and walked past it a couple of times, but we just couldn’t remember where it was.

The place is fucking brimming with bar-girls, (quite a few ladyboys too, so be careful) and there’s no bar-fine to take them away. I chatted to a really cute chick named Sang, but I think she decided that I was a time-waster, and fucked off after a bit.

After that, whilst I finished my Heineken, I talked to exactly the sort of over-fifty geezer that you don’t want to see perving around young Thai girls. He reckoned that you were looking at 1500 for short time with these chicks, but fuck him: He’s old, I’m young, and that’s life (-Miguel Ferrer. Robocop. Sort of. I’m fucking paraphrasing; alright?)

Then I just wandered about, had a drink at Soi 5 Bar with a couple of Irish guys, one of whom got steadily more rude and offensive as the night went on (I returned after visiting Goong at Big Mango, which was a good job, because I’d forgotten to pay for my beer, which I remembered as I approached. The girl Kim, behind the bar, who I like, seemed relieved that she didn’t need to convince me of the fact.)

Then I talked to a Scotsman, who lives on a house boat in Windsor, but is rarely ever there ‘cause he works for the U.N., and he’s been in twenty-five different countries in the last year. This impressed me no end, and he really strengthened my yearning to go to Columbia.

Goong blew me out again, (2015:;cunt) with some excuse about her friend being really drunk (I’m starting to worry about this shit. Maybe she’s making excuses, or maybe her friend is jealous and trying to put a spanner in the works, I don’t fucking know, but I’m beginning to see Chris’s prophecy about me getting bored putting in the effort coming true) so I hooked up with Mae at Popiang.

I found out that Mae and Odie hate each other (great!) and I explained to Mae that I can’t give her money every time I shag her, which seems to be becoming quite a regular thing. She was fine with that, and then this morning I gave her 200 Baht ‘for a taxi’ which she didn’t ask for, and then realised that I hadn’t even shagged her last night! We must have both been too drunk! Gay! (2015: Christ! No wonder I gave up paying for sex! Sometimes I still have the urge to pay out for sex that didn’t happen though; probably always will, I guess.)

Chris being ill and not wanting to do much brought out a temporary laziness in me, so it’s been a few days since I’ve written anything.

The night after I discovered Soi 1 Plaza, I couldn’t help but return, but this time I went back to Sexy Bar after a few beers and was much more relaxed. I had a couple in there, and then received a belated text from Goong, who hadn’t seen my earlier text ‘cause she was playing in a pool competition.

Out of a sense of duty (to myself more than Goong) I didn’t blow her off and stay at Sexy Bar like I wanted to, but instead went down to Big Mango to see her, bought her a drink (although she was already quite pissed from the competition) left early to bump the bar fine, and waited for her at Soi 5.

Again, I got a text message, bumping me because she was too drunk and tired, but I only saw it after I’d phoned her. I had to mention that she was kind of making it look like she didn’t like me much, but she just said ‘I tell you before have to go slowly.’

The conversation ended on a bit of a downbeat note, and now, three days later, we still haven’t been in touch, although I intend to go see her today for a quick drink, and try to get things back on an even keel at the least.

Half-disappointed, but half-overjoyed, (‘cause even if Goong comes out with me, I’m unlikely to get laid) I immediately called Ja Ja from Sexy Bar, whose number I’d gotten earlier. She was still there, and I paid her bar-fine (500) and arranged a grand for her to come home with me.

Ja hasn’t been in Bangkok long, and hasn’t really been out of the Soi 1 complex. She usually goes up to the guest house on the third floor if she goes with customers, so my apartment in Pinklao, which is a 7 k taxi ride across town, could be the end of the earth for her.

Luckily, because I didn’t want to shell out for a guest-house, the 511 bus runs straight from pretty much my front door to hers, so Mama agreed to let her come with me (although she was hoping that I’d accompany her back and buy more beer.)

Even after I’d paid Ja’s fine, the rest of the girls kept pestering me and competing for my attentions, which I didn’t mind, and I told them about Chris who they were most anxious to meet.

Ja is thirty-two, but doesn’t look it when she’s dolled-up. She was really sweet and affectionate, and we ended up doing it three times (I managed to blow every time too! Result!) Something to do with her reminding me of Dave’s missus Pym, gave me the horn (I guess I’d always seen her as someone I couldn’t have, and this was good enough, without me having to be a cunt, which I don’t do to my mates.)

2015: Not much of a cumshot to today’s instalment really, was there? Well that’s just fucking life; sometimes it’s so banal that even I can’t make it funny. But one thing that might make you chuckle, is my bike getting run over by a fucking articulated lorry the other night.

I walked out after my last shift of the week grinning ear to ear in the bright sunshine, almost tasting the beers waiting for me at home.

As soon as I looked at my bike something struck me as wrong. On closer inspection I found that the frame was bent. Like 30 degrees fucking bent.

The smell of an insurance pay-out goes well with the almost taste of beer, as I’m sure you’d expect.

So I fucked around reporting it to the relevant authorities, then got a lift home from my dad and got drunk.

The next few days were a bit uncomfortable with my torn ass-cheek (which is getting much better; but nowhere near right yet) and lack of transport meant that I was forced to have a couple of sunny-as-fuck days off work.

Insurance say they’re gonna pay me 300 quid, for a bike that cost me 25 second hand about a decade since (although it was expensive when new) so as long as that all comes off; at least I’m laughing, eh? Back of the fucking net!

2007

So; last post’s Manga porn brings me neatly to toilets (!) I wipe my ass with my hand. (2015: not any more unless it’s absolutely necessary; those glory days are well behind me now) I’ve done it a thousand times when I’ve stayed up north in Isaan, and my left middle finger has been in my ass more times than it’s been up girls (I usually use the right one for that.) At the moment though, I’m doing it because my apartment is sadly lacking in one of the ass-cleaning guns that are the preferred method of wiping for people of average affluence upwards.

These guns are cool, man; they are the way forward in ass-cleaning. It may sound abhorrent to most western people to fire water up their ass after they shit, but as long as you have a powerful enough gun, it really is more effective and more hygienic.

Basically, all the gun is; is a hose with a trigger attachment, much like people in England use to water their gardens, except that it sticks out of the wall next to the crapper.

If there’s not enough pressure on it, it’s tits-on-a-fucking-bull, and all it will do is get your hand wet, and probably put a nice sparkly sheen on the cack spattered around your ass. At the other end of the spectrum, I’ve used guns that would strip the bark off a redwood. Like: I was fucking thirsty before I fired that up my ass. (2015) There was a gun in Paknampran so incisive and efficient, it was difficult not to start filling your colon up with water, and have to shit it out again! Quite fun if you filled it up as much as you could then let the whole lot go in a raging torrent of diluted doo-doo downpour, but not worth visiting town for.)

I remember one incident in Nat2 the second time I was over. I’d just finished taking a dump, and I grabbed the gun to clean myself off, but the fucking head came away from the hose. The hose fucking whipped about the place like a fighting anaconda, gushing water fucking everywhere.

I finally managed to wrestle it to the ground and force the gun back on, (of course the pressure of that just made the spray more powerful) by which time I was drenched. When I walked back out into the barroom was almost exactly like Ace Ventura emerging sodden and torn from the toilet in the first movie. I told everyone what happened, but my mate Mark still managed to do the same thing two days later!

Guns are the fucking way: End of. Chris can stick his magic ass-tissues up his ass (or maybe in the rubbish bin next to the toilet like everybody else.) I really want to get them to install a gun in my apartment, it has the fitting on the wall, but I really need Chris’s girlfriend Petch to ask them for me.

They don’t speak much English at all, and would you fancy trying to convey, to a couple of sweet little Thai women, using bad Thai (2015: this was years back. Now i’d walk straight up to them and without hesitation inform them that I needed a weapon to stick up my ass) and mime, that you wanted a gun to wash the shit off your ass? Exactement.

One time in the Charoensri shopping complex in Udon, I fucking had to go. There was no stopping this fucker, and when it came it was noisy and messy. One problem: there was no gun. The machine that gives out a little box of tissues for two Baht, ordinarily ubiquitous in Thai public toilets, had been removed (you could see where it had been on the wall ‘cause the paint was a different colour.) So I’m sat there, relieved, but in the middle of a shit-storm, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do about cleansing my derriere.

Suddenly I get inspiration, and like fucking McGyver solve the problem with what I have to hand. My cigarette packet. The whole fucking thing. Not one piece of card or foil wasted. It was exactly enough too (as you can imagine; not the most absorbent wipe I’ve ever used.) I walked out of the khazi with a smoke behind each ear, one in my hand like I was smoking it (which you can’t in a shopping centre) and three in the front pocket of my hoody (I guess it must have been cold out!) My girlfriend refused to walk with me. Because I had cigarettes behind my ears.

You can imagine my good humour at this point I’m sure. Can’t wipe your ass because of badly managed fucking Thai toilets, and then get a bollocking for looking a knob and embarrassing her with something that the solution necessitated. Fuck, I hate that bitch! It’s been two years now, and sometimes I miss her, but when I think of shit like that; I remember exactly why I dumped her.

Absolutely the worst time though, was in another shopping centre, Central Pinklao, where the same thing happened, but I was forced to flush and then use the water in the toilet to wash my ass. I really am ashamed of that shit; that is pretty fucking low. Needs must though, what the fuck was I supposed to do? Walk around with a cack-splattered crack all day? I was going to the cinema too, I’m sure I’d have been most popular in there for two hours! After that, I started to keep all the Seven-Eleven receipts that I had previously binned immediately, and they got me out of trouble quite a few times.

Just one final anecdote while I’m still in the gutter. One time, my old boss Wat, who deserves a book to himself, was parading me around the country in his truck, showing me off as his pet falang to schools that might be interested (he was kind of like a teacher-pimp, in many ways) and I’d had a crunch at every school we’d visited. And at the temple we stopped at so Wat could buy his girlfriend something at the market. Finally on the way home, I had the seat of his pretty smart Isuzu pick-up fully reclined and was pretending to sleep, because his constant prattle, although often hilarious if there’s a few of you, is fucking tiring to listen too if it’s just you and him.

Anyway, I got the calling once more, and it wasn’t asking, it was fucking telling. I told Wat that he had to pull over. Okay, he says. Next service station: I pull over. No! Say I. Not next service station: Right fucking now.

So Wat pulls into a conveniently placed farm track off the Bangkok-Ratchaburi highway. Lucky me, I had a roll of tissue in my bag. I hit the ground running, but I don’t even manage to get out of Wat’s line of sight before having to tear my trousers down (I only managed to get one leg off, and thank fuck I go commando) before firing what is best described as a pint of English mustard, at terminal velocity downwards.

“Oh, my friend!” Wat said when I had cleaned myself up, and got back in the car, surely more relieved than the cast of Wargames when the credits roll. “I never see anybody shit like that! I can’t wait to tell Chris!”

2007

Fuck it though; even though I woke up with Mae, I didn’t get laid, but I was feeling alright because it was Goong’s day off and I was taking her out.

I fucked about for a bit, and managed to make myself late, but then we went to see that crap new Lecter movie. It’s watchable, (don’t any of these words with –able on the end really exist?) not least for Rhys Ifans and the guy from Dog Soldiers, but you never have to feel any sympathy for the victims, ‘cause they’re a right bunch of cunts, and it takes the sting out of any of the violence.

After the movie though, we were supposed to go to dinner with Chris and Petch. But suddenly, Goong’s mate, who apparently she hasn’t seen for two months, wants her to visit her instead. Great. Fine. Double A fucking dynamite. What the fuck was I supposed to say when she asked if it was alright? No?

To be fair Goong did seem really sorry about dumping me off, but the way I see it, I reckon she engineered it because she was shy of meeting Chris’s girlfriend. I don’t know what it is, but Orm was the same (her reasoning being that she doesn’t want to be looked at like just the next in a line of women as long as your arm. Much longer than that, come to think of it.) I can understand that, and I don’t know if it’s the same deal with Goong, but it’s a pain in the ass, because it would be good to be able to hang out with Chris when he’s with Petch without feeling like a fifth wheel (they don’t make me feel like that; it’s just how it is, y’know?)

So fuck it! Alright then. I’m not going to cane my cash on a posh restaurant if Goong ain’t about, so I let Petch and Chris (who was actually moaning about being a bit sick and feverish anyway) go about their business.

At this point I have to inject something that causes me great mirth but I forgot to mention it in its correct chronological spot: A few days back, whilst me and Chris ate one of these ‘cook your own barbecue at your table’ deals, Petch had phoned up, wanting to hook up with Chris (no fucking go, the cunt still had three love-bites on his neck from Sally) and she told him that she had a surprise present for him. Chris said that Petch’s presents were normally pretty good, and considering she’s minted (she has a well-paid massage job, and Chris doesn’t ask too many questions,) it probably won’t be a cheap one.

Chris phoned me while I was with Orm the other night, because I was almost as curious as him as to what the surprise was. What he told me could not have been any funnier from my perspective.

The king of Thailand (who I sincerely think is cool as,) had some sort of birthday or anniversary shortly before I arrived here. To celebrate it most of the country (everyone, down to the lowest, flesh-trading scum-bag, loves the king here) invested in gay yellow polo-shirts with the king’s insignia on them, to celebrate.

I fucking hate them. Not only would I not even consider putting one on, the very sight of them offends me. The amount of times I’ve seen chicks walking along, who I’m sure are dynamite fucking fit, but don’t look it because their figure is masked by the most unflattering, shit, polo-shirt in the world, is too numerous to count.

Chris isn’t quite so vitriolic as I am about them, but he does think they’re gay, especially when falangs wear them (we did find out that many teachers have to, for work, but in general it just fucking screams ‘I wish I was Thai!’) So can you guess what Chris’s surprise was then? I nearly fucking died.

To be fair to Petch, Chris does love the king (he’s got pictures of him on his wall and stuff, which if I didn’t know better, would scream ‘I wanna be Thai!’ just as much, but he’s just into personality cults) but wear one of those shirts? Shit, man I was probably equally gutted about missing seeing that as I was about Goong bailing on me. If I never get the chance to see Chris in that shirt, in fucking public, I will kick myself for the rest of my life.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, Goong blew me out, so I decided to go dern len (walkabouts) around The Hood and the Samsen area, and sink a few cheap cans from Seven (2015: the birth of the Seven-Crawl; a moment that shall be long remembered by generations to come) while I was at it.

By about the third can, I had a full bladder and there was most definitely a crunch on the horizon too, so I stopped in to Lagoon Bar or whatever it’s called (getting served there, without great personal effort, is like waiting for your liver and lungs to evolve into more efficient, streamlined, smoking and drinking organs) ‘cause I knew that the khazi was acceptable for pinching off a Forrest Gump.

Said Forrest Gump having been successfully deposited, I had just finished off the end of my warm (these cunts would probably just wait for it to snow if you asked them for ice; I shit you not) Leo, and who should walk past? My old mate Muff, his wife Anne, and their little boy Anton. Re-fucking-sult, as I had Jacques Chirac to do anyhow.

It turned out that I was double-lucky to see them, ‘cause they were off to the airport in a few hours. They were skint as shit and trying to sell some books (the shops were closed, so I ended up giving them cash for the books, and then fucking forgetting them in Popiang later) and we ended up in Number One’s for their final beer.

We were having a chat and all that shit (things tend to be sedate when there’s a child about) when I look across the room, and see another old mate Adie, who to be honest, I’d forgotten about until I clocked him.

Adie has been knocking about over here years, selling silver. He’s French-speaking Algerian, but he looks Indian or Pakistani, and he’s a pretty cool guy (appreciates his women anyway, which goes a long way with me with the right person.) He was also the only customer that ever came in to my ill-advised restaurant in Udon. And all he had was a couple of beers, which must have put about 10 Baht in my pocket.

So a night of ‘what the fuck shall I do?’ (I swear, I’m at a fucking loss when Chris has something better to do) turned in to joyful reunions all round.

I met some geezer from Warrington in Popiang, and he was sound, and I chatted with him while I waited for Mae, and her mate Dae (Ray, Kay and Jay were conspicuously absent) to arrive.

It was all fun, then I brought Mae home, actually got to knob her this time, although I was too pissed to finish the job, and went to sleep. Got Mae in a sixty-nine this morning, and then finally managed to finish in her, then she took her 500 Baht ‘taxi fare’ and fucked off.

Orm wants me to go look at the internet about American visas for her, which I will do, although I really can’t be fucked.

Also worth mentioning is a cool photograph I got yesterday of the inside of a toilet door in some shopping centre in Siam Square. It’s a cool montage of Manga-style porn, with chicks sucking dicks and getting spunk gushed over their faces and shit. It may not sound all that good, but believe me, compared to the usual ‘toilet art’ you get, it’s artistically very good, and strangely tasteful. I even had to bash one out over it (at home, over the photo; not in the khazi at Siam.)