Is it human nature to always want what we can’t have? To strive for something that is just out of reach; to put right what once went wrong and hoping the next leap, will be the leap home. Sorry,
Quantum Leap’s on in Thai and I got carried away. It’s almost like we
need hardship in our lives and quantify them by overcome hurdles. In fact I think that’s straight from
The Matrix – and I didn’t write it with deliberate plagiarism in mind, but it is a good point. Take the adverts here for example; the men and women depicted are invariably half Thai and half farang, with pale skin and wavey or curly hair. That’s hardly reality, but then that’s what Marketing is all about I guess. Back home, every girl owns a pair of GHDs, so they can painstakingly remove any hint of femininity and straighten it so as to mimic, well, Asians ironically. Light skin is revered here, as opposed to the elusive tan that all Westerners associate with healthiness. Personally all I want is a cool climate and easily accessible Park to run around and yes, it’s something that eludes me too.
Thais like repetition. Take the music for example; it’s enough to make you plead for fireworks to go off either side of your head just to make it go away: Permanent ringing for the rest of life or this trite? Sold. If you’re shopping and debating between two similar items, ask the shop assistant what the difference is and odds are good you’ll be told; “same, same” as the answer. It’s even on the front of T-Shirts in Noddy letters, with “but different” on the back. And I’m sure you are, really, I find the paradoxical irony of the phrase awfully droll. Speaking of assistants, you’ll be followed and positively stalked until point of purchase. It’s enough to make your typical British introverted loner perform a 3-hit combo with their Pepper spray, stun gun and rape alarm. That should feature in the next Street Fighter game.
Nipping out for a bite to eat this evening in Sukhumvit (read Deathtrap Dungeon for some interesting references to Thailand on that note), I can hear shouting as I descend the stairs from the Sky Train. It’s safe to take a bet that he’s white, but even worse is the realisation that there are two of them – dressed in smart white shirts finished with ties, and black trousers with polished shoes. One stands guard behind the other, whilst he finishes screaming verses from the Bible which he pointlessly shakes at passersby, angrily. Where’s my gun, this moron is wasting valuable air
and energy, plus he’s large enough to feed three and a half African Nations, if skewered and spit roast for a few weeks. I just passed a stall selling crossbows and should have picked one up and fired a few in his jugular – try shouting nonsense then. Only a stone’s throw from the famous Soi Cowboy Red Light strip, I wonder if they have chosen this spot to protest at the debauchery, or whether it’s simply for convenience; they can hit it after wrecking throats and find themselves a nice piece of Thai
poontang. Yup, they’re sceptic tanks. Who’d have thunk it.
If you’re craving a piece of UK
delicacy and in need of some hilarity, head to the Villa Ambassador supermarket. Remember beans on toast from your student days? Or a cup of Tetley and some chocolate digestives – as that’s all your flatmates left you after eating everything else you bought in Somerfields? Better still, a Cheese and Mayo sarnie; quick, easy and definitely one of your
five a day.
Let’s put things in to perspective:
• Can of Chang beer: 30 Baht
• Fried Rice with selection of two Curries: 55 Baht
• Freshly made pancake with egg, banana, syrup and chocolate sauce: 20 Baht
• Iced Coffee: 20 Baht
That’s effectively a three-course meal. Are you mad, clinically insane, or just a Media Arts student? I’d far rather have a can of beans – it’s a delicacy after all; a gourmet meal, a treat for Friday night. Tis true, the Thais know what we like and are going to charge the Earth, Sun and a few moons of Jupiter for it. Cup of Tetley take your fancy? Clench your teeth and suck in hard, ‘cause “Ooh that’s gonna cost ya”.
Spend enough time in Bangkok, and it’ll begin to hurt when sitting down from all the bending over and sodomy. Just pray you don’t have piles.
Felines are a scourge on the planet. Not the majestic kind, no I mean the domestic furball-with-claws from hell, that exude the kind of selfishness you’d expect from an Etonian female. If they existed. Canines are trustworthy and reliable, but only if well trained and having had sexual appendages removed at an early age. Boy, some of the sights I’ve seen here, it’s enough to bring water to Bitches eyes. And does. My pick of restaurants in downtown is Bei Otto, a quaint German styled Butchery and Bakery, where all manner of Würst and Beer are on sale and the waitresses all look like Gretal. Teeny four foot versions, that have to reach up to open the pub door admittedly. It’s eccentric but adorable. Food is prepared with typical Deutsch precision and panache and although it’s effectively
Bangers and Mash: A Veal sausage, caramelised onions, creamed potatoes, broccoli gratin and gravy are like catnip to me.
Throughout this meal I’ve made a friend, who is in appearance identical to
Puss in Boots from
Shrek 2, right down to the mannerism of looking up and begging. Those eyes are difficult to refuse, even for a hardened cat-hater. If I was a girl (or a radyboy), I’d be cooing and saying something like; “Isn’t he so cute and fluffy wuffy! Bless him, I just want to cuddle wuddle him and sit him on my lappy wap.” But I’m not, so I need a demonstration of reliability. After twenty minutes loyally sat at my feet, I give in, only for him to Wolf the scraps I drop and instantly bugger off. Yes indeed, I still think all Cats should all be microwaved; bring on Vietnam. Rick Stein refused to try some, but perhaps I’ll ask if a Chef will do me
filet du Chat with a Tail gravy.
Finger lickin’ good.
I need some assistance, dear readers whoever you may be, in deciphering the following mystery. I spent quite some time mulling over the answer, whilst sipping a cup of green tea and aiming my lens around Center World, like some kind of misfiring paparazzi on auto-fire. My puzzle is as follows and it is one of a binary nature; black or white, left or right, on or off,
male or female. This should be simple, though if calories are burned when using one’s brain, I must have run a proverbial marathon with computations; I’m stuck in an infinite repeating loop, falling forever deeper through an endless fractal of confusion. Perhaps someone can help, as I have no idea which gender this androgynous
B.O.B. is. Sitting forward, it’s clearly a male – the sideburns and short hair give it away, as does the jawbone structure (he reminds me of Jaws from the Bond films, though sadly I can’t make out any metal teeth from my vantage point). But wait, hold the press! Slumping back and crossing legs, and behold the instant transformation in to femininity. Optimus Prime would shit himself; this is one badass Decepticon. Plus I’m fairly certain those are breasts underneath that shirt. Yup, that crease is just too convenient; not forgetting the pink bag and girly shoes of course. Either way I unleash the judgement for you to decide.
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The final solution to the B.O.B. question is quite straightforwardly unquestionably indisputably and beyond doubt FEMALE. Arriving at this definitive conclusion is based upon two observations. One: her hips, two her hands. Because the anti-feminine fashion wearing of jeans by women can cause confusion yet a common form of attire for travelling. The acid test to confirm any doubt is: Throw a ball or similar sized item at her lap. No movement---female, snapping the legs quickly together---male.
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