A couple of weeks ago I met up with one of my readers. He lives in Bangkok, but was visiting Pattaya, and suggested lunch. She who must be obeyed, who considers it part of her job to take an obsessional interest in my well-being, was convinced I would be snatched and sold into slavery; but after 32 years sitting in an office for an oil company, slavery was something I was used to. And anyway, as I pointed out from a distance, I was married to her; so how would I spot the difference.
Anyway, she had nothing to fear, because my lunch companion, let’s call him Jim, was a fine fellow and we ended up in conversation for two hours; and he even paid for the meal. He makes his living from the internet and gave me many tips on how I could make some cash out of Pattaya Days. Given that my daily readership hovers around 200, I rather doubt I will be buying a Ferrari any time soon; but maybe I will give it a go. For a start, you can all send me $100. Thank you.
I follow Jim on Twitter, and yesterday afternoon he posted that the red shirts were outside the Esplanade shopping centre in Bangkok, and that, from his condo window, he could see a stage being erected. This provoked pangs of jealousy and regret in yours truly; because at the time I was covering a polo game on the outskirts of Bangkok; and questioning my decision not to fight my way into Bangkok after the game in order to make my way to the stage that was being erected outside Jim’s window.
If I had a “ten favourite bands” list, and I probably do have one somewhere, then Placebo would be on it. They might even make the top five if they asked me nicely. I have every album they have ever released, DVDs of their live performances, and the obligatory T-shirt. But I have never seen them live, and that is a failing I would like to rectify (it’s on my “seventy four things to do before I die” list, along with less likely activities such as the one involving Jennifer Love Hewitt and baby oil). They came through Bangkok a couple of years ago, and I missed them. And they were playing last night, and I missed them again. It was always going to be a little difficult because I had a polo game to cover first, which meant a bag full of camera gear to stow somewhere; but then the red shirts chose the day to do their grand tour of Bangkok; and I just couldn’t face the hassle. Next time. Maybe.
Perhaps the real reason is that I am just getting too old for this sort of thing. I stood in the rain for five hours to watch The Rolling Stones. I endured a couple of hours in the mosh pit when I experieced the Red Hot Chili Peppers in Bangkok (damn, they were good), but after a couple of hours in the sun with a camera, I am ready for a sit and a gin & tonic. This must be what they mean by the long, slow decline into senility and death.
But it has been a busy week. A day with the bikes on Wednesday, and then a four hour round trip to the polo field in Bangkok on Thursday where “my” club are playing in a tournament. They win their first match.
Same trip yesterday, and they win their second match.
About to climb in the truck to make the trip again today. They have made the final, which will be the last match of the day and will be played under floodlights and will therefore be a bastard to photograph.
Expect to get home late; have stuffed the phone full of Placebo tracks to keep me awake for the journey back.
Comments 🔗
2010-03-21| Walter saysYou are already senile. Perhaps death will put a stop to this endless stream of rubish.
2010-03-21| Billy saysand may the sun shine brightly for you today - and help you recover from the unfortunate death of your dog this morning
2010-03-21| genuinej saysRubish? Walter, you really are a twat.
2010-03-22| Mike saysI think that Walter is actually " She who must be obeyed" under cover.
2010-03-22| Spike saysSo you think my wife is rude, wishes me dead and, worst of all, unable to spell simple words?
- You are wrong
- Fuck off
2010-03-22| Mike saysThe Spelling mistakes are a subterfuge and she is not rude.
Judging by the tone of your reply the rest could be true
2010-03-22| Spike saysPerhaps an over-reaction and I apologise; especially now I have realise who “Mike” is.
2010-03-22| bart saysSo, Mike is “SWMBO” undercover and not rude, but then who is Walter? (I feel like in Cluedo!)
2010-03-22| Spike saysMike is Mike. Walter is a dick. SWMBO has no idea what all this about. Personally I think Camberley used a hosepipe in the drawing room. But then he was always a little perverted.
2010-03-22| genuinej saysWhoever Walter is he should be enticed into a real live Cluedo session where he could then be the victim and eliminated by anyone, in any room, with any weapon,(at any time, but asap preferred).
2010-03-22| Billy saysI came wishing to thank you for pointing me in the direction of the man who coined “purportedly magic Jew” and thereby wiping out nearly three hours of my life as I read some of his wonderful stuff. And instead I find the thing taken offline, shudder to think why but proffer my sympathy in any event. And if you wouldn’t mind providing once again just the link that I am no longer able to find?
2010-03-22| Billy saysAh, no help needed as Mr Google came to the rescue, revealing not only the original but also the inevitable Facebook account …
2010-03-23| Spike saysDecided to take down my post till his site came back; no point extolling the virtues of the unobtainable.
2010-03-23| Billy saysThen you will have to follow your own rule and stop banging on about Jennifer Love Hewitt - and the baby oil …. and stick to Angela Jolie