Some excitement in the Pattaya air this week due to the first ever meeting of our CCC (Colonial Commenters Club), overseas members division. Already in town was Spanky, who had spent a couple of weeks acclimatising and recovering from jet lag by adopting the tried and tested technique of being permanently pissed; before being laid low with what he described as a stomach bug, but what any member of the medical profession would easily identify as alcohol poisoning.
Genuinej, although not actually a colonial, had volunteered to attend in order to ensure that nobody employed bad grammar, and to make sure that any food and drink menus perused during the meeting did not contain spelling mistakes. Unfortunately, he was called back to the motherland on the day of the meeting to attend a disciplinary tribunal of the IGP (International Grammar Pedants). The charge laid before him was that he neglected his duties related to the correcting of mistakes in this publication for some three weeks, preferring to spend his time wielding his mashie niblick in assorted bunkers across Chonburi province, or whatever the fuck it is that golfers do.
The other attendee was Grant who flew all the way from New Zealand for the occasion; and then spent nearly as much time getting from Bangkok to Pattaya by choosing to come on the train. I was tasked with collecting him from the station which I was able to find thanks to directions from Pete and Wally. Unfortunately, the train had a lot more difficulty finding the station than I did, eventually arriving more than an hour behind schedule.
I was kept abreast of progress by frequent SMS messages from Grant (“snow on the tracks in Banglamung”), so did not have to spend to much time hanging around. But it actually turned out to be a rather pleasant place to spend some time.
With Thais travelling free on many routes, and Grant having to pay an eye-watering 31 baht for his trip from Bangkok, it is not surprising that the State Railway of Thailand is in a dire financial condition; but this has not stopped the guys in Pattaya from maintaining their gardens in a manner that rivals Nong Nuch. They even had the foresight to highlight a broken bulb:
As befits his status, Grant had requested a low-key reception at the station, specifically “garlands, bunting, a small parade, some elephants, local dignitaries and some Champagne will suffice”. Sadly I had failed to arrange some most all of these; but hoped that a nearby volleyball tournament playing Gangnam Style on heavy rotation would do as a substitute.
We found each other on the station easily enough thanks to my accurate description of myself as being “the most ruggedly handsome farang on the platform”, although “the only farang on the platform” would have also sufficed. The volleyball cacophony duly noted, I whisked my visitor away in my executive truck. Lunch was a martini, served on a bed of condoms.
Yes, it was Cabbages and Condoms, and the food was better than I recall and not at all rubbery.
We then went on a little tour of the surrounding countryside, where Grant grunted appreciatively at assorted temples and statues. But, given his interest in all things transport, his camera did not come out until we stopped at this:
It’s apparently been restored to “first class” condition, which means it is only marginally worse than current SRT rolling stock and is certainly not capable of moving anywhere, even if there were track available for it to move on, which there isn’t. Still, it pleased Grant who, with merely a glance, could inform me what model it was, when it was constructed, and the surname of the man who made the boiler. I pretended to give a shit.
We could not linger long, for it was back into Pattaya to prepare ourselves for the grand evening ahead. I chose a beige jacket, black trousers and some rather expensive Italian loafers whereas Grant arrived in what I can only assume was fancy national dress.
Glasses charged, we awaited the grand entrance of Spanky in order that the evening’s festivities could get underway. Then an SMS arrived informing us that he had just woken up, along with some story about being locked out of his room all night and having to wait for the maid to turn up in the afternoon to let him in, and it being a bit hot etc.
We were unimpressed. Just woken up? Half of Pattaya wakes up in the early evening, and then heads immediately out for beers. Locked out of room? Pay a couple of hundred baht and get another room to sleep in. Such feeble excuses are not accepted when the honour, nay the very survival, of the CCC is at stake.
What was particularly sad was that Grant had come along carrying presents for all. For me, some coffee and a rather nice Helios 44mm F2.0 lens which I look forward to slinging on an adapter soon. For Spanky there was also a lens, something with the word “Leica” on it, but that is now on its way back to New Zealand. There is also a mysterious package for him which has remained in my possession and which I will pass to him should he ever manage to get out of bed or find his room or run out of excuses.
Not to be deterred, we embarked upon more beers and raised a glass to our absent member with a toast that contained many more expletives than is usual. As well as missing out on beers, banter and some acceptable food, Spanky missed out on the special guest appearance of she who must be obeyed who breezed in after a day at work, polished off a plate of fish and chips and was rewarded with a very cute handbag from New Zealand.
Suitably refreshed, we repaired for nightcap gin & tonics to somewhere that turned out to ideal to enjoy the firework display.
At some point during the evening we changed “Colonial” to “Commonwealth” in the CCC certificate of incorporation and further clarified membership to exclude all those who can’t come up with a good excuse not to drink beer. Not that any further meetings are planned, I just couldn’t handle the disappointment.
Comments 🔗
2012-12-07| Wally saysNever mind Pete, maybe we’ll get an invite next year. If it hadn’t been for our excellent detailed directions Grant would probably have ebded up in Snookyville.
2012-12-07| Pete saysWe don’t need an invite; let them have their little “two out of three ain’t bad” society. We’ll make our own “Workers Of Oman Party Every Evening” group and we’ll not only out-acronym them, but we’ll have a 100% turnout.
2012-12-08| Grant saysOoh! Sheer naked envy is a very ugly thing…
2012-12-08| Spike saysBoys! Boys! We had to keep the kiddies from the colonies happy. Now they are gone we can have a proper get together; but have to wait until Pete is in town.
2012-12-08| Grant saysWell, Pete had better get in before Dec 21st when the Mayans have it that the world ends…
2012-12-08| Pete saysFortunately the Mayans aren’t in charge in Pattaya, although I don’t trust their predictions too much when they didn’t foresee the downfall of their own civilisation. As luck (?) would have it, 21st is the very day I arrive home!
2012-12-08| Grant saysNot, I sincerely hope, to a pile of ashes where cobra swamp used to be! It is reasonable to assume that as a passenger in an aeroplane you will be spared from the destruction taking place 30,000 feet below until the captain tries to put the thing down…