Crisis, what crisis?

· 653 words · 4 minute read

Returned from Singapore to not only discover a 50% reduction in our cat population; but also that martial law had been promoted to a full-blown coup.

Assuming the announcement of a coup would result in a substantial increase in army visibility, we played I-Spy military stuff on the way home from the airport. I tried to claim five points for spotting a tank; but this was disallowed because the tank was an integral part of a PTT petrol tanker. So we arrived home with a score that was closely matched 0-0; a score that remains unchanged to the present. Disappointing.

To the extent they feel safe to do so, expats on local forums are getting wound up about this coup business; with roughly equal numbers both for and against, getting their surgical garters in a twist as they spout venom to support their position. Give it a rest, for fuck’s sake. It’s not our country, and it really doesn’t make much of a difference to us who is running the place. Life goes on and there is nothing we can do about it anyway. Leave the Thais to sort it out. And stop banging on about democracy; look where that’s got us. An America steered by corporation-sponsored interest groups and a Europe where a racist with a face that looks like a “scrotum stretched over a mannequin” is gaining power. Yes Farage, I am talking about you, you odious little twat.

So, just sit back and enjoy the junta experience, and although the absence of battalions of troops on Sukhumvit is something of a disappointment; there is one aspect of the coup which can be relished. I refer, of course, to the curfew.

We live in a comparatively quiet area; but our late evening peace is occasionally shattered by a passing arsehole. There is the pissed-up Russian on a large motorbike who decides it is amusing to practice wheelies under our window. It was amusing once, when the bike was inserted into a wall, with the rider following close behind. How we laughed. Then there are the drunk tourists of many nations who feel obliged to shout in order to communicate with the person stood next to them. Worst of all are the van drivers, who park near our condo for hours on end waiting for custom, and pass the time by playing Thai folk songs at volumes which have presumably rendered them deaf some years before. The bass makes our windows shake and the veins in my forehead pulsate (with frustration and rage).

But now? Blessed silence from 2200. It’s bloody marvellous. I hear rumours the curfew might be lifted soon; may it not be so.

Comments 🔗

2014-05-27 | Parry says

Scrotum stretched over a mannequin . . . LOL!

Viva la junta!


2014-05-27 | genuinej says

You seem to be somewhere twixt “ill winds blowing nobody any good” and “every cloud having a silver lining” and it’s a much better place than the UK right now where the political choice is between your aforementioned odious little twat, the Eton mess of cronyism, Clegg’s liberal losers and the bacon sandwich eating four by two that is the obnoxious Miliband. Please forward junta asap. Thanks in advance. Or, better still, tanks in advance.


2014-05-28 | Spike says

In the interests of not having this site blocked for violating coup laws, a comment has been removed.


2014-05-28 | Spike says

If I find a tank with Farage suppression capabilities, I will send it to you. Assume you will pay postage.


2014-05-28 | Camberley says

What about the cats?


2014-05-28 | Spike says

2014_05_gabrielle

The other one is bearing up under the strain of coup conditions as well as can be expected.


2014-05-28 | Camberley says

Very sorry I missed that post. My only excuse was my daughter’s wedding


2014-05-28 | Spike says

It’s a pretty flimsy excuse; but I suppose you are forgiven.