Me and my new boyfriend.
Me and my home girl Jade, who came to visit me with the lovely Jazz in tow!

Me in the bar with a couple of diving interns, Alex and Wayne! Sam Song all round!

Girls, they got girls, gorgeous girls! Very Nice! You wanna see em?

Gin and Tonics ---> Bus full of drunken interns ----> Pattaya central Go Go street ---> More Gin and Tonics ----> Girls naked everywhere ---> Ladyboys...I think...(have to look twice - they are very pretty) ----> More naked girls writhing on poles ---> More drinks ---> Loud music ----> Girls in cages with whips ----> More bars ---> Bright lights ----> Old fat men with adolescent Thai girls ----> Naked Thai girls in a jacuzzi ----> More drinks ----> Kebab ----> Stagger home, and collapse in hot dirty room, no sign of cockroaches. The end.

The First Hours

"What's this?" I hear you cry. "One week in Thailand already and no blog?"

Well, I have been entirely too confuddled, muddled, puzzled, dazed, and confused to utter anything other than a prehistoric "Ugg" for the best part of these past few days. To quote Coldplay:

Nobody said it was easy.
But nobody said it would be this hard.

Now that I have recovered a small part of my sanity, I will attempt to take you on a literal excursion through the events of the last 7 days.

**********************************************************
The flight, although it was comfortable enough, was unusually for me, a terribly anxious journey. The source of my unrest was not so much the turbulence (although there was a fair bit of that), or the lengthy duration, but instead, this panic that had been festering in my gut for days like the frightened flapping of a caged bird, and I had until now done a great job of holding it back. However, it was doomed to surface at some point, and surface it did, in these sickening waves that were my constant companion throughout the entire journey. I maintained a stiff upper lip though, (hitting yourself in the mouth tends to stiffen up the whole area nicely).

Bangkok wasn't what I expected, but then I am unsure what I expected to begin with. Possibly brighter Sahara style sun, beating down on streets full of chickens and people in hats shaped like fruit bowls. To my bemusement, Bangkok looksexactly like parts of any UK city centre, but with a leaden sky that presses down upon you like a hot soggy blanket. Of course, the faces, the signs, the images are all alien, but I was relieved to find out that Thailand is a left-hand-drive country, grasping as I was for the familar in the midst of so much that was unknown.

Smiling and nodding was the best policy I found, when attempting to respond to my driver's attempts to communicate. He would point energetically out of the window every now and again, and say "you loo, you loo", and I would scan the horizon to find his point of reference. Occasionally I would notice a beautifully architectured building in the far distance, but mostly I just saw endless palm trees, roadside stalls, and huge bill boards advertising things like "50 SPF, SKIN WHITENING CREAM, FOR WHITEST SKIN EVER!" This particular board had a beautiful pale Thai woman in close-up, beaming with her perfect oh so white smile. In comparison to the people I saw on the road sides and in surrounding vehicles (crammed into the back of pick-up trucks), there was nobody even close to being that pale. Hell, I don't think even I was that pale then, and I was the FNG* freshly off the plane! How strange that we aspire to be tanned in Britain, and pay good money for bottle tans, sunbeds, skin bronzer, you name it, and here they aspire for the exact opposite, and pay good money to achieve what we cast away with contempt.

But I digress. I arrived in the evening, about 6pm local time. The driver took me to my hotel, called "Jomtien Long Stay" (I later found out that it was referred to as the long stay penitentary by the diving interns), and I was left there to check in, suddenly alone, and very very hot. A Thai man assisted me with my luggage, and let me into a room on the 2nd floor. As we turned on the lights, it became immediately apparent that this was almost certainly not my room - there were articles of men's clothing strewn around and a tangled bed sheet lying on the floor. I raised an eyebrow at my porter, and he shrugged and back-tracked out of there with my case. Momentarily abandoning me in the corridor while he returned to reception for further instructions, I fanned myself with my passport, and wondered what the hell I had let myself in for. As if in answer to my prayer, the door opposite opened at that exact moment, and a tall blonde tanned muscular surf dude type bloke stepped out of his room wearing a towel. He didn't look very old, I guessed about 21.

"Ahh, hey there, you just arrived, yeah?"

I sagged with relief to find a capable-looking English speaker. I could tell from his accent that he was South African, and that fit pretty well into that whole traveller surf dude concept I had already invented for him. We chatted for a minute or 2, and I discovered that he was not only a neighbour, but also a fellow scuba intern with Mermaids. Over the next hour, I got into my (hot dirty dusty) room, flapped my arms at a cockroach (which Carl - the neighbour - dutifully removed), had a shower, unpacked some things, and accepted Carl's invitation to go out for a beer.

**************
(I will continue the story later, I am almost finished with my internet time!)

Livin' it up at the airport

I can happily say that I am presently sat in utmost comfort in one of Heathrow's business class lounges. I am feeling smug, which negates my previous feelings of sadness and loss after saying goodbye to my family. It was pretty awful, to be honest, a real emotional rollercoaster. However I soaked up my tears in the taxi with a piece of Bounty kitchen roll, which I can now confirm *does* actually perform better than any other leading kitchen towel.

I talked at length with my driver, Bob. We discussed the benefits of globe trotting, why I should definately visit San Fransisco, and I finally sang the theme tune to "The Littlest Hobo" as I felt it was appropriate at the time.

I skipped all of the economy class queues, (which serpentined far into the distance) and checked in at Business Class (airily named 'Premium Laurel'), where I made a joke about the weight of my non existant shoe collection in order to distract the check in guy from the fact my case was over the weight restriction. Apparently it worked, as he beamed at me, attached a sticker on my case stating "Priority Load", and it was whisked away by a super efficient attendant - no doubt to its own luxurious lounge to have it's zippers polished.

I made my way through endless security checks and rows of shiny cosmetics counters - all claiming to change your life, make body beautiful and give you lips like Angelina Jolie. I valiently ignored their attempts to spray me on the way past. After all I am a human, not a cat.

Finally, joyously, I entered through some tinted glass doors and flashed my ticket to the reception staff. Breathing a sigh of relief I headed straight for the refreshment zone in the far corner, where I was delighted to find self service beer taps, of which I availed myself immediately. (What did you expect?)

Thus, here I am sitting in a cosy work station, writing this tale of sorrow and joy; highs and lows. The only thing that I am certain of is that I can only get higher. Like 4000 feet higher.

Now I am going to carry on being brave and strong, with my friend in the corner. His name is Carlsberg.

For every action there is a reaction

Upon hearing the news of my spontaneous adventure, different people reacted in a number of different ways.

The majority of friends smiled, shook their heads, and gave their best wishes, in the same way that one might pat an adorable child on the head who keeps stealing biscuits, and say,
"Ahh, run along now, I should have known you were the biscuit thief."
Evidently I am all too predictable in my unpredictability. (Ask Mr Cobblers)

One guy became quite anxious, but I was unable to work out if he was more anxious about my journey, or my absence.

One girl hooted down the phone in what was a startlingly brilliant impression of a parakeet, and was quite beside herself with amused hysteria for the best part of 5 minutes. I later understood that, at the time, she thought I was joking. Maybe the build up to my revelation was somehow lacking?

ME: Oh, yes, I'm fine thanks, are you feeling better?
HER: Yeah, I'm good thanks, ...so what you been up to?
ME: Oh, well, I'm leaving the country, hopefully forever, to be a scuba diving instructor in Thailand.
HER: What?!

One guy on msn messenger, with whom I was making rather forced small talk, responded to my news with, "You're in fucking cloud cuckoo land, you are." I blinked at his fairly abrasive comment, and then reminded myself that I don't like him anyway, and that he is probably just envious that I have the freedom to start a new life of travel and adventure on the high seas, with only the wind in my hair and a pink flamingo on my shoulder.

Of course, several people beamed at me when I delivered the news to them, and before the day was out, they had checked their holiday allowances for the year ahead, and researched flights to Bangkok.

A good friend from Holland responded by emailing me the following quote, which I thought was just perfect, and obviously, so did he.

"You can waste a whole lifetime,
trying to be,
what you think is expected of you,
but you'll never be free."

He didn't need to say anymore.

And neither do I...

The infinite wisdom of the key cutter man

The other night I was overwhelmed by the desire to radically change my hair. Cutting it wasn't an option as I've decided to grow it again now, to go with that whole 'I'm a beach hippie' look that I intend to master by the time summer rolls around. But still this inimitable force drove me to do *something* different. So I dyed it bright red. Shocking? Yes. Successful? Not very.


I was just casually strolling down my local village high street yesterday, when I decided to pop into "The Hagley Cobbler" - a place of many wonders, including lightbulbs, shoe re-heeling and key-cutting. I enjoyed this shop so much at Christmas, (when many light bulbs blew, and many extra plugs were needed), that I even sent the key cutter man a card. It read:


Dear Mr Cobblers

Thankyou so much for all my home appliances and accessories over the last few months. Thanks to you, the lights are on, even though quite often nobody is home.

Merry Christmas!

From, that girl who lives up the road, who always makes you laugh!


Well, I walked into the shop again yesterday afternoon, in dire need of another light bulb, no less. The key cutter man (a.k.a. Mr Cobblers) looked up sporting his usual kindly frown, and broke into a grin when he saw me.

"Nice hair." He says, still smiling. "I almost didn't recognise you."
"Yeah, well, I fancied a change." I say.
He laughs a great big belly laugh.
"What?" I ask, suddenly aware that my hair is a slightly unsuccessful shade of red.
"So you finally gave that good for nothing boyfriend of yours his marching orders, then!" He starts chuckling again.

At this point, I am most bemused, because, that is exactly what I did do. Just 2 or 3 weeks ago in fact. In the aftermath I sorted out my wardrobes, chucked out old clothes, (shopped for new clothes), changed my kitchen around, and booked a life changing one-way flight to Thailand.

"How did you know I did that?" I ask the key cutter man. God, am I really that predictable?
Still smiling, he pronounces, "That's what women do. Break up with a boyfriend, change their image."
Oh my god. This man is a genius. I have new-found awe and respect for Mr Cobblers. He will come to be known in history as the wise man who took keys, and gave answers.

The flamingo and the list

Tying up loose ends is never an easy job. In fact I have so many loose ends trailing around me at the moment, that I have cats chasing me wherever I go. It's quite a distraction.

I confess I have become addicted to making lists. At first I began with the solid, important things, like:


1) Rent apartment out
2) Sell car
3) Re-direct mail

(Next to each item is a box, with a specially designated pink pen for that all important tick)

Unfortunately these solid, important things are not easily attainable in the immediate future, and I became quickly frustrated when my special pink pen (with a flamingo on the end, no less) sat unused, unwanted, and unloved in the corner of my desk, glaring at me in that way that only feathered flamingos can.

So, I have since added what I like to think of as "more achieveable" goals, such as:

4) Organise paperwork
5) Clean microwave
6) Book a facial (in case you're questioning this entry, this is technically an important part of my preparation...my skin needs to be conditioned for that harsh climate)

Some of these have already given me that smug satisfaction that results from a big pink tick from my big pink pen.

Yes, I think. I am an achiever.

It has come to my attention, however, that I *may* have got a little carried away with my list-making. Upon confirming my trip, I was all action and enthusiasm, and was thus able to award myself more ticks than a stray dog. However, my positive achievements have begun to dwindle in number, and now I find myself extending "The List" just for the sake of another tick. You may call this procrastinating, a waste of time and paper, or simply ludicrous. I call it positive thinking.

13) Make bed
14) Brush teeth
15) Get dressed
16) Eat

Don't blame me. The flamingo made me.

Insomnia

As usual the night continues to seduce me with it's fragmented activities, half thoughts, dreamy inspiration, and alcoholic indulgence. I cling to my insomnia, as I cling to my keyboard, hoping to make great discoveries, achieve something fantastic, or research into the wonders of the universe. So far tonight, in my online adventures I have learnt all about the mating habits of common snapping turtles, and found out that DEET (the active ingredient in bug repellant sprays) can have a detrimental effect on neurological systems. I have also smiled at a picture of a monkey smoking a pipe.



All of this has a purpose, I assure you.

I am moving to Thailand soon, and need to fully equip myself for all eventualities, animal or otherwise. So far I have learnt that you should not wave your feet in a Buddhist person's direction, interrupt procreating turtles, or bathe in 100% DEET... and you should never, ever, give tobacco to a monkey.