Fear and paranoia in Bangkok

I have just completed the most bizarre ritual in and around Bangkok airport. I am seriously questioning my own sanity.

There is, of course, that niggling anxiety whenever one has to spend anytime in the centre of operations of Bangkok's meanest police and customs department. Any bother here, and you are almost certainly on a one way train to a life sentence in the Bangkok "Hilton", forever destined to spend the rest of your days covered in rats; trading sexual favours with the local wildlife in return for the last drag of a dirty cigarette. Or at the very least, trouble in this place will result in several hours imprisoned in a hot little room where many men will shout in your face and ask questions in languages that you don't understand, before subjecting you to a unpleasant full body search and chucking you onto the sidewalk, dazed and confused, with your wallet a lot lighter than it was before.

When you mix this level of media-born paranoia with the additional worry that you are carrying around with you a piece of paper, upon which is written, clearly, in bold print, every pertinent detail of your whole life - everything from passport number to credit card details, home address and bank sort codes. Well, as you can imagine, this can make a person nervous. You would want to destroy this piece of paper as quickly as possible, wouldn't you. However the mode of destruction is key: screw it up and put it in the bin, tear it up and put it in the bin, burn it, scribble over it, or eat it?

I began to burn it, but stopped myself in horror. Start a table fire in Bangkok airport? Am I crazy? That would draw far too much attention.

Tear it up and put it in the bin? Obvious, but too obvious. Someone may be watching and retrieve the pieces later in order to steal my identity!

So I decided to tear up 1cm - squared pieces and go for a walk around the departure lounge, posting each piece of paper in a different bin.

When I reached the conclusion of my secret mission, it suddenly occurred to me that my military bin operation may have appeared at best, odd, or at worst, suspicious, to anyone watching.

Thus I sit here, with a head full of fear and paranoia, loathing and indigestion (Burger King) swirling through my mind and my small intestine. In a moment I will pay the lady at the internet cafe reception, and I will walk back to our table as if I am a normal person - a person who does not indulge in weird rituals with waste paper bins, or fantasise about eating note paper. (looking around furtively) See you on the otherside, fair readers. (Cue spy music) (Fade to black)