Tain't what you're doing

Adventures of the mobile and static kind

Writing To Reach You; reports back from East Asia, 1999-2000

Below is a collection of emails that I sent back to people during my first long journey back when I was 22. And yes, that explains the email address which I no longer use for reasons of both spam and a disinclination to recognise the rapid passing of time. For some reason I also had the inclination to change my user name to odd monikers. Perhaps I was making sure my mother wouldn't see the contents.

I should ask you to be mindful that in the intervening 16 years I have grown to be a well-disciplined and mature figure of a gentleman. Not at all like the giddy little fool that the emails below will have you think.

-----Original Message------
From: David Lam (SMTP:davidlam22@hotmail.com)
Sent: 25 September 1999 06:40:54

            OK guys, my last email before I get off this little island, and I am quite frankly, shitting it. I mean, what was I thinking of? Leaving a perfectly decent existence in Newcastle; shit job, no girlfriend and a dwindling supply of friends, for sun, gorgeous food, and cheap prostitutes. I must be mad.
            But Godddddammit, I’ve got to do this - I AM GOING TO DO THIS‼ This is the whole reason I’ve spent the last year phoning up old women and harassing them into buying a BT Call Waiting, just so I can get £1.20 commission. Worthwhile occupation that was; just thing of the people who wouldn’t be able to hear a little beep during their phone calls if it wasn’t for me.
            Thanks for all of you out there in the wild world of cyber space who have persuaded me to actually pluck up the bottle to do this. I’ve always wanted to go, but made up excuses as to why I couldn’t (you know, really pathetic ones like not speaking the language, not wanting to get lonely, having a degree to do, and so on). You see I’ve constantly lived with people who say “I’ve been there!” every time we watched a holiday programme on TV, and it eventually wears you down. So that’s basically why I’m travelling; so I can say “Hey, I’ve been there!” every time there’s news of an appalling flood in the Mekong Delta. Not the most sophisticated of reasons, granted, but seeing as I’m a guy who took English Literature in their degree just because there’d be a higher percentage of girls on the course, this is a step in the right direction.
            Can’t remember if I’ve told you already but my dad’s coming with me for the first couple of weeks to see his sister in China whom he’s never met. Far out, I know. This also gives me a cooler reason for going out there; you know, wanting to track down my roots. Hope that gives me some kind of ethnic credibility, but the fact of the matter is that I feel about as Chinese as a medieval knight. And I don’t even have any chinks in my armour (bad racist 13th Century pun, no. 546). I intend to write this journal using the gift of my ethnicity to make racist abuse about my own kind, just to make white people uncomfortable
            Going to be pretty weird (not that going to China isn’t weird enough) being with my dad. The last time I spent any substantial periods of time with him I was still having wet dreams. What a difference a year makes, eh?

From: "David Lam"<davidlam22@hotmail.com>
To: davidlam22@hotmail.com
Subject: I do it to myself
Date: 27 Oct 1999 12:15:19 BST

Hey all, this is long.
Sorry I haven't got around to writing to you all personally. Don't worry I will. Give me your house address and I may even write you a letter. Bosh, as Jim Hartley would say (anyone know where he is?). Thanks for all your emails (God, I sound like Zoe Ball), it's good to know you're smiling.
O.K. today's excerpt of my loving journal comes courtesy of the bastard liquid they call alcohol. Yes, yes, we've all been there before, but try getting drunk in China and it's a little different.

  I had booked a train ticket in Chengdu (West China-Sichuan Province (hot food)) to go to South China. Train tickets come in one of several forms (as of course, China is an egalitarian society): hard seat, hard sleeper , and soft sleeper. Having done the hard seat on several occasions and nearly drowded in the spittle that was coming out of peoples' gobs, I decided against that option. Soft sleeper is luxury and I don't do luxury. So I took a hard sleeper for y6pm, which was all fine and dandy.

  During the day I met a Ducth guy I knew in Beijing, and as it was lunch time, invited him to dinner. To toast such a reunion however, I thought I'd be clever and try to be Chinese by buying baijiu (pronounced almost like "by jove"  which is very apt). This stuff is 58% proof and tastes like a car mechanics urine after they've drunk several litres of antifreeze. So we drink , and lo and behold, we get drunk. No, sorry, we don't get drunk, we get DRUNK. Oh dear. So, out of the restaurant we tumble, screaming at the Chinese all the way "Wo bu xihuan zhongguorren" which unfortunately means "I hate Chinese". Oh dear. I even take a ride on the back of a rickshaw a la Michael J Fox in Back to the Future (but without a skateboard). Oh dear oh dear. Anyway, it's 5pm-and my squished brain realises it had better signal to its arse to get a move on, to catch the train. Unfortunately, I don't know where the bus spot is (in fact I don't know where the road is either, and I'm standing on it). So in my wise state I ask my Dutch friend (ironically called Bus) to tell me which one to catch. He, however, has never caught a bus in Chengdu and has no idea as to where either the bus, the station or indeed the Netherlands is at this present moment (he bizzarely being even more lightweight than me). Nevertheless he point confidently at one (bus that is) and assures me it is the right one. I bid him goodbye (or, more realistically "Guuburr") and get on. 40 minutes later I'm still on and am lost. I fall out of the bus and onto the road where my already delicate stomach produces the entire contents of the day's diet (and for some reason having carrots in it-though I haven't had any in China). I actually point out the carrot phenomenon to the passers-by who fortunately cannot understand me but unfortunately can see the vomit that has sprung from my mouth down my chin and onto my clothes. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. Realising I am lost, I stand up, walk to (if I recall) a tree and fall over again, and fall asleep. In the middle of a busy street in a Chinese city. People have been shot for less.

  I wake up at about 9pm, and go to a hotel, where I find Bus with his head on the floor and an identical shade of puke also produced from his mouth. Oh joy. The next day, we wake up and face the music to all the hotel staff that saw us. Needless to say we are now famous across the city.

  Now this is fine, I can handle this. The thing I can't handle is the train next day which I sit on for 16 fucking hours-on a hard seat. This is quite possibly the worst train ride I have ever been on. People naturally spit on the floor. But this one they did it on the seats, on the windows, and caught in the wrong place, your face. What was worse, was that there was a woman who was letting her kids piss on the floor. Oh my dear lord, you cannot begin to imagine what I went through. And I didn't get on minute of sleep.

  So the moral of the story is: don't ever listen to a Dutch bloke.
I now give China a woeful 6/10. The chinks are pissing me off so much. They're such wankers. I tried to swap my ticket, and rather than helping me, the ticket woman said "Go Away". Charming.

Anyway, sorry about such a rambling story-quite a big boy I know. Take care and I love you all.

Love, David.

-----Original Message------
From: David Lam (SMTP:davidlam22@hotmail.com)
Sent: 27 Nov 1999

Hey folks,       
            It’s another round of what twattish thing David got up to.

OK. I was in Lijiang in South-West China (absolutely amazing by the way) and was planning a trip up Tiger Leaping Gorge. It’s this long river, straddled by two 2500 mountain ranges; river at the bottom, lush greenery halfway up and snow at the top.
            Anyway, I’m climbing up and halfway across the trek (which takes at least two days) I came across one of the several strategically placed guesthouses. It was one of several huts which had, for some reason, a strange looking green plant drying on the roves. It was about dinner time, so I ordered a bowl of rice and some chinky food. The guy who worked there came over to our table (there was a few of us) and asked us if we smoked. Replying to some affirmatives, he went away and came back with a carrier bag (standard Tesco size) which had a distinctive smell. And sure enough, inside was enough gear to keep Phil Tufnell happy for at least a week. I looked at my bowl of rice freshly arrived, and realised that for the first time in my life, the white stuff was more expensive than the green stuff. The grass turned out to be quite mild, but after 6 spliffs of pure weed I realised I had better make a move, as a herd of blue donkeys appeared to be stampeding towards our table. I went to bed and had a conversation with a cockroach on the appeals of European integration.
            Er, that’s it for today; I’ll be in the land of NamTM in six days, where there’s been a flooding and outbreak of malaria. But it gets me away from the chinkies, so I can’t wait.



P.S. I discovered why Tiger Leaping Gorge is called so. Apparently it’s because a young woman from Bangkok lost her lover, and went looking for him in China. When she discovered that he was at the bottom of the river, she threw herself in after him. An American tourist approached a group of Chinese men who had seen the incident, and asked what it was. “Ah” said an old man (please adopt Chinese accent), “Thai girl, leap in gorge”. It’s true. No really. Kind of.

-----Original Message------
From: Dalai Lama (SMTP:davidlam22@hotmail.com)
Sent: 14 December 1999 02:20
Subject:  STOP THE CLOCK‼!

            Oh me oh my, what an exiting boy I’ve been! I’ve just returned from a tumultuous (sp?) week in the north of the NamTM. 378 km riding a motorbike‼ Yeah‼
Anyway, now for the interesting bit.
            Just to make this ever so slightly more mysterious I’m just going to give you 3 possible things I may have done recently - you just have to guess which one is true. No asking the audience now. Your options are:
a.     I had a triple bypass operation on my rectum, performed by a hamster called Gerald.
b.     I was abducted by aliens who bore an uncanny resemblance to Dana International, the transsexual Israeli winner of the inappropriately named Eurovision Song Contest in 1996
c.      ********* I had sex for the first time in 26 months ***********

            Give up yeah? OK, I’ll put you out of your misery, it’s option c. Can’t believe you didn’t guess. As this is unlikely to be repeated any time soon, I’m going to milk the story for all I’m worth now……

            Was getting bored on a rainy evening and not being persuaded by the local snake wine (quite whether it is actually made from snakes I have yet to find out) or the local women selling opium, I walked into a bar to find an expensive bottle of rum. I heard my name being called and was surprised to see two kiwi sisters who I had met earlier in China. They were with a large group which included a complete freak who introduced himself as Fred Flintstone and then told me ‘You shouldn’t have done what you just did’ in a menacing Billy Sykes kind of way. Having just walked in I could only imagine that he was either a) a complete psycho on acid, or b) a complete psycho. Plumping for option b) I asked if the girls would like to join me and escape a fate worse than cannibalism. They told me that he had said that he was a member of a notorious Australian gang that had been extradited from his own country. The wind began to howl as a ball of yarn rolled past us.
            Anyway we went to another bar where the price of beer was enough to feed all the people of an entire Vietnamese village (i.e. 6), and the entertainment consisted of a guy playing a leaf (badly; I think he was aiming for ‘Don’t Cry for me Argentina’, but I could have been mistaken) whilst simultaneously kossac dancing. It was quite a sight to see 40 Westerners gathering round him with the gaze of people who think they’re experiencing a beautiful cultural tradition, when in actual fact they’re experiencing complete balls.
            To avoid the inevitable blood from pouring out of my ears, I decided to get rat-arsed and the kiwis joined me. This involved sneaking in a bottle of Vodka (read: turps).  Several shots of ethanol later, I could no longer form the shape of my mouth to produce English words (although ironically, my Vietnamese greatly improved).
            We then heard that there was a ‘Love Market’ in town which apparently is where Vietnamese gather to find potential spouses. We got there to find a lot of meat on view, but unfortunately of the dead animal variety. And I thought the meat markets in Newcastle were bloody. Anyway, one of the kiwis who had been subtley touching me for the last hour, took my hand, and the others took the hint. So we stood snogging in the pissing rain surrounded by several kilos of pork. And who said romance was dead, eh? After beginning to feel the rain sink into my pants (at least I think it was the rain) we went back to her hotel, kicked her mate out and proceeded to undress very rapidly.
Bizzarre really; although very pleasant, I couldn’t get my mind off all that pork in the market.
            So that’s it, she’s buggered off now, but still her scent remains ( I didn’t clean my teeth in the morning). Have to start counting again - 6 days so far!
Anyway, kisses and squeezes. Have a cracking Christmas and that other thing you’re celebrating. Stay sexy, and write to me with all the congratulations I deserve.

Love D

-----Original Message------
From: Dalapa Lama (SMTP:davidlam22@hotmail.com)
Sent: 27 February 2000 03:57
Subject:  How now brown Lao

9st 6lb; No. of Bridget Jones Diaries read 1 (v.g.); no. of heavily packed spliff smoked 165; combined weight of paranoia induced by combination of above, in grams 500000.

Damn it. Have read too many Helen Fielding books. Problems arisen due to this fact:
1.     Have turned into a neurotic female
2.     Am no longer able to use pronouns
3.     Have taken to writing up lists of problems.

Grrrr, enough of that. I’m in Laos at the moment (v. beautiful incidentally). $1 for a bag (large M&S style) of grass.
V. Nice.

Things worthy of note about Laos:
1.     Hotels: architects had interesting notions of buildings here. Rooms are very much like living in an episode of Prisoner Cell Block H. With fewer lesbians.
            Hotel staff are the most helpful in the world. Unless that is you actually ask them to do anything for you. Received the following answers from different people as to what time the bus leaves to Savannahket:
a      Bus leaves at 7am
b      Bus leaves at 9am, except when it leaves at 10am
c       There is no bus - must fly instead
d      There is bus, but road has turned into blackcurrant jelly - must slurp it up using a small straw before bus can go.
Well, OK, I’m lying about the last one, but I think you get the idea.
2.     Roads; Laos is another one of those countries where you really need extra padding on your arse as the bus hurtles towards a gaping hole, and you, your luggage and the pot-bellied pig next to you go flying into the air. It’s not that they don’t have decent roads - they just don’t use them. Many a time have I looked on in awe as the driver chooses to ignore the brand new perfectly levelled tarmac and instead drives on the dirt track next to it, only using the road to cross to the dirt track on the other side. It’s like when you go and visit your granny who’s just bought new furniture which still has its plastic covers on and she makes you sit on the floor.
            Great moment; rode on the roof of the bus. Felt like Keanu Reeves in the last scene of Speed on top of the train. Except of course I wasn’t wrestling with Dennis Hopper. Or got to shag Sandra Bullock . And am able to pronounce words with more than 3 syballuls. Syllabus. Fuck it.
3.     The mysterious properties of Lao coffee. I don’t know what’s in it, but fuck me, it’s strong. It’s like a black hole has descended from the far reaches of space, landed on your table and slipped into your coffee cup as you casually pour the sugar in. No light escapes - it’s darker than a film by Lars von Trier. You mix in a huge dollop of milk and it stays the same colour.
4.     Lao people; the most beautiful and laid back people I have ever met. In restaurants it’s not so much a case of when the food will come, but if it will come at all and what actually it will be. I ordered a can of coke once, and 2 hours later was presented with a bowl of chicken soup, a bottle of finest Scotch whisky, and a poodle. At least the poodle was nice. Bit salty, mind.

Anyway, that’ll do for now; I’m off to Luang Prabang to smoke some opium - will give you a full report once I’m out of my cold turkey.

Tatty bye‼

Love Davos.
P.S. Beard has now broken past the 25 hair barrier. Feel like a real man. Look like Errol Flynn.

-----Original Message------
From: Karmapa Lama (SMTP:davidlam22@hotmail.com)
Sent: 13 March 2000 12:34
Subject:  Ope and glory

            Hooray‼! Back in Thailand, the land of plenty after a month’s stint in Laos where communication is still conducted by smoke signals, carrier pigeon and the flags of the wounded.
            I’ve just recovered from a heavy bout of Guardia which not only gave me diarrearoeah (how DO you spell that?) but also a pleasant rotten egg tinge to my burps. Unfortunately, at the time I was sharing a room with a Dutch girl who has dreadlocks, piercings, and now thanks to me, a ruptured lung and severe brain damage due to the toxic fumes I was producing.
            Aaaaaanyway, here’s a summary of the rest of Laos for you; hope you like it so much that you immediately book a flight there. And so you should, cos’ it’s effing bootiful.

A typical day in Laos
            Laos is one of those great countries where there really is pretty much fuck all to do there. In fact, one gets so lazy that going to the toilet is just about the most energetic thing that is done (and several times with the quality of my bowels). The following is pretty close to what I’ve done for the last 30 days.
6am:               Wake up to the sound of monks chanting followed by a chorus of                    howling dogs; swear
6.01am:          Fall back to sleep
7.00am:          Wake up to the sound of bloke revving moped for no apparent                                    reason whatsoever; swear
7.10am:          Fall back to sleep
8.30am:          Wake up to the sound of bloke taking a very loud shit in the toilet                   that for some reason always seems to be next to my room; swear.              Decide I had better get  up.
8.50am:          Take shower in cubicle next to bloke still taking very loud shit
9.00am:          Scan the breakfast menu in a restaurant for all the exotic Asian                                   foods they have to offer. Order egg on bread with coffee (see                                 previous instalment for details of Lao coffee).
10.00am:        Decide had better really do something with the day seeing as last                    10 days have been lying on fat arse
10.01am:        Sit in hammock to think about what to do; fall asleep
12.00pm:       Aaaaaarrgghhh‼! Why the fuck do I always do that???; order                            mango shake to compensate.
12.01pm:       Will definitely do something after lunch; finish mango shake in 3                     seconds flat
12.30pm:       Have lunch containing far too many evil microorganisms for my                       own good.
3.00pm:          Finish lunch; ponder on how I have managed to spend the last 2.5                  hours eating
3.15pm:          Decide to go for a walk to see beautiful waterfall
3.20pm:          Order mango shake
4.00pm:          Go for a walk
4.10pm:          Return from walk; sit in hammock for a rest.

            Well, Goddammit, I’m on holiday so why shouldn’t I? And it’s not like there’s much else to do than sit around and get zonked. Have sampled the following:
1.     Opium - looks like shit, tastes like shit, stops your shit. My perception of opium dens before trying it was of a seedy room with velvet curtains, and scantily-clad women smeared in oil, administering the poppy to monged-out government officials.
            Instead I was shown into the room by a man with the largest moustache I have ever seen and ushered me to lay down next to a child’s tricycle. Hmmmm - not quite the pleasure dome I was expecting, especially when owner of said tricycle comes and lies down next to me.
Fearing the proprietor might have got the wrong end of the stick, I positioned myself so that my crotch was not pointing towards the child. Fortunately, Moustache proceeds to set up the pipe and shoves it in my mouth (the pipe that is of course).
            After choking on the first two hits, I start to enjoy the next eight. It’s pleasantly like that really cool bit just before you go to sleep when every slows down to a snail’s pace (and a snail in Laos- which is just one notch above stationary).
            I was totally in control; I could move all my limbs in coordination with each other without any problem. My mind was slow but was able to handle everything. I paid, walked out the door and fell right on my arse onto the road/thing that passes for roads here.
            It was also quite worrying to find that the next morning I couldn’t shake a bowel movement for love or money (and is an ambitious career choice in any case). This is despite the fact that a substantial sum of waste had built up at the base of my rectum. It really puts life in perspective when your only concern and worry in the world is to take a shit. And you can’t do it.
2.     Ganja - fuuccking hell is it strong. Many times I have hallucinated so much that I think I have turned into a tree and can do nothing except shed leaves and have birds nests on me. It also makes me very VERY horny, which is a problem as the only females I was with at the time was a 6 foot, 13 stone Swede with piercings in her cheeks, a Doberman called Elsa, and a German. And there was no way I was going to shag a German.
3.     Lau Lao - basically, Lao whisky (though ‘urrrgh’ may be a more appropriate name). Like a cross between Absinthe and a blow to the head with a large feral gerbil.  That is, a gerbil that has spent a life on steroids in East Germany during the 1980s and has been embalmed using a coating of enriched uranium. It’s especially worrying as one time it was being poured straight out of a used bottle marked ‘diesel’.

            The Lao people have taken to the American obsession of food on a stick in a big way and made it their own. So you find (as your bus pulls into a rest stop after 6 hours) women selling various foodstuffs such as ‘Chicken on a stick’, ‘Egg (still in shell with bird inside) on a stick’, and of course everyone’s favourite ‘Rat on a stick’. I am not kidding. It’s a whole rat and the stick has been shoved right up its arse making it look like it’s standing on its hind legs and about to break into a song and dance routine. I bought five. No, you’re right, I didn’t really.

Ermmmmmm- have realised I’ve spent waaay to long writing this and has probably taken up far too much of your time. Think I’d better stop.


Love, the Lama.

-----Original Message------
From: Cucumber Sandwich (SMTP:davidlam22@hotmail.com)
Sent: 03 April 2000 12:44

            Aaaaarrrrrggghhh‼! 37 degrees at 7am. How can that possibly be? My sweat is causing traffic problems here (in Bangkok) due to major flooding and several pedestrians passing close to me have passed out due to the stench wafting from my armpits and other places. However, I’m going to be sitting on a beach in oooooh, 24 hours, so screw you guys. Though I’d fill you in on the last couple of weeks , soooo…..
            After spending a month doing fuck all in Laos, I decided to get fit again by hiring a bicycle out for 10 days to do a tour of Northern Thailand. This would sweat off the excess mango shakes I’ve been downing and basically make me irresistibly attractive. Things started out fine until I found out someone had put a fucking mountain in the way; what were they thinking?
            The second day was rather challenging as I woke up to find out that I couldn’t move my legs (which is always annoying). It’s quite worrying to wake up and find tow stumpy mosquito bitten THINGS in your bed and then discover they belong to you. Rather like the horse head scene in the Godfather. Anyway, I made it eventually to a chilled-out spot in the middle of nowhere, and decided a bit of doing fuck all was in order (after all I had been cycling for at least 4 hours). So I was most grateful when the lady of the house presented me with a cake to nosh on. I looked at the bloke who had eaten some already and was lying down with a huge apish smile on his face and realised there was a special ingredient in this cake.
            Two hours later I passed out into a coma, unable to do anything except smile and dribble. Unfortunately my brain was going haywire and TOTALLY paranoid. This wasn’t helped when the lady of the house told me my bike had been stolen and that I should go with her to look for it. My brain being unable to deliver a proper response, I looked at her with an inane grin on my face and fell about laughing. So she went on her own, in the rain and came back 2 hours later victorious with my bike. I was so grateful that I rewarded her by dribbling on her floor and going back to bed for the next 17 hours. Let nobody say I’m not a generous guy.
            Anyway, I’ve now given up the wacky stuff as I was turning into a social zombie (and had drenched most of Thailand in dribble).
Other things of note:
·      Got a tattoo done; chiselled into my arse by a bloke with a tree coming out of his head (though I presume it was a haircut). It’s quite nice actually ( the tattoo that is, not the tree). I was quite worried about the pain, but all I felt was a little prick. Then he did the tattoo ,and that really hurt.
·      I’ve also done a Marthinussen (hairy Norwegian for those who don’t know him) and shaved off the moustache part of my beard. Bad move; I now look like a gnome. This is rather odd as most gnomes are almost always white, and carry a large rod in their hands (mine’s a small one).

            That’s about all the excitement I’ve crammed into my life so I’ll check out now, and write when I’ve come back from lying on my browning belly on one of Thailand’s islands. Hope you have fun at your desk jobs.

Kisses for now, and you can always come back for more later,


-----Original Message------
From: Liza Minelli (SMTP:davidlam22@hotmail.com)
Sent: 10 July 2000 09:53
Subject:  Screw you guys……

…..I’m coming home.

            Right that’s it. I’ve had enough and I’m buggering back to Blighty. 10 months of mosquito bites, 40 degree days, excessive toilet encounters, harassment by anybody who isn’t white, being mistaken for being Japanese (the next person who says Connichiwa to me is really going to get it), lack of friends, sleeping in cesspits, wearing the same pair of pants for days on end (it now takes several minutes to unpeel them from my arse such is their scumminess), being asked if I’m a ladyboy, meeting Belgians and having a bad haircut (I look like something out of Fraggle Rock), has finally taken their toll on my sanity, and I’m dying to be getting back to a world where I have to pay 2 quid for a pint. It’s got to the point where I’m not appreciating anything anymore and think about home too much. For example, I go to visit this perfect volcano-based lake with extraordinary fauna, sublime waters and cheap prostitutes, and I spend my entire time fantasising about cheese and Branstone pickle sandwiches.

            So I’m flying back. That is, after I sit on my lazy fat arse on a beach in Thailand for a while - I’d only be cheating myself if I didn’t do fuck all for a while.

            Anyway, I’ve done preeeettty much bugger all worthy of note since the last time I wrote to all of you, but these are some of the things that managed to raise an eyebrow or two.
1.     Magic mushrooms - had a few mushroom omelettes in Indonesia which were very tasty, but turned me into a giggling wreck for hours. The amount of pleasure one can get from staring at a table cloth is quite incredible after one of those babies. Trying to play poole was quite difficult as all the ball had turned into characters from The Lion King. Must be some weird Indonesian rule.
2.     Having the skin on my arm removed after falling off a motorbike. I bought this atrociously bad scooter for £300 in a moment of madness and despite having the engine capacity of a small hairdrier, managed to drop the fucker going down a hill. Nothing broken, but my right arm looked like something you’d buy in the fresh meat section in Tescos. Made me feel a lot better when I sold the bike for a quarter of the price. All those years playing Monopoly has finally paid off then.
3.     Getting another tattoo - you’ll probably all hate, but fuck yas. It was done by a man with a mullet calling himself Herman Elvis. I shit ye not. It took 3 hours of slicing my shoulder up with a vibrating knife for me to realise he had misunderstood my request for a serpent and had instead decorated my torso with a sprig of broccoli. Part of me thinks he had practiced his art drawing doodles during overlong meetings for the insatiably twitchy.
4.     Other changes to my appearance include 37 tufts of hair that have coalesced round my chin. Some would call it a beard, but most would call it a pubescent embarrassment.
5.     Visiting the Orang-Utans in Sumatra. Really cool to see these guys in their natural environment, and not hidden behind bars. One of them did try to mate with me, but I guess that’s what you should expect when your hair looks like a palm tree.
6.     Getting bed bugs in Malaysia. Urrrrggggghhhh. I woke up and found my entire back covered in bites. It’s really quite horrible when your shoulders look like the Philiipines.
7.     Bangkok’s nightlife. The amount of ladyboys running around in that place is truly incredible. Despite several suggestions from expats, I did not go to see one of the ‘shows’ where prostitutes remove razor blades from their vaginas. Not exactly safe sex.
8.     Staying in a plush apartment in Singapore after all the dives I had lived in for the last month or so. It’s the most modern, clean and efficient city I have ever seen (yes, even compared with Bolton). It was so good to be in the luxury of an air-conditioned apartment without grime sapping out of the walls. I swear, I think the smell of urine that has been so prevalent in the places I’ve stayed in has soaked into my skin. Please feel free to take the piss out of me when I get back. Hoho.

And er….that’s about it folks. If anybody’s interested, I can buy stuff for you out here much cheaper than in the UK. For example, I picked up a Playstation game for about 60p and a toddler for tuppence.

Till next time then, take care and put the kettle on for me. I’ll see ya soon,

Love David.

No comments:

Post a Comment