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
Subject: WHAT THE
FUCK AM I DOING?
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
Subject: HOW CAN IT
BE SO FUCKING HOT HERE???‼
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.
Kisses,
D.
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‼!
Wotcha,
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.
Drugs
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’.
Food
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.
Seeyaz.
Love, the Lama.
-----Original Message------
From: Cucumber Sandwich (SMTP:davidlam22@hotmail.com)
Sent: 03 April 2000 12:44
Subject: HOW CAN IT
BE SO FUCKING HOT HERE???‼
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,
David.
-----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.
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