Shifty bacon

The internet is down at my place again, which is becoming a weekly event. If old people like regularity, then the weekly lapse in internet connection to my home should be something I anticipate eagerly.

I am writing this on Microsoft Word, with the intention of saving it on a memory stick, which I shall insert into a computer at an internet shop in the market.

Even when my internet at home is not working, the net available to shops in the market invariably is.

Don’t ask me how they do that. They might use a different provider.

Or perhaps we use the same company, but the provider has a clever way of distinguishing between business and domestic users.

If they need to do maintenance, they can drop the service they provide to domestic users first, because we have lower priority.

Boyfriend Maiyuu showed me how to use a memory stick once, but I have forgotten. At the moment, he is too busy cooking to give me another demonstration. I lack the wit to help myself, so like an old man in a rest home waiting for God to take him, I shall just have to sit here until he is ready.
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The air-conditioning unit is making strange noises, and should really be inspected by an air con man.

Our last adventure with an air con man was a disaster. I can’t recall what prompted us to call him, but when he inspected the machine he found that a metal plate was rusting.

Maiyuu gave him B3000 and he went away to build a new one.

From memory, he did not return to fit it, as he became busy servicing customers in the provinces. This was in the lead-up to the hot season, months ago.

I never saw him inspect the machine, but my Thai boyfriend assures he did come. For weeks, I hectored the boyfriend, urging him to call the guy, and find out when he was intending to finish the job.

Just as I never saw him turn up at our place (the boyfriend claims he came while I was at work), I never once heard Maiyuu call him to ask when he was coming back. He may never have existed, for all know. The whole affair may have been a fabrication, designed to cover up what, I do not know.

Last night when I heard the machine making strange noises, I asked Maiyuu to take a listen.

‘Yes, it does sound odd,’ he agreed.

‘Please call the air con man ... a different one this time, as the last one took our money,’ I said.

‘Oh, he did return it in the end,’ Maiyuu announced airily. ‘I didn’t tell you, because I was afraid you’d ask me to share the money with you.’

Maiyuu says he spent the B3000 on other things.

This does not please me, as it is yet more evidence of my boyfriend's duplicity. Maiyuu tells me little about our finances. He treats me like an idiot who does not deserve to know.

As I sat on the pier watching a canal devoid of life this morning, I reminded myself of why I am unhappy.

1. The air con repairer returned our money, but Maiyuu saw fit not to tell me.

2. Maiyuu spent the money slyly.

3. He should have kept it aside and called another air con repair man, as the original problem has still not been fixed.

See why foreigners get so frustrated with Thais? In the political arena, they are shifty, duplicitous, untrustworthy, and prone to forgetting where their loyalties lie. They can be the same in their private lives.
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Maiyuu is experimenting with bacon and puff pastry.

First, he tried bacon twists. They tasted good, but the pastry did not swell enough.

Then he made little bacon, cheese and puff-pastry envelopes. They were tasty too, though I could have done without the cheese.

Thai cheese, milk and eggs taste processed. I want to smell the grass!
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Mr Friendly, from the 7-11, has re-appeared. I haven’t seen him for more than a month.

As I entered the shop, he gave me a big smile, and looked excited to see me.

‘How are you? I haven’t seen you for ages,’ I said.

'I have been working night shift,’ he said.

Mr Friendly, whose real name is T, has lost weight.

‘Have you stopped eating? I asked. ‘You have shrunk.’

‘No,’ he laughed. ‘I eat a huge amount. But what would you recommend, if I do want to gain weight...hamburgers? Bread?’ he asked.

‘Yes...farang food will make you fat,’ I said.

The last time I saw Mr T, he told me he was stressed...worrying about his family.

On my previous visit to the shop, he told me about his family life ...he comes from the North, and has three brothers. They live on a farm, and his mother left him shortly after birth.

He is bitter and unhappy about his mother, who renewed contact with him recently. She has a new man in her life.

‘Are you stressed...is that why you look thinner?’ I asked.

Behind the counter, a plumpish girl next to him was counting cash as we talked. She ignored us.

‘I am stressed a little...yes, I do worry about things,’ he said.

Mr T likes me to know that he worries about his family. If not, then why does he tell me about it so often?

He does not have many friends in Bangkok...or maybe they are too young to know how to listen to his concerns.

He’s a great kid...I enjoy our talks. At my age, I am old and settled enough to know how to listen. I look like an uncle. Maybe he misses older male figures in his life.

T keeps hinting that he would like to drink with me, or go out one night.

But I am not sure if we would really enjoy each other for that long. It might be better if we keep things the way they are.