Khao tom pla for breakie, Kew for dessert

Boyfriend Maiyuu made khao tom pla (Thai rice soup with fish) for breakfast. He bought the ingredients at the local supermarket. By the time I woke, I found he had left home on his bicycle to go shopping.

He makes a cooked meal for us to eat every morning, bless him.

At night, Maiyuu cooks again while I am at work, so I have something to eat before bed.

Last night, it was macaroni cheese, which he served with a red basil leaf on top. 

The other day, he made a custard cake. 'I took it out too soon, and the cake part went hard,' he said later.

The same night, I paid a visit to Pink Gins, a university teacher who lives in the same condo complex.

I had hoped to take him a piece of the custard cake, but Maiyuu would not let it leave home. 'It's not perfect,' he said.

Nor would he let me take a picture of the thing.

'But it looks normal enough,' I said.

'I want to make it perfect, first,' he said.
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I have been going through a few old Kew stories. Remember Kew, the ageing barboy from Pattaya?

I took down half a dozen of these posts a few months ago, as I thought they made me look naive, and lowered the tone.

After thinking about it again, I decided to repost them, as they are entertaining as stories, even if many of the tales he told me about his life were lies.

At the time, I could not see through Kew. I knew he liked to fabricate stories, but I couldn't tell how much of what he told me was truth, and how much was fiction.

For years, Kew told me that his mother had died, leaving his aunt to care for him, and his younger sister.

I caught him out on that lie, when I called his home number one day, and his 'dead' mother answered.

That was just one of the whoppers he told. In general, I now treat suspiciously any remark where he portrays himself in a favourable light.

Kew tells me often that he is supporting members of his family. That's probably untrue, as he doesn't earn enough.

Anything which sounds like it comes from a detective novel, even if it is related to his adventures in Pattaya, also gets the thumbs down.

With the passing of time, I have become more sceptical about Kew, which is a good thing. Now, when I read those old Kew posts, I spot what I suspect are lies left, right and centre.

Here are a few samples. I've put his suspicious sounding comments in italics. In some cases, I know they are lies, because I caught him out. In other cases, I just don't believe him, because it all sounds too fantastic.

From Young man's burden (part 1):

Kew says he sends them B5500 a month - B4000 to support his sister, B1000 to support his aunt, and B500 to pay the utility bills.
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'I have now paid off the mortgage on the condo, so we own it ourselves,' says Kew proudly. His mother, who is dead, left the place to Kew and his sister in her will.
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'Tonight she wanted to go out to celebrate New Year. I had only B300 left...I gave her most of it,' he said.

From Young man's buden (part 3):

I did not ask him whether he has gone to bed with any men. 'Some customers ask to sleep with me, but they have to pay extra for secks. I say they can sleep with me, but I must be fully clothed,' he said.

He claims he has bought himself a small self-protection device which he can use to apply an electric shock to people if they get too eager.

Some female customers, he says, ask him to drink with them. They drop drugs into his drink when he is not watching, in the hope it will make him more amenable to leaving with them.

From Run of bad luck (part 1):

I asked him how many times he had sold his body.

'About 20 to 30 times,' he said.

'If I went out with men, it was just for drinks.'
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I saw Kew most recently when we met for a meal in the Thon Buri market where I used to live.

We caught up at a canalside eatery. While we were there, a drunken Thai man from the next table pulled a cutter on his wife. Kew, who in his wilder days was probably no stranger to such weapons himself, bravely stepped in to the argument.

Since then, I have moved to our new condo in town, though I did not get the chance to tell Kew. He has no cellphone, so calls from phone boxes when he feels like getting in touch.

He called me a few weeks ago from a phone box close to my old place. 'Shall we meet?' he asked.

'I don't live there any more,' I said.

'I have just walked all the way here from home,' he complained. 'Where have you moved?'

I told him.

'That's a long way...' he said.

We said our goodbyes.

When I am sitting in my rocking chair in years to come, I shall look back on the Thon Buri chapter of our lives.

Compared to my present, more settled life in town, those were racy days.

I hope I meet Kew again. Despite all the lies and fantastic stories he told to boost his own ego, I feel close to the young man. He doesn't mind spending time with this clumsy, ageing farang either, so he can't be all bad.