Man of the household (3, final)

More than 30 homes in the Thai community where they live were razed to the ground. Fire trucks were slow in arriving because streets leading to the community were too narrow to give them access.

In the end, they sprayed water at the houses from an expressway above the community.

Muay told me that they managed to get out only in the clothes they were wearing.

"We shall just have to start again," she said bravely.

At my workplace, senior staff started a charity appeal to help the family. Muay's husband and his younger brother are on the full-time staff there, as am I.

When they are not doing their main job there, they help at the shop, which is about 30m away.

"At the moment we are renting a place behind our old home. They are about to level the ground and start building again. We own the place, so we want to get back there as soon as possible," said Chuay.

Walking past their shop today, you would not know that they lost everything in a fire. Nothing appears to have changed. No one walks around moping; they just carry on.

At the moment, we do not have much time to talk. I am usually going somewhere, and they are busy working.

"I will try to drink more often - maybe on Fridays, after work," I told Chuay.

Often I spot him at a motorcycle repair shop down the street, talking to male friends from the neighbourhood. He always wais, or gives me a wave.

"Any time you want to come back, we are waiting," he said.

Before I left, I asked their names. To my shame, I had forgotten them all, as I drink there so rarely. However, after all these years, they still know mine.

Chuay is now a young adult, making his way in the world, and eager to assume greater responsibility in the family.

He is tall and well-built for his age. I noticed he still has the same broken teeth formation that I remember seeing when I talked to him as a teen.

I doubt he's ever begrudged his parents the lack of money to fix his teeth; he just gets on with life.

I don't know where Thais learn to be so kind towards others, especially when they have nothing themselves. They make strangers feel as warm as family, even when they are not.

Man of the household (2)

When I first met Chuay eight years ago, he was barely into his teens. He has now finished school, and in his spare time plays for an American-football team.

The last time I last spoke to him, he was about to sit an exam to enter the police force.

It was time I caught up. The night after the motorbike ride, I dropped in to the shop.

I stopped to talk to Chuay, who was sitting at his Mum's shop.

"I sat the exam, but didn't get in. I found out later that I would need to pay B200,000-300,000 to get in to the police force, no matter how well I did in the exam. Either that, or I would have to have a relative working there.

"I don't have any family connections I can exploit to get in, and I wouldn't want it that way anyway. The police force is corrupt, and widely seen as such by Thais. I would rather be in the military instead," said Chuay.

He has now entered the military, and is working as a driver to an army chief. He works a regular Monday-Friday week, though if his boss is going somewhere overnight, he will say at the same place as him.

"I enjoy it. My Mum is getting older, and one day I want to tell her she can stop working at this shop, and that I will support everyone.

"First, though, I need to save money. Why I like my job? People respect the military more than the police, and the welfare entitlements are good.

''If anyone in my family falls sick, their medical care costs are covered by the state, because I am a soldier. I also get to serve my country," Chuay said.

One night in February, the family - Muay, her husband, Chuay, and the newest addition, a girl aged three - lost their home and belongings in a slum fire.

now, see part 3

Man of the household (1)

A Thai woman runs an eatery close to my workplace. She saw me walk past, on my way home. I had just finished work.

Mauy, 38, comes from Esan, in the Northeast. Her shop, which sells Esan food and alcohol, consists of metal tables lined up on the sidewalk against a wire fence.

It is basic, but a good, cheap place to eat and drink for people who work in the area.

Many years ago, I used to drink regularly at her shop. Now I rarely visit. The last time was a few months ago. Her shop is on the same road as my office.

Thais are expert at remembering people's names. Muay has always known mine, but until this week I couldn't remember hers.

When it rains, and she sees me walking past, Muay owner asks her son, Chuay, to take me to the office on the back of his motorbike, so I don't have to wade through puddles.

If he's not there, she will ask her husband to do it, or brother-in-law. All three have given me a lift down the road in the past.

In years gone by, the road would flood badly. I would take off my shoes, and wade through ankle-deep water to work.

When it rains, taxis fill up quickly, and tuk tuk drivers don't want to know.

Thanks to climate change, or maybe simply better drainage, flooding on the road is no longer so bad. But if Muay sees me, she will ask one of the boys to take me anyway.

They take me to my office, or in the opposite direction to my bus stop.

The other night, she asked Chuay, a handsome lad aged about 20, to take me to the end of the road towards my bus-stop.

Chuay hopped on his motorbike. I climbed on the back.

As we pootered down the road, I asked after the young man's mother.

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine," he said.

He asked me where I live, and if I had just finished work.

It was small talk. I rubbed his shoulders as we went.

now, see part 2

Name a price (3, final)

I told the story about the funny Thai names I encountered at the massage shop, to my new friends Gai, Tew, Nurse and Dewars.

As the children sat with me in the sit-down eatery, their parents asked them to try talking to me in English.

'How are you...where are you from?" Dey asked, while admitting he was not good with languages.

I answered.

Then the girl asked me a few questions. Her eyes shone brightly, and she looked eager to talk.

"Nurse is not scared to speak, and has a quick mind," said Dad.

Gai asked me if I would like to teach them English.

I said I would be interested. First, we would have to find a time when the children and I were both free.

"Please give me your cellphone number, and I will send you a text message," I said.

I sent him a message that night, asking him if he was serious, and if so, to name which days suited.

I did not get a reply, but then Thais are not good on texting.

The next night, Gai was away. I spoke briefly to Tew.

She called her daughter on the cellphone, to see if she was still interested. "Do you want to learn with the farang?" she asked shyly.

The next night, I met Gai again. He fetched a glass, and poured me a beer.

"I will ask you to join me in a small beer," he said. "I don't drink much - two or three bottles a day. But I drink every day," he said.

Further negotiations followed.

"Can you cope if I pay you just B200 an hour?" he asked.

I had asked for B250 an hour, which is already cheap. However, I was prepared to charge that no matter how many children turned up.

Happily, however, Gai thought that was the daily charge per student.

His aunt joined us, from her cart outside the shop.

"I don't have much money," she said.

Gai looked at me, waiting to see if I would cut the price still further. I stayed silent.

The next day, I called Gai on the telephone. He handed the phone to his wife. A further round of negotiations followed.

We settled on a flat price of B500 a day. However, three children will join the classes, not two - another member of the extended family.

The children go to a public school nearby. It has a specialist unit which gives English instruction in most subjects.

"All the kids around who live around here go to that school," said Gai.

Foreigners teach at that unit, which is for secondary students only. The family once hired a foreigner to teach Nurse privately. Neither child is old enough to join the unit yet.

Their parents are eager for them to learn. On Mondays and Tuesdays after school, they have extra tuition in other subjects.

I will teach English to the three youngsters later in the week. We will meet above the shop, before I go to work.

The teaching assignment will bring in extra money, but could also wear me out.

I hope I still have energy left for my main job. If I turn up looking bleary-eyed, it's because I've taken on to much work teaching Nurse, Dewar and Beer down the road.

I told a Thai-Indian friend from work about how my new friends tried to drive down my price.

"Are they Thai-Chinese?" he asked.

"If they are, then they want their education, and a discount as well - they're businesspeople," he said.

"They look like ordinary Thais. But their shop has been there a long time," I replied.

"In that case, they might have saved money - shops like that did very well in the past," he said.

Tew, mother of Nurse, asked me to teach conversation. She also negotiated on behalf of Dewar's Mum.

Thais get sick of grammar instruction - that's what they get in class, from their mainly Thai teachers, and it fails to work.

Conversation is easier to teach than grammar instruction. If the boys fail to follow what's going on, then we can call on Nurse, who is just 10 but bright, to help.

"They have asked me to teach conversation," I told my friend.

"They want to pick up the farang's accent," he said.

Lessons start this week.

Waggle, waggle

A young Thai man wearing flimsy white shorts was waggling his bottom provocatively in front of me.

His mother called out to him by name, to let him know a farang was approaching from behind.

I was late for work, and walking in a hurry. I had left the steps leading from an overhead bridge and was now on the footpath.

I walked past the mother. She saw that I was a farang male, so called out to her son, who was slightly in front of me.

'Taem!'

He turned around, saw me, and looked shocked.

A large farang was bearing down on his scanty frame. More importantly, it was a male.

Taem looked about 16, tidy, and compact.

I didn't wait for an introduction. This young man looked cute.

'Do you have a boyfriend?' I asked.

He giggled, put his hands up to his mouth, giggled some more. His bright white teeth flashed in the fading dusk light.

He must waggle his butt - more like strutting on a catwalk - as a matter of course, because he didn't know a male was approaching. Does his mother get sick of all that preening?

She wanted to help her son find a mate. That's why she called his name, so he wouldn't miss me.

Taem repeated my question. His voice was deep.

His mother laughed.

'No.'

'Why are you waiting?'

I was in a hurry, and couldn't slow down. In a moment I would be past him.

He laughed again.

'...Or do you like being single?'

I sped past. I looked back at him a few times, as I continued my hurried journey to work.

He kept waggling, a white beacon in the gathering gloom.

But the distance between us grew, until he was a faint white blip at the end of a dark road.