Lugging laundry

The boyfriend went out last night, and is still not back. In his absence, the laundry people called.

The laundry people run their business from the slummy side of the condo. I crossed over to that side to talk to them yesterday.

'The guy I live with has 80 pieces of clothes for you to wash. He has put them in a packing box. Please send a car to collect them,' I said matter-of-factly. It is a transaction, after all.

A haggard looking woman in her 50s knocked on the door shortly after 8. She was too small to take down the box herself, even if she was to drag it.

I hurriedly put on some clothes, and together we dragged the box into the lift and outside to the entrance, where we waited for her boss to turn up with a car.

Two tenants were waiting at the same spot for taxis to take them to work.

One was a woman wearing a skimpy cotton shirt and skirt, with two teenage girls in school uniform.

'I just want to know ... is there anything wrong?' she asked her daughter, who looked at her resentfully.

What a way to start the day...an argument with an angry teen.

Another woman, who was waiting alone, had poured herself into a tight pair of lycra-style pants. Her backside was already large enough, without those bubble-butt pants enhancing it.

'Pity your colleagues - they will have to look at you in that ghastly outfit all day,' I thought.

After a 10-minute wait, the laundry boss finally turned up in her car.

I had not met her before. A woman in her 30s, she had a child in the back. I suspect she was on the school run (oops - I said it!).

I heaved Maiyuu's box of washing into the back of her car.

'When-you-like-back?' she asked.

'Any time,' I said.

No need to hurry on Maiyuu's behalf. He has allowed his washing to build up for weeks, which I regard as slothful and negligent.

If he runs out of clothes to wear while the washing is away, then bad luck.

Thai condo life: Let's take a look inside

Pictures from our new Bangkok condo which I promised readers a few weeks ago.

Here you can see the main room with the kitchen, to the left.

Boyfriend Maiyuu's bedroom is darkened one, as we use it largely as storage space.

The main room with the large bed and desk is mine.

When we rented the condo, I didn't realise the view of Silom from the condo was so good, as I was more interested in what was inside the place.

Cafe falls flat, taxis can't read, mega-wash

I invited fellow bloggers BB and Kawadjan to the gay cafe, the one I have written about previously on this blog.

It took us 10 minutes to find the place in a taxi, as I am no good with directions, and seldom venture into the tourist area.

At one point I showed the taxi driver the business card from the restaurant, which contains a small map. 'I can't read English,' he said.

Hopeless. Nor did he know the area: 'I usually drive on the other side of town.'

When will the city start policing such things? Drivers who do not know the inner city should not ply their taxis in it, still less those who can't read a few simple English words on a map.

'Under no circumstances can Thais read maps,' one of our party chimed in.

Maybe the driver's lack of English was just an excuse for the fact that he can't decipher simple maps, either.

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The food, we agreed, was average, even mediocre. 'Food stalls serve better,' pronounced one of our party. The host, the farang owner's boyfriend, was over-the-top, and annoying.

I did not get a chance to talk to the farang owner. The brochure for the place refers to his Thai boyfriend as the owner, probably for legal reasons.

I like farang J, who is natural and friendly. However, I am not sure if I will bother to go back.

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Maiyuu sorted his clothes yesterday, ready to send to the people who wash them.

Rather than wash the clothes ourselves in the coin operated machines which I can find on the slum side of this condo, we decided to send out, to a dry-cleaning business in a shophouse over there.

They wash and iron them for us, and do a superb job. The business offers a several packages.

I am on the package where they agree to wash any 40 items for 700 baht. I have just sent off a second basket of clothes, which takes me to the half-way point of my package.

Maiyuu has opted for the most expensive package, which he is likely to use all in one go. Under this package, the firm offers to wash and iron 80 items, for 1200 baht.

Yesterday he sorted through his laundry and came up with 80 items which he wants them to wash. He has put them in one of the packing boxes we used to transport goods to our place when we moved.

The rest, he will wash by hand.

Stick your hand in the cookie jar

Loyal reader Neil has a succinct way of expressing himself, which I like. In these busy, busy times, who has the energy to dissect sentences with multiple, winding clauses?

This is what he said about my plan to pay a return visit to Mum's shop: 'Move on!'

'You are in a different part of the city. It will take time to hunt out places you like. Also to find the class of Thai your accustom to. You will find them locally. You have moved up is status and location. No more chickens and Chinese banging the walls all night. Going back to your old haunts will not be the same.

'You yourself said the people you sat with were not true friends. Just acquaintanceship. Go exploring. When you first move to the last apartment, didn't you feel the same way.

'Lost and out of place? Everyone does when they move after living a long time in previously location. I have returned to locations I use to live and it was never the same as I remember it. They move on. So should you.'

Okay, I take the hint. I shall just have to find some other place to meet my friends of the night (or even the daytime) outside home.

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'Why don't you do baking any more?' I asked the boyfriend.

'I am not sure who I can find to eat it,' Maiyuu replied. 'If you don't fnish it all, it goes stale.'

Maiyuu has not done any baking since we left our old condo in Thon Buri, I realised this morning.

I found half a dozen ginger cookies in a jar, which he made before the move. It's time I ate them, even though I am now watching my stomach line.

Maiyuu says the weight I lost while trudging humid streets in South-East Asia a week or so ago is now back on again. I am not sure I believe him.

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I wrote about a new movie by Poj Anon yesterday. It is one of two posts about the film this week.

Google, which serves the Adsense ads on my blog, has decided it does not approve of the subject matter in those posts, and has refused to serve ads on those pages.

The Google Adsense bot crawls the text of posts looking for key words, to help it match ads to content. If I mention condos, you might get several ads from people wanting to buy or sell condos here.

If readers are interested in condos in Thailand, which I mention in blog posts, then they might also be interested in the ads, and click them.

Google also has a list of stop words, which if repeated often enough or in particular combinations prompts Adsense to withhold advertising. It reckons that advertisers won't want to be associated with content which some readers might find objectionable.

I have re-read the posts. They look innocuous enough to me - no bad words, which I am careful to avoid on this blog, though I did mention the word naked.

I have noticed before that Google's Adsense dislikes any association between gays and those institutions which impart knowledge to youngsters.

Yes, you know the ones - the word starts with the letter 's' and ends in 'l'. I mentioned that word once or twice too.

In some contexts, it also objects to any mention of gays in relation to those institutions which bring us into the world.

Once again, you know the one - the word starts with 'f 'and ends in 'y'.

What to do? I have raised objections with Google Adsense in the past. My emails went unanswered. I can but hope that someone in their mighty Cultural Standards department was listening.

In the meantime, I shall try to minimise posts which mention either of those words in relation to gays.

Gays don't have families, of course. Nor do they go to school.

I'm just full of bad ideas

Returning to Mum's shop in Thon Buri may not be as simple as I first thought. As loyal reader Neil reminded me in comments yesterday, Mum refused to serve me the last time I was there, after I started visiting a rival place nearby.

'Finish!' she said abruptly, meaning she was no longer prepared to serve. I explained to her why I was visiting the rival place: to see if the owner would like to sell my boyfriend's baking.

She softened, and claimed she was merely joking.

'I'll be back soon,' I said.

That turned out to be untrue. Soon after, I moved to a new condo in town, which is a long way from her shop. I have not been back since.

The new condo is in the centre of town, where I am finding it hard to meet Thais. At my new condo, the only one I get to talk to regularly is my boyfriend, which is not the same.

In a post yesterday, I promised to pay another visit to Mum's shop, to see if any of my old friends were there. 

A reader who calls himself Anonymous left this caustic response:

'You've crossed the river and gone to great lengths and expense, selling your furniture and paying more rent, so that you can... live near a tourist ghetto and return to the place you used to live to be able to socialise?'

I agree, it looks sad. Before going, I would have to test the waters by sending feisty Mum a sweet text message. It would look like this:

'Sorry we haven't spoken in a while, but I have now moved to a new place. However, I still miss you and your customers. It might be time for a return visit!

Thais love that sweet talk, and Mum is no exception.

But can I be bothered? Last night I visited an eatery close to work, which was so basic it reminded me of Mum's run-down, hole-in-the-wall shop.

A middle-aged woman sat in a tiny kitchen.

'What do you want?' she asked.

She looked barely interested, as if it was all too much effort.

Four young guys in work gear were singing along to Thai songs on a jukebox.

At least six empty bottles of beer sat on their table. They appeared to know three or four guys at the next table, who were also drinking.

As I sat waiting for my order, I stole envious looks at the men at both tables. I like drinking in roughish places with real men, I thought, and I haven't done it in a long time.

At Mum's shop, I drank mainly with straight guys. We had good times, and I am sorry they had to end. But her customers moved elsewhere.

Mum also let her shop get run down. Once, the place bustled with students and young professionals. Years before, it even attracted farang customers, mainly teachers.

By the time I left, she had lost almost everyone. Few patrons bothered to visit any more. The soul of the place had vanished.

I still resent Mum for driving away her customers, many of whom I regarded as friends, though I have never told her.

In sensible moments, I realise that the Thais I met there were mere drinking partners, little more.

If they had been genuine friends, we could have met anywhere...but we never did.

None of us could be bothered, as we weren't that close.

If Mum's shop seemed special nonetheless, it's because she was a warm and caring host. She was the one who kept us together.

So, as I contemplate the solitude of my new place in town, a return visit to her shop seems inviting, though I might end up sitting alone all night.