Wet protesters, greased lightning boyfriend, song in a supermarket

'Carrefour, Carrefour, we love to serve...!'

Maiyuu and I went to the Carrefour megastore in Pra Ram 4 yesterday for our big shop. A heavy wet-season downpour started as we made our way there by taxi.

I watched as traders and protesters (you can go hardly anywhere in Bangkok without seeing protesters) raced about, yanking at tents and covering things up.

They were soaked, their T-shirts clinging to their skin.

Outside Carrefour, Maiyuu handed the fare to the driver, and made a sprint for cover.

I have never seen him run so fast. One moment he was sitting beside me, the next he was inside the front doors of the megastore, waving. How can it be?

'You move like lighting. I didn't know you could go so fast,' I said after joining him.

Maiyuu laughed.

-
'You'll have to wait 10 minutes,' the cashier told me.

I was standing at the cash register at 4.50pm, attempting to buy a bottle of whisky.

Thai law limits the hours in which I can buy alcohol from licensed providers such as Carrefour.

I had put a bottle of whisky in the basket, thinking I could pay for the thing without trouble, but I had forgotten the selling-hour restrictions.

I can buy from 11am to 2pm, when the abstinence hours kick in, and I can't buy it again until 5pm.

Small, unlicensed outlets still sell, of course, but I wanted to buy it with the rest of our shopping, as it was more convenient.

-
The special hour of 5pm is also the hour when Carrefour's young service staff sing for their customers.

They line up down the side of the store, and in front by the cash registers, to perform their corporate anthem.

'Carrefour, Carrefour,' they sing.

They wave their arms like cheerleaders. They also swivel about on the spot.

For the staff, this must be the most horrid moment of the day - when shoppers turn to stare at their awkward singing and dancing.

The song lasts for about five minutes. The red-shirted staff who formed a line in front of the check-out area were led by a tall, slender figure who looked perfectly gay.

He was the only one who moved with any conviction.

The others, including young men on rollerskates who pack groceries, smiled awkwardly and tried to avoid meeting my gaze.

'Carrefour, we love to serve...'

Next time, I shall take a camera. Would they mind?

Squalid box memories, Pantip revisted

I asked myself the other day what brought on Maiyuu's creative streak in the kitchen now that we have moved into our new condo in town.

I suspect Chef Maiyuu is capable of creating such wonders because he is content.

Maiyuu and I are much happier living in our new place in town, we realised the other day.

Back in Thon Buri, we lived in a foul old place - really, little better than a cramped apartment block where prostitutes crashed during the day before venturing out at night to ply their trade. It had no kitchen, so Maiyuu had to do his food preparation and cooking sitting on the floor.

A grotty place beset by noise from screaming children in the hallway and trains outside, it robbed us of the will to make something better of our lives.

'I would get up and not want to do anything...the place was just too awful,' said Maiyuu the other day.

It had no windows, just two doors leading on to a balcony opposite the main entrance. It pointed the wrong way, so rarely caught the breeze.

I could go on, but the thought is too depressing.

Yet this condo was one of the more expensive in the area, and almost constantly full. Many Thais live in even worse surroundings - box-shaped apartment blocks which I would hate to call home.

A young woman of the night, Joy, lived at the condo.

She was a pretty little thing who sold her body for money, and left a few years later when she fell pregnant.

'Joy was just one of them...the place was crawling with prozzies and kept women,' said Maiyuu, who knew her.

I never knew, though I often wondered why so many of the young women who lived there, only came out at night.

Good riddance!

-

Nine years ago when I arrived in the Land of Smiles, I would have found unusual a visit to the busy computer shopping centre, Pantip Plaza.

The place is full of young guys, so I am sure I enjoyed my first foray to Pantip way back then.

I have been there perhaps half a dozen times since. I paid another visit yesterday with my friend farang C, who took in his Apple laptop for repairs.

After eating a quick meal on the second floor, we looked around for shops willing to repair an Apple laptop on-site (hardly any, as it turns out).

'Hardly anything goes wrong with Apples, but when they do go wrong, they are hard to fix,' one Thai repair woman told me.

After half an hour of searching, we found a promising looking place on the top floor.

I did my Thai thing while farang C, standing by my side, made grumpy comments. He enjoys pecking at the Thai service staff, who in his eyes seldom seem to do anything right.

Sure, I saw plenty of young people - young men in all-white school uniforms, service staff in their 20s.

But really, the scene did not look spectacular. It was nothing unusual. I did not ogle over anyone in particular.

It was just another collection of people, but I enjoyed it for all that, as you might enjoy a walk in the park.

When I see Thais these days, I can appreciate their beauty, but I don't wonder about their lives.

They have become regular people, just like me.

Macaroni and basil, monk's prayer basket, Patsy's fabulous battle

Chef Maiyuu's macaroni cheese and red basil. That's the leaf on top.

Since taking this picture, Maiyuu has made a pineapple cinnamon cream cake, with walnuts on top. If I can persuade him to take a photo, I shall bring you that delicious creation tomorrow.

I transferred this shot from the camera to my computer myself. It wasn't that hard, really. All I had to do was locate the 'start' button on the camera, then insert a jack into the back.

The cord with the jack attached is attached to the back of the computer. We leave it there for the sake of convenience.

Normally Maiyuu would perform this task for me himself, but he is away.

Last night he stayed with a friend, Mai. They are making food for the monks on their morning alms rounds. Maiyuu is a good cook, so Mai invited him to stay over and help her make the food.

Personally, I think monks should be happy with rice and garlic. 'Just give me the rice and garlic prayer, please.'

Maiyuu is likely to cook a superb dish. Will the monks offer rise to the occasion? Is their prayer repertoire that fancy?

-

Eddie and Pats, with the cigar

Patsy has g-g-gone!

Maiyuu and I enjoy watching re-runs of Absolutely Fabulous on BBC Entertainment, which until yesterday we could view from Thailand's largest satellite TV provider, True Visions.

At midnight last night, True dropped three channels from its line-up, including BBC Entertainment, which means our daily dose of the London-based, hi-so adventures of Patsy and Eddie is no more.

BBC Entertainment aired Absolutely Fabulous three times a day on weekdays.

My boyfriend and I would tell each other when it was next due.

'Deo, Patsy ja ma'...those words also will be absent from our home.

Bugger True! They have replaced BBC Entertainment with some crap aimed at younger people called AXN Beyond.

The house advertising, by some guy with a fake American accent, is aggressive and in your face. Everything about it looks designed to annoy (for someone of my vintage).

All is not lost: we can still watch highlights at YouTube.

But it's just not the same. This is definitely not a day to break out the Bolly Stolly!

Patsy, played by Joanna Lumley, was my favourite character. In real life, the actress has since moved on to bigger things. Lumley has been taking on the British government over its failure to give citizenship to the Gurkha war veterans.

Go, Pats! Read about her battle on behalf of the Gurkhas here.

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.
-
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.
-
'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.
-
'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.'
-

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.

Wet weather friend

When I came home from work, the lights were out.

Maiyuu had gone out. I checked my cellphone. He had sent me an SMS shortly before, letting me know that he would not be home.

'But there's food in the fridge,' his SMS said.

Well done. If boyfriend goes out, he should tell his mate, right? Cooking is even better.

I cast a quick glance around the place, which I had not seen in five hours.

The dishes were done. The dining table was clear.

I walked into my bedroom, where I found my washing on the bed. Maiyuu had retrieved my washing from the balcony in time to avoid last night's fierce rainy-season downpour.

Can this get any better?

Maiyuu had done everything I could expect of him as my stay-at-home other half. Nine years of breaking him in to farang ways are starting to pay off.

-
God, another night battling Bangkok floods.

Farang C and I waded though ankle-deep water and pelting rain to reach home last night.
We live in the same condo, and are also friends at work.

Thai colleague Sor dropped us off in his car. Rather than take us all the way home, he let us off close to a railway line about five minutes away.

I was carrying a small portable umbrella. Farang C had nothing.

'I think you should have asked him to take us all the way home,' said farang C, as we sloshed through the floodwaters in our soi (sub-street).

'I plan to complain to the Drainage Department. This is terrible.'

My Thai friend Sor has given me a lift home after work for years.

Last night was farang C's first ride.

I know Sor's habits: he doesn't like to deviate from the route he knows. To put it more simply, he gets nervous in unfamiliar territory.

'I couldn't have asked him to take us all the way home. Imagine if his car had become stuck in the floods around our place,' I thought.

Farang C was soaked within moments of leaving the car. My portable umbrella was too small to be of much use, and before long I was soaked, too.

I contemplated the state of my track shoes, which have only just recovered after I was last caught in heavy rain a few weeks ago.

'After you were stuck in the rain last time, your track shoes stank,' farang C told me.'I had to hold my nose.'

After that day, I kept wearing them into the office, just in case I was stuck in heavy rain again on the way home.

I wear them to protect my proper work shoes, which I take in a bag.

Last night as our shift ended I changed from my work shoes back into track shoes, as I suspected he would have to walk through the wet again. I was right!

Slosh, slosh. Sploosh, sploosh.

'The trick is to stuff wet shoes with newspaper as they dry, so the smell goes away,' said farang C.

Back at the condo, we chatted in the corridor. His place is right next to mine.

I fetched some newspaper from my place, as he had run out.

Farang C stuffed his track shoes with newspaper. After we said our goodbyes for the night, I stuffed mine as well.

I like having a close friend. I have waited eight years in this place to get one. Farang C is straight, but doesn't seem to mind my funny gay ways.

With him, I can just be me. And in this odd place called Thailand, we can all do with a bit of that.