Thai mind-reader, flat heads and big ears, 50 words on my condo

I swear Thais can read minds. When I left the condo to catch a motorcycle down the road to the doctor's clinic, my motorcycle guy knew where I wanted to go.

'Doctor?' he asked.

'Yes. How did you know?' I replied.

'I have taken you before.'

This was not strictly true: the motorcycle guy drops me close to the place, usually on the other side of the highway.

Then I walk across a couple of overhead bridges to reach the clinic.

On the previous occasion, I might have asked him to take me a little closer, but still...

Last time I might have told him I was seeing a doctor, just for something to say. Yesterday I had uttered not a word.

Yet he knew.

At the moment I get a motorcycle guy virtually daily. They drop me close to work, and I walk the rest of the way. Yesterday, how did he know that I wasn't just getting off for the walk to work, as I normally do?

The medical clinic, down a narrow soi inside a slum area, was busy.

The waiting room contained 10 people. In a small examination room off the doctor's office, I saw a woman stretched out with electrodes attached to her chest.

In the waiting room, I passed a curtained-off area where a middle-aged male patient was also on his back, being inspected by the sole doctor in the premises.

I know he was there, because I heard them muttering, and the patient's toes were poking out the curtains.

I told the two nurses that I had accidentally tossed away my fungal rash pills. Then I took a seat.

Seeing how many patients still had to go in before me, I changed my mind, and approached the desk again.

'Do I really need to see the doctor?' I asked.

No. They asked me which pills I wanted, and spooned them into small plastic bags. The bill was B120. I thanked them, and left.

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My post of yesterday complaining about the absent-mindedness of old age appears to have wound up some readers.

Some guys reach their 60s, and still go to the gym regularly. That's great. I run up the ramps of the condo carparking building for exercise. It takes just 15 minutes a day, but is enough, I tell myself, to keep my heart and lungs in good shape.

I don't care about the rest. I go through phases when I look at myself in the mirror and worry about my growing tummy, or the fact that I appear to be growing smaller, fatter, and wider with age.

Thankfully, I appear to be in no-worry phase at the moment. I can't remember the last time I examined myself critically in the mirror. Most of the time, I am trying to escape the heat.

I can't do much about the ageing process, which we all know is unflattering (well, those of us who are not 60 year-old gym-bunnies, that is).

I don't like the flat head, big, hairy-eared look which comes upon many men as they get older, but am pleased to see that it is not confined to foreigners. It happens to Thais, too.

I walk past my middle-aged colleagues at work and think to myself: 'You're a member of the flat-head, big-eared club!'

I walk past younger ones in the office (the youngest foreigners we have are probably in their early 30s), and tell myself: 'And you'll be there soon enough!'

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An Asian literary journal has asked me to write about life in Thailand.

They want to know about Thai life from the point of view of a foreigner, or even a Thai, as long as he writes in English.

I asked them to they give me a topic, as I can't write on spec.

'I can write about the inside of my condo,' I suggested.

What else is there to say, if you've been here too long as I have.

I live with Thais, in this fabulous land called Thailand, but spend most of my time thinking about the life I left behind - and this is on good days!

Absent-minded me (aka The Great Pill Hunt)

Being a worry-wort, I put my rash pills in the top pocket of my work shirt last night before heading off.

I am supposed to take a couple of pills after every meal, and I have an evening meal at work.

Being absent-minded, I discarded them some time during the evening as I was talking to someone.

But who, and where? I pass many rubbish bins in the course of my night. We live in a paperless age, supposedly, but not where I work.

The doctor urged me to finish the whole course, so we could kill off the fungal roots. So, thanks to my absent-mindedness, tonight I will have to go back to the doctor's clinic and ask for more pills, to replace the ones I threw away.

I didn't mean to chuck them. I suspect I was having a tense or animated conversation with someone, and reached into my pocket without being aware of what I was doing.

I found the plastic baggies (as one reader called them) in which doctors here prescribe medicine. Thinking they were rubbish, I tossed them.

I discovered my minor loss last night when I returned from work. My fading memory served up an image of myself folding up the bags and throwing them in the rubbish.

Needless to say, I looked everywhere...for the 100th time, my shirt pocket; my work bag, my trousers, the rubbish bin in my room. Nothing.

Once upon a time, such a minor loss would not have concerned me. But as I get older, I worry more. If I see a sponge in the wrong place by the kitchen sink, I will re-align it. I like my environment to be just right.

I called work to ask someone to check the bins. Kindly, he obliged, but found nothing.

A week from now, I will find them somewhere else entirely, and will discover I did not throw them out at all. It was all in my imagination, as are most things these days. Why can't I spend just a single day grounded in reality?

There are jobs to be done, people to meet (okay, not so many of them - I am a mere migrant labourer in Thailand, after all).

We need to concentrate.

PS: My admission above that I like an orderly living environment is not an invitation to regular reader the Shrink to psycho-analyse. Just chill, fella. In a few more years you'll be just like me, and know what it's like.

Vanilla fudge taunt

Chef Maiyuu has tried his hand at vanilla fudge, made with plenty of milk chocolate and a pod of vanilla. He asked me if I could smell the vanilla.

'Yes,' I said, though the scent of chocolate was stronger.

I have eaten two pieces. The rest of the fudge is sitting in the fridge, and stares at me whenever I open it. 'Eat me!' it says.

I am loath to eat too much, as the doctor has warned me not to pig out on sweet stuff. 'You've had a fungal rash...often they are associated with diabetes,' he says.

Actually, a foreigner doctor I know says there is probably no reason for alarm.

Recently I took a course of antibiotics for another minor complaint. The antibiotics could have set off the rash.

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This message just in, from reader Su...

'Hi Bkk.. I think what you and Maiyu have is really sweet. Love your coupley tales.. And Maiyu is a great cook! I cant believe I actually look forward to pics of his creations.. :) '

Thank you for the compliment. Sometimes I wonder if Maiyuu's repertoire of dishes will ever run out.

While he has his favourites, he rarely cooks the same dish, perhaps because he enjoys experimenting and trying out new recipes.

Market sortie

I have asked boyfriend Maiyuu if he would like to go for a walk to the local market today. It's about time we had an outing together, rather than just talk about it.

Twice a week, local traders set up a flea market about 20 minutes' walk from our home. They sell household items, cooked food, fresh fruit and vegetables.

Two visits ago, I went alone, and bought a plastic carry basket (see picture) into which I dumped our purchases.

'That looks so gay,' said Maiyuu as I walked back in the door.

Still, I would like to use it again. So, is he up for it?

'It will depend on the weather, and the mood of the old man,' he said, referring to me.

Savings scheme in a box

We have embarked on a household savings scheme - B1,000 every pay day - to create a small income buffer should one of us need an urgent visit to the dentist, or meet some other unexpected big-bill expense.

It is something we should have started years ago. Previously, I would ask my parents to send me savings from overseas.

I don't like using that money for anything other than truly deserving cases. A dentist's bill, for example, while no doubt important, is still just routine spending, even if a toothache does arrive unexpectedly.

Maiyuu went shopping while I was at work last night.

Today he presented me with a simple handmade wooden box.

Not knowing what it was, I opened it - and found a B1,000 note inside, which he offered as the first instalment in our savings plan.

'You lovely kid,' I said, and gave him a big kiss.

Maiyuu says he understands the need to save, and is willing to help me do it. I wasn't sure I'd be able to get him to agree...it is so much easier to just live for the day, after all.

I know I should deposit the money securely in a bank, but I want to see the notes piling up every week.

Deposit interest rates are so miserable these days that whether I keep it in a bank, hidden under the mattress, or left in my little box really makes little difference.