Boys boys boys

May 13
I never expected to find myself in a relationship in Thailand. In fact I didn’t expect there to be much romantic action at all, given my former disinterest in Asian men. But the longer I’ve been here, the more my disinterest has turned to interest and here I find myself in some sort of relationship with Beer.

As my interest grows in Thai men, however, of course I wish to explore that interest. I don’t want just one under my belt, as it were. So I resolve to finish things with Beer and free myself up for more adventures.

I go see him at Richard’s one Sunday evening after work. He’s behind the bar so I plonk myself down and order a beer. He’s pleased to see me. This is the first spanner in my plan. His working is another. It’s difficult to chat to him.

Instead I chat to two Thai guys sat next to me – Nom and Bird. Nom is a big queeny man with limited English but an undeniably bitchy sense of humour. Bird is buff, charming and handsome with a winning smile. I soon realise I’ve met them before – at the party where I seduced Beer – and they regale me with tales of my drunkenness. Brilliant.

Bird, it turns out, quite fancied Sean. I immediately text Sean and tell him. Sean is annoyed, what with being some 8000 miles away.

Occasionally Beer captures my attention. I tell him I’m gonna go home at one point. Maybe, I think, I can extricate myself from this ‘relationship’ by showing increasing disinterest. God, I’m lame. When I tell him this though he looks at my quite forlornly, a bit like the cat from Shrek in fact. It works and I change my mind. He then tells me he wants to take me to the village in Thailand where he was born. Dear God. Luckily I work weekends so have a solid excuse to get out of it. Though part of me does wonder if that wouldn’t be quite a good experience.

I chat to Bird a bit more. He becomes increasingly attractive as I do so. I’m totally distracted by the size of his arms. He and Nom tell me they’re going to go to DJ Station next door for a bit, and do I want to come? I figure why not and leave my stuff with Beer, telling him I’ll come back at one when he finishes.

It’s packed in DJ. We get some drinks and hang out, people watching and chatting about men. There’s a lot of older men/young pretty boy action going on in here. Bird says he usually goes for older Western men as well. I feel a bit gutted. Does that mean he doesn’t fancy me? But our conversation becomes increasingly flirty until it becomes clear that this is not the case at all.

We go and dance. Nom stays behind. He wants to find someone to take home. Bird takes his top off. I grin at him. We dance a bit, getting increasingly touchy feely. Eventually I make a move. He’s a TERRIBLE kisser, all mouth and no lips. But I’m drunk and enamoured enough not to care too much. We snog like a couple of teenagers for some time, before deciding maybe we should go find Nom. He’s approaching the stage just as we’re coming off. He’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. He’s totally seen us. Ah well.

I’m surprisingly unfazed by my own bad behaviour. I know I’m being a bit of a cunt to Beer but I feel no commitment towards him and therefore no guilt. Fuck it; I’m here to have fun so I will. This night sets the agenda for my remaining time in Bangkok.

Bird, Nom and I head back to meet Beer. He’s eating some noodles by a shop, out of the way of the rain. I feel like I have guilt written all over my face but of course he’s none the wiser. At least for now. I go back to his.

May 19
It’s Saturday night and I’m going on a date. It’s not with Beer either. So begins my initiation into the world of the player.

I meet Bird at some Irish pub. It’s really busy so we go to another one. It’s also busy but we brave it anyway. There’s some football game on – Man U vs. Chelsea – so the ex-pats are out in force, as are the Thais who love English football as much as the English.

We chat. Bird orders some food. The waitress is loving that we’re on a ‘date’ and laughs and jokes with Bird in Thai as she serves us. I’m not at my best – I’m dead tired from working and partying with Vicky (see separate entry) and find it hard to keep the conversation going. But, quite frankly, I ain’t here for conversation, and after a couple hours we head back to his.

Amazingly he’s living at an apartment block I’ve been admiring since I got here for its beautiful balconies and unusual design. He’s got a weird set-up here – he shares the one bedroom (with double bed) with a female friend. Thankfully she’s away with her boyfriend and we have the place to ourselves. I admire the view as soon as I get in there – you can see right across Bangkok and it’s beautiful. I smile at my luck.

But there’s more…

May 30
Since arriving in Bangkok I’ve been getting messages from various Thai boys on MySpace, all wanting to meet up and ‘get to know me better’. Whatever, I think to each one, until one messages me that catches my interest. His name is Ark and, not only is he a massive fan of British indie music, but he has an arty leftfield sensibility that intrigues me. That, and he is unfeasibly good-looking.

We chatted for awhile and eventually arrange to meet up one Wednesday night. That morning we were chatting online and he’d become even more interesting to me. He’s the first Thai I’ve met that criticises the highly revered royal family, in particular the heir to the throne – Crown Prince Maha Vajiralongkorn. We chat lots about Thai culture, a lot of which he feels frustrated by. He seems to have a very Western, particularly British, sensibility and the more I talk to him, the more I like him. We arrange to meet later. His friends have organised an indie night and he invites me along. I wonder what on earth a Thai indie night will be like. It’s in Club Culture, where Jess and I saw Eclectic Method, which intrigues me even more.

I go to muay Thai. I go to my lesson with Nop, who’s late home and leaves me alone for a bit so he can watch the news coverage of the impending result of the constitutional tribunal (see separate entry). I get home and get ready to go meet Ark in Ratchathewi. After leaving I’m walking down the street when I realise I’ve forgotten my passport. By the time I leave again it’s absolutely pouring down and I can’t go anywhere. I sit outside my apartment block and wait for it to stop.

This doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon but luckily I manage to wave down a cab. Then I have to get crazy lady to explain to the taxi driver where I want to go. She understands me as little as he does, but eventually we get the message across. I think.

He takes me to the wrong Skytrain station but at least I’m on the Skytrain, and eventually I get to Ratchathewi. I don’t spot Ark at first; then I discover I’m on the wrong side of the road. We shake hands as we meet but there’s immediately obvious sexual tension. He’s checking me out quite unashamedly. I do so him a little more discreetly.

His dress sense might be described as ‘kooky’ if you were feeling a little bit lazy and couldn’t think of any other words. Skinny jeans and a basketball t-shirt are complemented by some bloody awful shoes. We go for food. His personality matches his outfit as he’s quite goofy, and full of nervous energy. But he’s as cute as a button and I’m fascinated by him. His English is very good, if a little skewiff at times. Funnily he learnt at ECC as a kid – which is not long ago; he’s only 20 – but picked most of it up from hanging out with farang and watching movies.

Eventually, to my dismay, Ark confesses to having a boyfriend: a 36 year old American man. He’s keen to point out he’s not a sugar daddy, and that he’s very independent. He then counters this by telling me the boyfriend has paid for a studio to be built for him where he can conduct his work as an art student.

We get into a cab to go to the club. Ark continues talking abut his boyfriend. Maybe moaning is a better word. I ask if the guy speaks Thai. He doesn’t, despite having been here for some six years. I find this astounding but Ark says he just relies on him to translate.

We walk into the club night – it’s called Soma Education, for reasons I can’t really fathom. Oasis’s Rock ’N’ Roll Star is playing, which is a little incongruous. I’m so used to Thai pop and R&B and hip hop being played anywhere I go that it’s quite a shock to hear an English guitar band. What’s even more astonishing is the bouncing crowd of Thai people and farang (apparently students, given their attire), all rocking out to said music. I grin with pleasure.

Ark introduces me to some of his friends. They are all arty student types. One guy – a little Thai fella called JoJo, the gayest man I’ve ever met – knows every single word to ever single song that’s played. And what a playlist – everything from The Killers and The Strokes to Placebo and Garbage. It’s like being back at uni.

Ark doesn’t know any of the music but dances like every single tune is his favourite song ever. “I just wanna dance!” he explains. His enthusiasm is infectious and before long (and after we’ve started on a bucket of whisky and coke) I’m up there with him, rocking out like my life depended on it.

I ask Ark if he likes the music. He tells me “it’s not boring!” A Thai pop indie tune come son. Ark knows this one, and loves it. I dance like I love it as well. It, also, isn’t boring.

Later on we’re drunk and sweaty and grinning at each other like idiots. Away from the dancefloor we chat and I start to make move son him. He’s resistant at first. Maybe he’s thinking about the boyfriend that I’m not thinking about. But I keep at it – I can tell he’s into me.

We leave the club to ‘go for a walk’. We don’t get very far before he asks where I live. I tell him. He says can he come back. I tell him yes.

Walking down my soi he tells me that he thinks there’s a gay sauna round here. I tell there can’t be, there’s a school right there. He replies that this is Thailand – you can have a nightclub next to a school. He does have a point.

Muay or less

I really want to do muay Thai. I love it – I love the fitness aspect, I love the discipline, I love how they push and push the people they train, I love hanging out with these guys and getting to know them, I love how I feel after a two hour session (usually like I’ve just climbed a mountain). But as I carry on with it, it becomes obvious that I just do not have the time to dedicate myself to it properly and firstly, become any good at it, and secondly, reap any benefit from it. Once or twice a week – which is all my working schedule allows – just isn’t enough to progress. I go through the same agony every week, never improving.

My first session of the month is a shining example of this. It’s May 1st and ECC is shut due to a public holiday. It’s Labour Day – a day set aside for the employee to consider their duties and responsibility. I find it rather ironic that a day off work is given to mark such a thing, but there you go.

I take the opportunity to go to the gym and train, but it’s the hardest and most debilitating session I’ve had yet. The big boss man type bloke (to give him his proper name, I’m sure) is my first trainer and pushes me fiercely. I put everything I have into it until I’m down to my last vestiges of energy and somehow I struggle through. But it is a struggle, and an embarrassingly apparent one.

I then do technique with the chunky fella with the pale skin. He’s bloody massive but I figure it’ll be all right cos it’s just technique practice. Wrong. When I’m least expecting it he throws a kick into my chest. I fly back into the ropes, almost totally winded. To my credit I get up straight away. If I’ve learnt anything it’s to do that. Big boss dude shouts to me, “This is muay Thai.” You’re not kidding.

It’s then I realise what’s going on. I’d bought some proper muay Thai shorts a few days before and was wearing them here for the first time, as my football shorts were in the wash. To them it must seem like I’ve decided I’m now worthy of wearing proper shorts (which isn’t the case at all) and so they’re gonna put me through some proper muay Thai. The message is loud and clear. I would never wear them during my time here again.This carries on until I’m reluctant to throw any punch or kick at the pads for fear of retaliation. I should just suck it up and get on with it, but I’ve gone into preservation mode and can’t shift out of it.

I feel a little like a rag doll after. I certainly must have looked like one. I get pretty down. The usual post-session feeling of satisfied tiredness isn’t there, the endorphins unable to work their magic against a feeling of total dismay at the constraints of my physicality. I begin to wonder what the point is if I can’t improve myself. We’re fed on a diet of films and stories that talk of ordinary people becoming heroes or whatever and I realise that that’s what I’m trying to do with all this – have myself a little piece of that story. But I’m fed up of striving to improve myself and not getting anywhere. I mull and mull and forget that it’s not my fault, that life just gets in the way sometimes.

I don’t go back for just over two weeks, and then I get pissed off with myself and go. The next couple of sessions are okay, though of course there’s no improvement. The evening after my penultimate session I head to Rajadamnern Stadium to check out the professionals in action. A bunch of us had tried to go to a Thai boxing match the previous week but the price had put everyone off and we’d gone to the pub instead. But I need to see one to write about, and take some photos. Plus I really want to go, it’s an integral part of the Bangkok experience. I’ll be pissed off if I don’t.

And it really is one of the best evenings I’ve had. I have trouble getting there cos it’s pouring with rain and none of the taxis want to take me the short distance from Khao San. I eventually end up getting a tuk-tuk, after lots of bartering. I forget to lie and tell the driver I’ve not yet got a boxing ticket. He insists on taking me somewhere to buy one but I get out of it by explaining that I’m meeting my friends and can’t buy for all of them. The traffic is horrendous, and even with the tuk-tuk nipping in and out of the cars I miss the first bout. I think I’ve missed getting in but a ticket girl tells me otherwise. I’m most relieved.

She shows me into the arena, where I’ve paid for front row seats. The seating is set up as three tiers – some chairs down by the boxing ring, normal seats behind that which start to go up the side of the arena, and then, behind a fence, the cheap seats where all the Thai guys shout a lot and gamble away their money.

I’m sat down at the front and immediately offered a beer. I accept and pay for it. It’s much needed after my own training. There’s a Japanese guy sat next to me who stares at the match going on intently. Some Californians are shown in and sit on the row behind me.The first bout features two 15 year old lads taking each other on. The Californian woman sat behind me can hardly believe it. I can almost hear her processing all kinds of child protection regulations as she tries to take it in. The fact one of them gets knocked out in the third round doesn’t help her any.
But these guys train from about the age of six. They’re more than used to it and know exactly what to expect and how to combat it. Although the guy in the first event is stretchered off, a near-knockout in the second event sees the stretcher rendered useless when the guy (a little older this time) gets up and walks off himself.

Altogether 10 bouts take place and each one throws up its own entertainment.

Just when you think one fighter has the upper hand, one expertly placed move from the other one can destroy his confidence and swing the balance of power the other way. Also interesting is the little Buddhist ritual that takes place before the fight. This is called the Wai Kru and it starts with the two fighters walking around the ring. This is them symbolically ‘sealing’ the ring, to say that the fight is only between them. They then go through various moves and stretches, such as kneeling on the floor and touching their head to the ground, or stretching their legs in various positions. It’s almost like a normal warm-up, but a little more intricate and thoughtful.

Even more entertaining, though, are the gamblers up on the third tier. Even in a half-empty stadium, their loud and infectious chanting can make you feel like you’re at the biggest sporting event in the world. You can tell when there’s a lot of money on a bout as well – the chanting gets louder, and the atmosphere much tenser.

I try and film a round at one point but get told to sit down in no uncertain terms. I’m blocking someone’s view. I chat to the Californians – they’re here on holiday – and talking to them I realise I’m a little drunk. I go outside and get some noodle soup and feel a bit better.
The last round lasts just a couple of minutes. Most of the audience has gone home and there’s obviously not a lot of importance to this bout. One of the guys gets kneed and decides not to carry on. The audience’s encouragement, it seems, is as important as your training.

During the breaks between matches I chat to the Japanese guy. He tells me he used to fight but he was never good enough. He even competed once, he says, but once was enough. Nevertheless watching the fighting seems to stir something in him and by the time he leaves he seems determined to get back into it. As much as I’m enjoying watching, it fails to ignite the same reaction in me.

I make my last visit to the gym on the 30th, as much because I’m writing a column about muay Thai and need to take photos as me actually wanting to go. Kingsak takes pity on me at one point and spends some time doing technique with me. He can see I’ve got it in me to do it; maybe the others can as well. But of course it’s hard to make them understand, with their limited English, that I have other priorities.

A man moves around the gym taking photos. This annoys me considering how insecure I’m feeling about it all. I ask him what the pics are for. He tells me “for memories”. I tell him he should try it out then. He agrees in a way that suggests he’s never going to. Tosser. At least as I take pics towards the end of the session I can say I’ve done it. This cheers me a little.

These past few sessions have seen the presence of a pair of American brothers training. They’re both amazing looking and I’m a bit in awe of them; though one has a thick black circle tattooed on his chest and stomach, which looks a bit weird. But I get some great shots of him wrestling with one of the Thai trainers.

I leave happyish, though knowing I probably won`t set foot in there again.

Hey Vicky, you're so fine

May 17
Vicky’s going. I can’t believe it. This crazy ass girl is going to Australia to live with a man she spent three days with and hasn’t set eyes on for months. But she’s in love. What can you do? Apart from give her a good send-off, of course.

It’s Thursday night, I’ve had a pretty full day at work and I’m bleedin’ knackered but as it’s Vicky’s last few days here I’ve got to make the most of it. Having been in the city centre most of the day, sorting out and buying lots of stuff, Vicky drops by Pinklao to pick me up in her cab. She’s just finished being waxed apparently. I listen with extreme interest. She’s been waxed a bit too much apparently. Down below. On the under-carriage, if you like. Now I really am listening with extreme interest. Ouch.

We’re heading towards Louise’s where we’re gonna have a civilised few drinks and something to eat. No really we are. The proper leaving bash is tomorrow, which is a little annoying for Jess and I as it’s a Friday night. I’m sure we’ll be fine.

Louise lives bloody miles away. This I discover as the taxi ride turns into something of an epic trip. I didn’t realise just how sprawling Bangkok’s suburbs were.

On the way w chat about journalism. Vicky would really like to get into photojournalism and asks my advice. I warn her it’s extremely hard to get started but it is doable, and give her some tips. I don’t know whether I inspire her or not. It’s always hard to inspire people to attempt to get into journalism cos it is genuinely a hard profession to get involved with, and you don’t want to be untruthful do you?

After about an hour (really) we arrive and get some beer and food from the soi. We walk to Louise’s apartment block. Liz comes down and gets us. In the lift a really fit Thai lad flirts with Liz. She blushes somewhat but you can tell she’s pretty chuffed.

Louise’s place is on the top floor, which has a long open air area where Anna is playing a table tennis drinking game. Louise is drunk already. Sky is there looking bemused with his girlfriend. There’s also a big bald American man who I don’t know.

I go into the flat with Louise, Sky and Liz and we sit round drinking, eating and having a laugh. Vicky joins us and we talk to her about what ON EARTH she is doing She’s not entirely sure herself. She’s excited but also incredibly apprehensive. She’s going to be living with not only Ben, but his brother and his girlfriend, who are reportedly also unsure about this arrangement. Crikey.

Anna and the American come in. They have been having some sort of heated discussion about teaching and professionalism. He’s basically been having a go at her for drinking on a school night, and saying that none of the teachers he meets in Thailand are professional. This sparks a huge debate, which the American dominates because he won’t let anyone else speak to make their point. He says his idea of professionalism is his girlfriend (who’s in bed – it’s just gone nine) who gets up and basically works until she sleeps, either planning or teaching. I refrain from asking when she has time for him. I don’t feel I know him well enough, that it would be impolite - despite the fact he’s being very rude to all of us in this ‘debate’. There’s part of me that agrees with him. But his delivery of his point (ignoring everything we say and talking over us), as well as his advocacy of what sounds like an all work and no play WHATSOEVER policy seems ridiculous. Surely you can’t teach if you have no life experience yourself? Surely you need a full life in order to teach kids how to have the same? Surely there needs to be some kind of balance?

After a good hour or so, which included a lot of shouting, it comes to an end. Vicky and Anna and I get a cab home. Anna is drunk and upset. Vicky and I take the piss out of the American to lighten the mood but Anna is too drunk to appreciate it. We drop her off and head home ourselves. What a tosser.

May 18
The next night I head out to Bang Kae again, this time with Jess. Liz’s house is hosting Vicky’s leaving do and, thankfully, it’s not as remote as Louise’s place. We meet Fliss at Bang Kae’s neon-lit mall and head to a soi to grab some food with Lisa and Karen. There’s some other new teachers there – the American girl Jenny, and a couple new British girls – Rachel and Louisa.

Everyone fusses over a cat that’s hanging round on the table. It decides it likes me - probably cos I’m not cooing like a grandmother – and sits on my lap. The others look on jealously. I tap my knee to annoy it.

I suddenly realise I’m totally surrounded by women. This is not the first time this has happened to me in my life. It actually happens a lot. But this is the first time it strikes me as odd. Do men not come to Thailand to teach? Sure they do. I’ve met them. Then where are they??

The cat can stand my knee-tapping any longer and fucks off to find a more accommodating human being. We quickly fuck off as well and head to Liz’s place. As we walk down the soi I see the most ridiculous house I have ever seen in my life. Now, the saying goes that money can’t buy you taste (or something), and this house was the living embodiment of that. It looked like a life-size Barbie house. In that it was pink and plastic-looking and could have been modelled on one of those houses in Orange County that try to be ‘Mediterranean’-looking. It was disgusting. I loved it. So much so I took a photo.

When we get to Liz’s place I am envious to discover it is an actual house. With, like, stairs and everything. She is loving everyone’s envy (we all, bar her and her housemates, have apartments) and moving around crowds of people being the consummate hostess.

Anna and Vicky are already drunk. It’s half eight. Vicky is VERY drunk. She moves from friend to friend by draping herself on you, then as someone walks past she drapes herself on them. The effect is rather like a monkey swinging from tree to tree, but without the speed or style.

She tells everybody that comes into her field of vision that she loves them from the bottom of her heart for ever and ever and ever and she will miss them dearly (or words to that effect). She drapes herself on my shoulder for a good five minutes and bangs on about how I have a ‘good aura’ and she’s glad she met me. As much as this sounds like hippy nonsense, I find it quite cute and take the compliment.

I, unfortunately, start to really enjoy myself. I say unfortunately because I have to work at nine the next day. There’s gonna be no going, ‘Oh fuck it’ tonight. Firstly, Jess is here and she is the sensible one of the pair of us and will definitely go home at a reasonable time. Normally this would not be enough to stop me going, ‘Oh fuck it’, but there’s the added danger of me being MILES away from home and work. After James’s goodbye weekend it’s just not worth risking another phone call from an irate Thai girl at half nine tomorrow morning.
So I enjoy myself in a more civilised way. I chat with Jess, Lisa, Fliss, Karen, Joey, Rachel, Jenny and Louisa. I have a laugh with Anna. Rachel starts taking furtive photos and so I start playing up to the camera. I must admit there was enough beer in me to start getting a bit lairy.

But when Vicky starts wrestling with Nick in the garden I laugh from a distance rather than queue up for my go. I do take the piss out of Lisa relentlessly for a good 10 minutes at her denial that she is in Bangkok. She rarely eats Thai food, finding Western where she can. She lives in a fancy block of flats down the road from Jess and I with all the creature comforts. She has a package sent from the UK every month with biscuits and women’s magazines. I don’t know why she bothered coming and say as much. I keep muttering in her ear, “I’minLondonI’minLondonI’minLondonnotinBangkoknononononoLondonyesnotBangkok.” This goes on for quite some time. Thankfully she is in fits of laughter.

I chat to a fit as hell and very handsome Canadian man. He has dark cropped hair, an enticing chest and what you might call a Gallic face (ie big nose). I’m amazed by his belt, the buckle being a large X. I tell him as much. It looks a bit like the X Factor logo but I don’t tell him as much. He’s Canadian, that can’t be it. No, the reason, I discover, is much better – his name is Xavier. XAVIER. How often do you meet people called Xavier?? Amazing.

I turn and see that Vicky is leaning on the barbecue. Worse than that, she seems to be TALKING to the barbecue. I vaguely hear her saying that she loves it from the bottom of her heart for ever and ever and ever and she will miss it dearly (or words to that effect) before I call her over. We’re distracted by Anna’s gay friend Matt. He is a drunken nutter and Anna vaguely tries to matchmake before seeing the glare on my face.

But I never get the chance to catch up with these drunken party-goers and really join their fun. Before long Jess is tapping my shoulder and giving me that resigned look that tells me we are going to be working ALL FUCKING WEEKEND. Goddammit. That would’ve been an excellent party.

A lively night

Paul Oakenfold. A man who’s music I have been listening to since I was about 12 or so. He produced Happy Mondays’ Pills, Thrills ’N’ Bellyaches; man that must have been a tough job. He remixed everyone from U2 to Massive Attack through the 90s. Then he became the most successful DJ on the planet. (Quite literally - the Guinness Book of Records says so.)

I interviewed him once. He was grumpy and untalkative and a bit of a nightmare. It was all hugely disappointing. Somehow I had to make a feature from his monosyllabic answers, which wasn’t a pleasant job. But we’ll gloss over that.

I’ve danced to his DJing a couple times before, most memorably at a Gatecrasher New Year’s Eve party in Birmingham with my sister. Now I’m doing to be doing it again. In Bangkok of all places.

I was more than excited when Jess told me he was DJing here. I’d been getting a bit bored with the routine of working, eating and going to the cinema. Now there was something to look forward to again. Something genuinely exciting.

Although I cancel Nop’s lesson to go, I still attend my muay Thai session. Which is a bit silly cos I’m bloody knackered when I meet Jess and we go to Lisa’s down the road. Nick’s there, looking at a place in Lisa’s building. We chat as we wait for Lisa. I tell him about my plans to do Laos, Vietnam and Cambodia in a month. He agrees it’s doable as he did it. He gives me some tips, such as fly as much as possible cos overground travel is painfully slow. Of Laos he says Luang Prabang isn’t really worth doing – it’s just a pretty town with a nice wat to look at, and he’s sure I’ve seen enough of them. He has a point. He says Vang Vieng in Laos is fun – you can go tubing (sitting in a rubber tube and floating down the river, ostensibly). Of Vietnam he tells me Halong Bay is stunning, and that Hanois is better than Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon), but HCMC has the Cu Chi tunnels, which are worth a visit.

We head to Sukhumvit, where we meet up with Joey (who is REALLY excited!) and then Fliss (typically laid-back). We go to the club to buy our tickets – it’s early but we wanna make sure we get in. Just walking up to the place is exciting – drapes and lights make it feel like a swanky celebrity haunt. It’s all very ostentatious. We love it.

In stark contrast, The Ship Inn is not ostentatious. It’s a Thai attempt at a British pub, and not a bad attempt at that. It has a dartboard.

We order food. All I want is a burger and chips so I have one. Lisa orders a chip butty. It’s bloody massive when it turns up. She seems a bit scared by it.

After we eat the others play darts while I chat to Joey. It’s the first time I’ve chatted to her properly I think. She’s a cool girl – I like her unbridled enthusiasm for things.

Jess goes out for a fag. She comes back in laughing. “I almost forgot we were Thailand for a moment,” she says, throwing a dart. “Then I walked out and saw an elephant going past.”We can delay no longer. We head to the club, taking pics of the swish entrance before we go in.

Inside it’s pretty quiet, we’re still pretty early. It’s fairly small as clubs go – a long room on lots of different levels. We navigate podiums, cross the dancefloor and find ourselves a table under the DJ booth.

The music is good, though Oakie’s not on for awhile. We dance a bit, drink a bit, take photos a bit. I discover ‘Night Scene’ mode on my camera and go a little crazy with it.

I’m excited. I miss clubbing. We talk about drugs. A pill would go down nicely right now but it’s not going to happen in this country, not for me anyway. You need to know the right people and tread a whole lot more carefully than you do back home. Drugs are heavily frowned on here, to understate it somewhat.

Joey goes off to chat up farang men. We watch her talking to a man who is as tall as she is short. He seems very bemused by her. Times passes. Still no sign of Oakie. The girls get a little impatient. They have to work tomorrow so don’t want it to be crazy late when they get home. Midnight comes and goes and still no sign. He was due on at 11. And then suddenly the girls’ panic is forgotten. He’s here.


The place erupts. I suddenly realise just how full the place now is; a total contrast to when we arrived. Well-dressed Thais mix with not as well-dressed farang. All have big grins on their faces as podgy Paul kick-starts his set.

He plays some thrillingly energetic trance music. Lisa and I run to a podium the moment we hear the first strains of Faster Kill Pussycat, which he plays early on. We laugh at a guy dancing on a stage above us, as he pulls some funny rave moves with his glow sticks, all the while wearing sunnies. I keep hitting a guy sat beneath me but I don’t care. This. Is. Amazing.

I dance on and off. I’m shagged from muay Thai, but the music keeps me getting up for more. The heat doesn’t help. I go and hang out by the fan where some crazy Thai lady starts flicking her hair at my chest. I look around and notice I’m surrounded by pilled up Thais. A little jealously I wonder what the ecstasy is like here. I ain’t gonna find out though.

Joey is lost in the music. Lisa is loving it.

Even more so when Oakie waves at her a couple times. Fliss and Jess dance happily. I get up and dance on stage for a bit, getting a good view of Oakie at work and the crowd bouncing beneath me. Oakie seems to think he’s the wizard of Oz, doing lots of funny hand movements like he’s actually making the music with his hands. Weirdo. But hey, he’s still pulling off an amazing set.

Just as it seems to be finishing I clamber down and head over to the girls. But then he plays another one – the anthemic The World Is Mine – and I rush back to the stage.

And then it’s over. Unbelievable. The girls are relieved – it’s nearly three and they have to be up in a few hours. But I could have had some more of that. It was awesome!

total:spec - Songkran

On New Year’s Eve in Bangkok revellers spent much of the evening, as one unfortunate friend of mine put it, “running around the city trying not to get blown up”. Not by rogue fireworks, of course, but by the eight bombs that went off in the city and the nearby Nonthaburi Province. That’s going to ruin anyone’s evening.

So it’s lucky then that the Thais save their real New Year celebrations for a whole three and a half months later, in mid-April when they celebrate what they lovingly call Songkran.
Taking place every year between April 13th and 15th, Thai New Year was the official start to the new year up until 1888, after which they used April 1st. It wasn’t until 1940 that they joined Western society with January 1st.

But Thai New Year is still celebrated much more whole-heartedly here than the Western New Year’s Eve. And like much of Thai culture, it’s a seemingly contradictory weekend. These devout Buddhists not only take the time to ‘make merit’ (bring good karma) by pouring scented water on Buddha images and paying respect to their elders, they also go all out in what must be the biggest water fight to take place on the planet… ever!

The water fight aspect originates from the New Year tradition of pouring a small amount of lustral (cleansing) water on other people’s hands as a sign of respect. New Year in Thailand, like the rest of the world, is seen as a time for cleansing, renewal and starting anew. But this gentle practice was given a new spin by the Thai youth and now a bucket of water over your head is more common.

The festival takes place all over the country and, while it’s officially only three days, in some rural areas the water-fighting can go on for a few weeks. I head to Chiang Mai – Thailand’s big city in the north (its Manchester, if you will) – where I’m told by the locals in Bangkok the festival is embraced the most whole-heartedly.

They’re not kidding. The centre of the city is surrounded by a square moat, around which Songkran revellers line up with buckets, bins and water guns and continually spray water at every human being that walks anywhere near them (including and especially those friends and loved ones they are stood next to).

I buy myself a five nozzle water gun which is able to cover ten people in water at a time. I take my top off in order to catch some sun. Although I feel like Rambo, I look ridiculous. But it doesn’t matter. The term ‘drowned rat’ could apply to anyone in the city of Chiang Mai during the five days (five days!) of water fighting that occurs over Songkran.

Nowhere is safe (unless, of course, you’re one of the revered monks). I take a minute at one point to sit on a bank by the moat, away from all the water-fighting, so I can take some pictures. As I’m doing so a Thai man comes up behind me, says “Excuse me” in my ear and politely pours a bucket of water down my back. My reaction? Why, I thank him of course, and wish him Happy New Year – “Sawadee bee mai.”

Songkran is a fertility festival, the throwing of water done with a view to bringing on the rains for a good harvest of rice and other foods - though you do wonder about the logic of such a massive waste of water at such a dry time of year. But it’s this dry and sweltering hot time of year that has influenced the growth of the festival into one big water fight as well. Normally in April the sun is at its hottest and a bucket of ice cold water in the face comes as blessed relief.

For my first Songkran, however, global warming deals me some bad luck. The rains have anticipated the Buddhists’ sacrificing of so much water and come early. Much of the weekend is overcast and drizzly, with the sun only making rare guest appearances. Not that we notice the rain. It makes no difference when you’re soaked to the bone by buckets and water guns every other second. For the comparatively cold weather makes no difference to the Songkran revellers and I get squirted with so much ice water I have to go back to my guesthouse and put more clothes on. (They’re soaked in a matter of minutes, of course, but at least I’m warmer.)

I see the gentler side of Songkran as well, when on the second day a parade of golden Buddha images is marched down the street in the middle of Chiang Mai and people approach the statues to pour scented water over them to bring good luck. People paint each other with flour mixed with water as well, a practice that originates from Buddhist monks doing the same thing to mark blessings.

I get the odd bit of scented water poured over me, which is apparently even luckier than normal water, so again I’m very thankful to the Thais responsible, and I emerge from the street with a few white stripes on my face as well. They don’t last, of course, as I head back into the throng.
The religious aspect does pale into insignificance next to the crazy water war going on around it, however, and you really have to get on board with it, otherwise you’ll just suffer.

One European woman who stormed past me at one point had obviously missed this point. I saw a Thai woman reach out to her to paint a white stripe on her cheek with some flour. The European wiped it off angrily and smeared it on the t-shirt of another Thai woman. I got the feeling she wasn’t enjoying the festival. But then she didn’t have a five nozzle water gun and an inspiring motto to follow – don’t get mad, get even.