4/22/2002

:  Off to save the fish now. There is no fridge on the island, so the ones I save in week one are going to ming by week nine.
posted by Garreth at 5:02 PM

:  Every traveller in a backpacking hostel has a story. And each one tells you within the first fifteen minutes of knowing them that they aren't really a backpacker. And why they're not. And how they're different. Jesus, people. Take a look at yourself. Open up the encyclopedia and look under 'stereotype', or 'silly haircut'. Both entries say 'see backpacker'. And then look at your Lonely Planet book (nothing Lonely about hostels full of gitty goatied travelling muppets) and then don't have that beer - save your cash for a batik sarong and some dysentry on toast.


I think the volunteer team has now normed for the expedition. I have only been slapped in the face once, so that was surprisingly easy.
posted by Garreth at 8:38 AM

:  Went to Clam Rehab today. Really. Not the kind of rehab I had in mind.
posted by Garreth at 4:34 AM

:  Last warm and last freshwater shower for the next 65 days. Last shower in fact - washing in the se, and decomposing on an island from tomorrow. So the last shower has been had. A religious experience that I have celebrated by starting to wear skirts. Also shaved chest. Thinking of starting hormones and becoming a woman for a bit. I think I'd make a much better runny-mascara-ed, smudged lipstick, waking up with a hedge in my hair kind of female alcoholic than a male one.

And what's the big idea of having a curfew at the hostel, locking the doors at midnight? Football sucks, okay, but when it doesn't finish on the telly until 1am, people aren't going to leave the Sports Bar until then are they? Especially if they aren't going to get any beer at all for 65 days. Only donkey vodka, once a week.

posted by Garreth at 4:30 AM

4/21/2002

:  5 year plan? Palau Balaks to that. I reckon I've got my 15 year plan sorted out, but the durations are a little flexible:

years 1-5 - alcoholism. Perhaps marry a handful of wives in Thailand, and let them take me for all I have.
years 6-7 - religion. Pretty radical, full blown, whiter than the driven snow conversion to mainline religion.
years 8-9 - involvement in less mainstream, or perhaps even cult religion, followed by fall from grace, possibly running from law.
years 10-15 - oscilllating between rehab and drug abuse of biblical proportions.


apply today for discounts.
posted by Garreth at 1:42 AM

:  Top-tip: In Kota Kinabalu, get up at 7:30 to go to the local wet-fish market. That way, local fishermen can show you fish drowning on slabs in front of your eyes, while yelling the names of the fish. Soon, you will be on your way to learning how to identify fish - a valuable skill for any marine conservation project.
posted by Garreth at 1:26 AM

:  Being an NGO, GForce gets invited to local festivals to talk to other NGOs and locals about what we're doing. In fact the WWF were at the 'water festival' we were at yesterday. Miserly mean-spirited bunch. None of their staff could explain why it was more important for them to have the www.wwf.com domain than the superstars of sports entertainment who bring joy into millions of peoples' homes. So what if a few grannies can't pledge sixty pence to help some frigid pandas? What's worse - a panda with one less viagra pill, or a poor disabled redneck school truant who can't keep up with the latest news of his favourite wrestlers? Extensive mid-western research has shown that some rednecks actually don't have cable television, or can't get their 'third uncle cousin' to fix the decoder so they get free pay-tv. Though I find it hard to believe that they could be any redneck without WWF, you have to think that these disadvantaged kids may exist, and deserve a website. Forget the stinky stoned animals.

So we were at the 'water festival' in force, about an hour's bus ride away from Kota Kinabalu. The festival seemed to get its name from the fact that the various local stars performed Abba and Britney covers from a floating stage in a murky pond. It was quite good fun, not least as I love listening to interpretations of Shakira's lyrics by non-English speakers, but also because there was lager available, something I certainly didn't expect at the primarily muslim festival. There were also tourist police, whose job was to make sure you were having fun (like the Fun Police only with more comical hats). But by far the funniest part of the whole affair was when one of the volunteers decided to have his first swim. The locals were quite excited when he entered the water, and Jo interpreted their waving as the usual friendly greeting you might get from our Malaysian hosts. It was not until the box jellyfish had stung his face, and he was being whisked to hospital in the ambulance with needles in his arms that he figured that they may have been trying to tell him something about the water's inhabitants.
posted by Garreth at 12:42 AM

4/20/2002

:  Alright, enough of this nonsense. It's not enough that we had to get a conference room for our dive and fish lectures today. Its okay that the toilets were behind the whiteboard (in two cubicles behind the whiteboard, not literally the back of the whiteboard). I could cope with the right hand toilet cubilce having a tap instead of a flush handle. Hunky dorey when the tap in fact just squirts water horizontally from a pipe three feet up the cubicle wall. Right at you. At high pressure.

All these things are fine, and I still think Malaysia is tops and fingers. But why was there a microphone in the left hand cubicle?And why was this microphone connected to the conference room tannoy? All I can say is that I am sorry to my fellow volunteers and students. I didn't know it was there.

Fixed the archives link by popular demand today, that's how slow the pace is here.
posted by Garreth at 12:42 AM

4/19/2002

:  What did happen with the bogeymen in China? What is the dumpling massacre to which Ron refers? And what did Ron say to the policeman as he ran to miss the trans-mongolian express as it pulled away from the platform? Here at Passage Central, I get poked all day long with questions like this. Given that no-one has faxed me any questions about diving lessons, lectures, or the other soon-to-be inmates on Palau Balak, and there have been no interesting drug related shootings, I'll spill the beans. You have to remember Ron likes pies and booze, and dumplings and lager fit the bill quite nicely....

Travelling alone, with no western faces. That suited Ron well at times, but so did a change of scene - a chance to try something new. As he entered his carriage on the number twenty-four, trans-mongolian express at Ulan-Batar, he noticed the first pastey white faces he'd seen in a while. The express was going to be anything but, so he figured he'd have plenty of time to hook up with a few English speakers on the way over the border to China, and perhaps sort out a few pies and lagers. He had all but finished 'Lord of the Rings' and pictured himself as a cross between all of the heroic characters and a pissed-up Glaswegian. Except he didn't want any part of the short-arsed hobbits, who quite frankly ruined the whole thing. Their only endearing feature with which he identified was an overwhelming urge to eat as much as possible as often as possible.

Sure enough, as he manouevred his backpack into the carriage, a scottish voice piped up at the door, "Just let this chappie get his bag in first." Alan turned out to be a policeman usually pounding the beat in Ilford, but prone to taking 6 week vacations with his girlfriend Cathy. As the trio sorted themselves out in the carriage, and Alan pleaded with his other half to let him take a photo from the window, Ron looked at the pair, puzzled. Alan noticed the inquisitive look that Ron was sporting, and explained that the two took on different responsibilities during their travels, and he was not trusted with the camera.

As the train crawled along in Mongolia, the three got to know each other, and Alan emerged as an adventurous character, keen to eat his way around the world, and dying to get to China and throw himself into a little alleyway. Cathy seemed to be the more reserved one, who would occasionally zone out of the excited chattering of Ron and Alan, by donning headphones and reading her book. Ron suspected that she knew that he and Alan would be off for schoolboy japes and wizard pranks at any opportunity.

Now, none of the travellers were train experts, but they had all read that the width of the train tracks in China and Mongolia differed by about 6 inches, and that once past the border in China, they were expecting a delay while each of the eight carriages was jacked into the air and the bogies replaced. This procedure duly followed the lengthy border crossing, and by this time, Alan and Ron were bursting at the seams with excitement. They were locked in the carriages, but with their noses pressed against the windows, they could see Chinese people all around. Cathy had curled up for a little snooze, and was clearly not peking to early, for Beijing was several hundred long kilometers away.

"It's just not fair!", thought Alan, "The train doesn't stop for a break for another 16 hours, and I want to get native with the Chinese, and eat street food, and run around on fresh soil."

At this point, Ron, as if writing Alan's mind, suggested a plan. With Cathy asleep, the two could try to sneak off the train, and get into scrapes. Bogeymen were surrounding the carriage, which had been detached from the main train for the bogey conversion. Chinese bogeymen at that. But the fearless duo struck up a conversation with some Singaporeans, who managed to convince one of the johnny foreigners to unlock the carriage door. After a little confusion, and waving of hands, the duo ascertained that the train would be leaving from a station about a mile away in about 20 minutes time. Maybe.

The boys exchanged a look, and nodded. "Fuck it, let's go!", they exclaimed and grinning, they headed off into the night. Ron took his dive-knife, and they both took a bit of money - Alan had Chinese Yuang, while Ron had Yankee Dollars. It was pitch black outside the train rebogification shed, but above the clanging of trains being reshod, the hawking voices of taxi-drivers could be heard. Approaching the din, the two were set upon by a group of drivers, each with a ropey 'Mr. Jolly Lives Next Door' van at their disposal. A bit of bartering, grabbing, pulling and shoving ensued, and a price of 2 yuan was agreed upon with one of the drivers, much to the consternation of the others. The van sped off into the night, leaving a few angry cabbies with no fare.

But the disgruntled cabbies weren't to be left for long. As the British detachment had left for a dark alley under a moonless night, the other vans started to follow. This was just the sort of adventure the Scottish policeman and English Pieman had wanted from the safety of the train. They were still giggling with excitement, despite their journey into almost certain doom. Their eyes were closely on their watches, hoping that they could fight off any assailants, escape the taxi driver, and possibly get some dumplings and ginger beer before the midnight departure of the train from the station they were supposedly travelling towards.

The van stopped in front of a building, and it was alleged that this was the train station, though the doors were all covered in black curtains and there were no signs or lights. Alan got out giving the driver the agreed price of two yuan. Ron got out. The driver got out, screaming that we had agreed two dollars - a sum about eight times greater. Other vans pulled up. "Here we go," thought Ron, as his hand went to his knife.

Alan moved fast. He placed the requested two yuan on the dashboard, and started to walk off, but the taxi driver was far from happy, and started after him. Quick as a flash, Ron reached into his pocket, and withdrew his 'Peacemaker', and brandished it at the driver. The driver whirled round, and it crashed into his arm, and then as he pulled back in horror, Ron thrust it again at the nearest exposed part of his opponent. Looking down at the crumpled one dollar note that was being proferred by Ron, his foe seemed to calm a little, and the crisis point was clearly over. He nodded, folded up the dollar note, and slithered back to his van.

The two boys now looked at the menacing dark curtains which covered the building in front of them. No light escaped from the heavy drapes, but the duo agreed to venture in. After a bit of poking around, they gained entry to what turned out to be a train station. In fact, the train station, from which their express was due to depart in some ten minutes. venturing out onto the platform, two women in uniform turned to inspect them. Ron approached,
"Train Beijing? Here?".
"Ah yars ah trane Bayjying.".
"Great. What time?"
"Ah?"
"Time?", said Ron, indicating his watch. Nothing doing. A bit of pointing at the station clock. Nothing. Flashing numbers of fingers in front of the ladies was the only thing which ellicited a response. Two hands, other side of two hands, four fingers, flashed up the leading lady.
"Okay - gotcha, twenty four," said Ron, repeating the hand signal to the lady to much all round nodding. He then pointed at his watch and with the general consensus on his side, deduced that the train to Beijing would depart at 1:24am.
"Right, half an hour before take off!", said Ron, "Let's get soem dumplings."

Ron an Alan bundled past the curtains of doom again and out onto the street. A restaurant over the road looked enticing, and their entry was greeted by the immediate silence of all of the diners, and a dozen pairs of Chinese eyes pointing at them. The heroes stood their ground for a moment under the questionig glares, and surveyed the restaurant. It had many skewers of strange shaped foods on offer, from birds' feet to whole fish.

"Ah, I reckon this place would, er, take to long to cook the food...." said Alan.
"Yeah, let's go find a takeaway," agreed Ron, as they hot footed it outside.

A dimly lit shop was there next port of call, and after selecting some curious goods such as a punnet of fresh strawberries, the haggling commenced. The Brits tried to double team the shopkeeper, but he was wily and fast. You don't get very far in a border town unless you know a thing or two about people. His eyes seemed to point in opposite directions, but the Ron noticed that he was in fact watching both of the shoppers with one eye each. It all ended quite agreeably with supplies, booze and snacks for a few dollars, and the pair went on to the next part of their quest, the takeaway.

A few doors down, perhaps five minutes walk from the station, a small cluster of tables were squeezed into a small room with a counter at the far end. A group of people sat around one table, shovelling food into their mouths in silence; it seemed a good place, and also the only place, to try to secure the requisite dumplings. The staff and the pair had no shared language, the menu was in squiggles, but as luck would have it, one of the diners sat in front of a large plate with about five dumplings on it.

There followed a confused exchange, and a Russian lady who spoke both English and Madarin to some extent assisted the boys in their order, which they believed consisted of fried rice and a few dumplings, to be put into the styrofoam boxes which they had gesticulated at. After all, they didn't want to miss the train. Not with only a handful of currency on their person, and with Cathy asleep on the train, and all of their belongings on the train. That would be mad, for the sake of a few dumplings. A whistle blew in the distance, and a sharp retort from the train's steam whistle answered it. Ron looked at Alan. Alan looked at Ron. Ron reached into his sense of priorities, his memory of the heroes in Lord of The Rings, and declared,
"Wait here for the food - I'll find out what's going on with the train."
"OK," said Alan bravely, as Ron strode towards the door. With his hand on the door, Ron turned and pledged in a heroic and sincere way,
"I won't leave without you."
This was the sort of promise that book heroes always kept, and Alan replied,
"Just make sure you delay the train"
Ron thought about seeing a Russian pisshead nearly left behind by the train a few days earlier, and how the train driver didn't stop, and the pisshead relied on an acquaintance to drag him on board as the train left the platform. It was with adrenaline in his mouth, and his pledge ringing in his ears that Ron sprinted onto the platform. He knew he could run pretty fast over short distances, and had a huge decision to make as his eyes were greeted by the train pulling away from the platform. He felt his stomach turn over, as he noticed the number twentyfour written on each carriage - the number of the train, not the time of departure. He thought of examining his ticket in Mongolia, and seeing the number twentyfour on that. This discovery did not hearten him

"I can definitely make that last carriage," he thought, but his promise to Alan came back to him. "What about Cathy and all of the rucksacks?", "What if trains are only twice weekly like those in Ulan Batar?". These thoughts raced around as he sped towards the edge of the platform.

But no, he had to go back for Alan, and spend the next few days waiting for trains and eating dumplings and fighting taxi drivers if necessary. Ron spotted the ladies in uniform, and altered course towards them. Gesticlution followed. Frantic gesticulation. Another passenger appeared onto the platform, but even in the dark, Ron could tell it was not Alan. Possibly because the passenger was not in a hurry. He approached, and with a few Mandarin words, ascertained that the train was changing tracks now, and would return in another thirty minutes to depart.

"appy, Happy, Joy, Joy!" exclaimed Ron, and he went off, relieved, to tell Alan, and keep his oath to not leave without him. On entering the diner, he saw Alan looking up nervously.
"Just pulled out of the platform," said Ron, "I reckon I could have made it too."
Alan's face dropped, as the realization of what Cathy would do to him hit him hard. That was, if he managed to meet up with his girlfriend in Beijing at all. Ron broke into a grin, and laughingly explained what was transpiring. Alan's fears melted from his face, and he too grinned as two plates were delivered to his table. The two laughed when they saw no rice, but each plate bearing at least twenty dumplings. Where were the lashings of ginger beer to make the party complete? Never in the field of human consumption, have so many been eaten, by so few, and quite so quickly. Boy, those dumplings tasted good.
posted by Garreth at 2:52 AM

: 
Deja Vu. Could have sworn I just tried to type this in and post it a second ago, before this internet outfit crapped out on me. Something to do with the two man, a dog, and a piece of string operation I'm using. The string must have snapped, or they may have spit-roasted the dog.

Not many people would come to Kota Kinabalu unless they were on the way somewhere. It's nice enough, don't get me wrong, but it's not somewhere you'd fly to for fun. But its where GreenForce choose to train you, before the mammoth trek to the tiny spec of an island called Balak. Five members of staff are teaching fish, coral and diving here to a bunch of perspiring newbies, who are falling asleep in lectures, and admitting that they only came for the free diving and the living on a beach. Although there are of course serious world-saving heros and heroines, and folk who know about international tourism policy and marine biology. A mix, if you will.

The staff are more hardcore in their logistical expertise, and their knowledge of fish and stuff, and are used to seeing people come along for 10 weeks. I imagine if you've had 100 people come through the programme, you've probably heard all of the original ideas about island life that can be mustered, and probably seen people try most of them. So when we turn up, full of beans and revelations, they often counter with a "Actually, there already is a volleyball net / a swing / extensive cannibalism due to lack of fresh meat on the island"

But that doesn't stop me wanting a trampoline, oh no. And to set a squadron of candles in coconut shells afloat, while playing the triangle and burning incense. If it wasn't for the lectures, and 'storming, forming, norman and mormons' that are going on, I'm suer we'd be getting all sorts of expedition equipment. I'd certainly be looking for a Keyop outfit, him being my favourite of the GForce team. (Imagine how disappointed I was when I discovered that after raising 2500 quid for a place on the expedition, there was no missions in a flaming spaceship to defeat Spectra's Zoltar....)

Anyway, being back on expedition training is a far cry from being a lone adventurer. Who has friends in Thailand. You can't help missing the place, and people you meet often say that their travel plans often ended in Thailand, and if they hadn't run out of money, that they would still be there. Not many of them have mentioned falling in love with hookers though, so I guess their money and time in Thailand was probably extended longer than it could be.

As you can imagine, it is up to those people still in Thailand to fight the good fight against decency and sobriety. Since the team at Greenforce is still getting to know each other, I haven't done any of the following since Tuesday:

• Been in a knife fight, or had any reason to run from the police
  
• Watched bear baiting or woke up in a brothel
  
• Drank a litre of rum or wandered the streets cursing like a wounded pirate
  

Well not since Tuesday morning, at any rate.
posted by Garreth at 1:46 AM

4/18/2002

:  Scene: sharing a dorm room with ten other volunteers in Kota Kinabalu. Seven of them have just arrived through an eight hour timezone shift on a three leg flight from hell. Tiger beer. Hostel. Sleep? Small bladder syndrome - why did I choose a top bunk? Endearing image.
posted by Garreth at 12:11 AM

4/17/2002

:  Did I mention that I'm going to be stranded on a beach for 10 weeks on Monday? With booze only on Saturday nights? Jeesh.
posted by Garreth at 3:03 AM

:  And of course what Bangkok night would not be complete without Karaoke? The only English song we found in the chosen venue for Monday night, was "Happy Happy New Year", by Chinadolls. Eventually, our turn came around, and Ciaran and I were presented with the all-powerful microphone. Looking at the video screen, situated against a pillar which supported the freeway our cafe was under, we saw the Chinadolls burst onto stage. And start singing in Thai. There were some English words: "Happy, Happy New Year, Chinadolls, Chinadolls," but they typically flashed past too fast to sing. I was all for giving up, but Ciaran forged on with our interpretation of the Thai bits, and we got a small smattering of polite applause from the whiskied-up Thai women at the table next to us, when the song thankfully finished. Wan got far more applause for her songs, of course. But then she can speak Thai, and sing.

posted by Garreth at 2:58 AM

:  Ladyboys are good:

What would you do, last night in Bangkok, and you hadn't enjoyed the pleasures / seen any ladyboys close up? Damn right, you'd head out to the cabaret to get la creme de la creme of these transgendered lovelies. So Jim, Ciaran, Wan and myself went to warm up in a freezing Irish pub, right next to the cabaret theatre. I was particularly cold in the frisge like aircon due to the effects of Songkran in Khao San Road - I was pretty porridged. In fact, there weren't many farang where I was, so I made an obvious target. Almost as much as a target as the group of seven pretty-boys, mincing their way along with hips a-swinging.

Anyway, the cabaret turns out to be quite expensive, and doesn't look like you get too close to the action, so after some cocktails, pool, and shooters, we head to Nana Entertainment Plaza and sit drinking outsite a go-go bar. I wander in for a leak, and notice a well endowed lady in a red thong, making a mental note to describe some of her finer qualities to my drinking companions. But first I have to negotiate the door, which involves negotiating a flesh roadblock at the entry curtain, and removing several hands from my unmentionables while fighting back the same curtain's enveloping folds.

Of course it turns out to be a ladyboy bar, so we go inside for a look. The girl in the red thong takes to using her left breast as one of those little punchbags. Which still looks painful, even if said breast is made from silicone, and said girl is in fact an ex-boy. Jim and Wan as a couple were fairly safe, though not without attention from the staff, while Ciaran and I became the main targets for the lovely May.

May was gorgeous. Tall, slender, with predictably Asian long black hair. Using Ciaran as a kind of chair, she was determined to demonstrate her marvels. Not in a sleazy, in your face kind of way. More in a demur yet proud way. She did haev lovely skin, "daily hormones" she said and insisted I feel the softness, and lack of chin stubble. True, showing strange men what is behind your g-string is often considered a bit forward, while the strange men sit at the bar and drink Heineken. But she had had the snip, which at 10,000 baht probably wasn't. Using both her lengthy index fingers held long fingernails together, May described the dimensions of her new orifice, but being rather flat-chested, she suggested that another 10,000 baht would get a really good job. No 2000 baht stuffing of bubble-wrap in this chick's chest. She probably had a pretty face to start with, but her manner and grace was quite a study in femininity. Girl done good, and though we may have declined her offer of oral satisfaction upstairs, I'm sure she doesn't have too much trouble earning money. Quite charming. And smooth.
posted by Garreth at 2:39 AM

4/16/2002

:  Thai massage - the only real antidote to Beer Chang and its nasty psychoactive ingredients:

Its like yoga, only without having to have any skill or rehearse. I can say this in complete confidence, as I have been to yoga classes twice and thought it was hard. I have been to about 10 Thai massages and find it quite easy. Not that it is without suffering, and I'm not talking about the painful exercise of repeating to your taxi driver that you don't want body massage, but thai massage. No, Thai massage involves being stretched and strained every which way, often by a tiny superhuman woman. There's lymph manipulation, and it seems the only way to get Beer Chang out of your system.

In fact, during a few massages I have experienced a feeling that something evil has been released from its lurking place in my fat canals. And I have felt light headed, dizzy, had pins and needles and even cramp in one foot, mid-massage, because of the wretched poisons that Beer Chang contains. But I digress, Thai massage is ace.

In classy places, you get air con, foot washes, clean pyjamas, and your own room with a mat. In less classy places, there may be a room full of mats, sometimes separated by curtains, sometimes not. And then the little masseuse transforms herself into a Black and Decker Workmate. She'll use her toes, shins, knees, elbows, heels and thumbs to send you into a state of floaty bliss. Sometimes she'll be behind you, tugging at things to make them crack. Sometimes below you, balancing your back over her knees. Other times, there'll be a foot in some cranny in your body as she pulls with all her considerable might at a limb.

Even the elevator music, which included a Muzak Elvis soundtrack couldn't ruin the two hours of yoga for lazy people. People who would buy one of those electrical abdominal exercisers from a shopping channel, as they couldn't be arsed to do sit-ups. Hey, I was bored okay when I was working alone overseas.

Anyway. One such Thai massage emporium in Bangkok is adjacent to a Body Massage emporium. So you might leave one side feeling all floaty and good natured, and end up being herded into the human zoo side. Its incredible. The one I saw was like a fish tank with two halves. Rather than fishes, there were laydeeees on display. Ladies with numbers on them. One side catered for mainstream tastes - these were the 3500 Baht 'superstars', the little pimp informed me. The other was a bit more exotic. Or perhaps the grandma was there to make the superstars look good. I don't know. But I gather the idea is to choose a number, and go for a 'body massage' upstairs.....


posted by Garreth at 12:38 AM

:  Vladimir Putin was actually following me around Russia. Really. I just managed to get out of Irkutsk in time, before he checked into the hotel that I mysteriously found myself in after a night on the Vladivostocks. Every man who has a car in Russia is in fact a taxi driver, waiting to pick up tourists and locals alike, deliver them somewhere (with minimal use of first gear of course) and charge them a random amount of Roobliee-eees. But this is illegal, and don't start on that 'black market is in fact just another market, and the law is questionable in a decaying nation with insufficient capacity to maintain any real form of social welfare' nonsense. I'm talking illegal as in the Feds would catch a would-be taxi driver and extort money out of him. Proper illegal like.

Anyway, Putin is only going to rock up in Irkutsk, in my hotel, after he lines the whole cotton picking square with Rozzers. Which makes it a challenge for me to commandeer a 'taxi' to drive me to the train station in gears two, three and possibly four. Anyway, I'm hip to his game, and make a run for a car, and we lurch off in second at no great pace at all, but evade low speed pursuit. All I'm saying is that if he tries any more stunts like that, his so-called government better watch out.

"What are you on about?" I hear you ask. All I can say is that it was pointed out that there is an extradition treaty between the UK and Thailand. And I really wish I had at least made an effort to get some sleep last night.


posted by Garreth at 12:22 AM

4/15/2002

:  Off to meet Ciaran, Jim and Wan and to get porridged up.
posted by Garreth at 1:39 AM

:  Context:

• I am like a bear with a sawed-sore-head when I wake up
  
• I have low alcohol tolerance
  
• I have a bad sense of direction - try co-piloting a car with me one day - you'll see
  
• I get very emotional / irrational when drunk. I am also indestrcutable, could have Jet Li in a fair fight, and am a world-champion arm-wrestler
  
• 75% - 82% of Thai adult males have taken the services of a prostitute at least once
  
• There are many ways of getting a girl (not a woman) into debt bondage - basically a form of slavery in a brothel. One approach is when the girl's family sells her to an agent. Who sells her to a brothel. The loan-shark like interest on this price paid by the brothel is then earned by the girl over many years. I have only read one book about it so far. Pretty horrific.
  

So my songkran involved whisky. Jim tells me that there is a kind of social heirarchy here which means that older / foreign people are seen as providers and have to look out for their juniors. So at the Krabi sprinkle dance, some 'geng mar' Thai folk doused me, covered me in porridge (not that I normally like men doing the latter) and offered me booze. In return I went shopping and got picnic stuffs while the band sang snippets from 'Living on a prayer' which is quite miraculous as there didn't appear to be any English speakers in the band. That was okay, there only appeared to be me semi-noticing this - not many westerners at all were present. I think I counted two.

Whisky. Crisps. Beer. Ace. Lots of singing and use of the following phrases we had in common:
"Thailand number one"
"England number one"
"Velly Good"
"Ching chong" (I need a leak)
"Beautiful laydeeee"
"Go boom boom laydeeee?"
"1 laydee, 2 laydee, 3 laydee boom boom?"
The usual stuff. I was pressganged into porridging ladies faces. This apparently means you like them. I did. If they porridge you back, that means you have to go and get married. Or something.

I'd loosely arranged to meet Ciaran at 6pm in a pub called 89. Which was okay, as me and my new best friends, whose names included: 'Mista Ex', 'Mista My', 'Mister Sombar', 'Poh', 'Pah', 'Soh', 'Sah', and 'Bill' (?), could communicate in numbers. By about 4:30, I had decided to donate my shades and hat to the cause, and by 5:00, I was admiring the 110cc supersport bike of a ladyboy who was vaguely associated with the group. More whisky. More picnic snacks. More beer. Lots of 'ching chong' from small-bladdered 'Mista Gaz'.

About 6:00, which is when the combination of eyes and watch ceased to function at the same time, 'Mista My' became very animated. Very porridged too. He said that if he had too much more whisky, he would go to sleep. We had some more whisky. Then I figured out he was trying to say that if I had too much whisky, I would end up asleep. More whisky. Then I think he was saying that if I had more whisky I wouldn't be able to sleep. With 'laydeeee Thai'.

Thinking nothing of it, I carried on, determined to experience the almost mystical quality of Thai whisky madness that Jim had told me about. Full on bull goose looney madness. That only Thai paintstripper can induce. Three teapots to the wind. In this small endeavour, I think I must have been successful. I say think. I recall a motorbike laden with at least 4 of us, 'Mista My', and 'Mista Sambar' where definitely on it, and some other inebriate reveller was piloting through the jets of water directed at us. Safe as you like. Why you don't see more Thai people in Superbike racing I don't know.

So I wake up with an empty wallet, fully clothed in a small concrete breeze-block room. A little confused. And not getting many answers from the wafer thin woman who is also in the tiny room. But I see a photo of her and her child, and all of her possessions in the room. It's about 10:30. I am very cross, and decide that this girl must be freed from slavery. I am very drunk. The management of the brothel I woke up in are not sympathetic to my enquiries, but neither are they very tall looking, or particularly dangerous. And I decide to release the one wafer thin woman I have seen. But I decide to try the 'easy' way - by trying to find out how much she owes the brothel, and how much I need to give the fuckers to let her out. I don't get very far - this isn't one of the farang brothels where they all speak English, and whenever I try to ask a question about women and money, I get a price for two hours.

No good. In retrospect, my judgement of the situation may have been impaired, but I stormed out thinking that actions would speak louder than words. Well money, anyway. Securing an ATM, and taking out all the money I could, I returned to the brothel to liberate this victim of slavery. That I managed to find the unsigned place again is quite remarkable.

But I couldn't find the woman when I returned. Instead, I was offered 'new laydeee', but couldn't seem to get my point across. Seeing a tank of fish, I decided that the only way to make my point was by throwing this to the ground (sorry Greenforce and the fish conservationists). Luckily for me, the fish, the hidden woman, and everyone concerned, I spotted a police van outside, as one of the staff exited the building.

Fucked off with the whole affair, I cut my losses and my inebriate courage disappeared (some kind of middle-class fear of police thing). I managed to find Ciaran and 89 at about 11:30. Still a bit livid. Who knows if I was off the mark? If the woman was a non-consenting sex worker sold by her family? All I know is that she didn't look too happy, and trafficking women does happen in Asia, and that statistics are hard to come by due to protection of the industry all over the shop.
posted by Garreth at 1:03 AM

:  Why are all taxi drivers allergic to first gear? Is there some kind of special training they have given by a clutch vendor?

Songkran facts for the visitor:

• Its Thai New Year
  
• Thais throw water at everyone. Some sort of blessing thing.
  
• Water pistols are okay. Buckets are okay.
  
• Iced water lobbed at farangs in the 35 C streets is good.
  
• Drinking booze is essential
  
• Not drinking filthy water is hard
  
• Driving around the streets for 3 days in pickup trucks driven by pissed people, with 10 other pissed people on the back and a barrel is normal
  
• There were 140+ deaths on Saturday due to festivities. This is not uncommon. Smashed cars all over. Motorcycles with families of 4 and 3 water pistols and a driver who is smoking. Wiped out. Is normal
  
• Krabi has a sprinkle dance. It involves lots of drinking, dancing, and a fire engine. And me.
  

posted by Garreth at 12:50 AM

4/14/2002

:  If you need to phone me and apologise for not sending me photos of your wives in time for my departure to Radio Silence, please use the following number until Tuesday: + 662 252 0911-6. Room 304. But please refrain from using Interhooka to send me any room service. Unless you really want to and she has to have red hair. And remember to book her in the name of Wilcock.
posted by Garreth at 7:23 AM

:  Best Start of An Email: "Jesus Garreth,"

No-ones called me that in ages.
posted by Garreth at 7:17 AM

:  Proposed to someone via SMS last night. First time for everything. That whole eating is cheating thing is nonsense over here. Eating is survival. That whiskey stuff is killer. But she said yes, so that's okay.

Favourite Lyric of the day: Swans - From God Damn the Sun.

When when we were young we had no history so nothing to lose meant we could choose choose what we wanted then without any fear or thought of revenge but then we grew up and i lost my ambition so i gained an addiction to drink and depression they are mine my only true friends and i'll keep them with me til the very end i choose not to remember but i miss your arrogance and i need your intelligence and your hate for authority but now you're gone i read it today they found you in spain face down in the street with a bottle in your hand and a wild smile on your face and a knife in your back you died in a foreign land and they found my letter rolled up in your pocket where i said i'd kill myself if she left me again so now she's gone and you're both in my mind i got one thing to say before i'm drunk again god damn the sun god damn the sun god damn anyone that says a kind word god damn the sun god damn the sun god damn the light that shines in this world it shows god damn the sun


posted by Garreth at 7:03 AM

4/12/2002

:  Beer O'Clock. Friday afternoon. I'm next to an ex-colleague, one Mr Ciaran Dolan. We are using computers next to each other. Some things don't change. Like my pants.
posted by Garreth at 3:23 AM

:  Top tip: Always save your work whe nusing a poxy weblog tool. That way your faithful readers don't miss out on all the really interesting stuff that happened in Bangkok. If you do lose an hour's writing, make sure you are in an airconditioned internet cafe, or you might try to throw the computer out of the door into the street. And set about it with a baseball bat.

Here is a brief synopsis of Bangkok:

• Friend Jim and Wan
  
• Chang Beer
  
• Agogo bars
  
• Karaoke - the microphone is like a religious relic - in no way drop it, or dismiss it
  
• Muay Thai - 2 stretchers in 11 bouts, and one enormous cracking noise
  
• Entertainment
  
• Complete failure to meet Peter Verprauskus due to incompetent phone answering
  
• Thai massage - lots of stretching and cracking involving feet forcing half of your body one way while hands pull the other half in the opposite direction. Results in a kind of out of body drifting sensation
  

posted by Garreth at 3:15 AM

4/11/2002

:  "Papa Lazarou.", they say, "Where have you been the last week or two - we haven't heard much. Aer you chained to the bed of some brothel?"

Now, unusually for me, I haven't been on the lookout for new wives. I have just been on some pisspot island beach, with very little internet access. And Railay Beach is the first place I've been to in Thailand where wives haven't been throwing themselves at me in bars. And there are caucasian men with caucasian women. Laters Dave.


posted by Garreth at 11:48 PM

4/09/2002

:  Does anyone remember what happens at the end of Lord of the Flies? Going to be stranded on an island in a weeks time, and am idley contemplating likely outcomes....it must be pretty grizzly, as they made two films of it. In the one line description, it says something about reverting to savagery. And I remember something about a pig's head on a stick. Which, coincidentally or not, is the gift I got from my friends who greeted me outside my last undergraduate exam. It was a great gesture, but quite difficult to balance the weighty skull and brain on a sharpened broomstick. Especially during the euphoric celebration following the end of 4 years of study. Or 2 years study and a bit of arsing about.
posted by Garreth at 12:12 AM

4/08/2002

:  Managed a record-breaking 35 minutes Without Air Conditioning (WAC).

Students eh? All stolen traffic signs and pound-shop bargains. In some ways, Thailand appears to be a giant set of roadworks - lots of flashy lights everywhere, warning passing motorists of perilous establishments. And it is definitely one big pound-shop. You get the feeling that someone obsessed with great Value For Money (VFM) would end up with stacks of shopping, a full belly, and a bit of a stagger. Silk shorts for less than a pound. Well you would wouldn't you? Better than washing the damn things. Food in Phuket is slightly more expensive than other places in Thailand, and you might have to pay two quid for a meal. Life is tough.

One of my favourite hobbies is eating. I love it. When I found out that you could eat more by eating six meals a day, and doing exercise to build an appetite, I did. And then when I realised that I could still eat six meals a day without exercising, I was in heaven. But its so toasty here that I can't actually eat; almost three hours without food now. I'll go and find out what lack of appetite means in the My Little Pony Guide to Hypochondria.

Diseases rehabilitating from today: Tuberculosis, and the nasty worms that run around all over your body under the skin.






Favourite Punctuation of the Week: hyphen
Runner Up: semi-colon
posted by Garreth at 11:49 PM

:  Second best piece advice of the day: No ladyboys. Thing is, it really isn't all that obvious. Apparently it's cheaper to have fun bags fitted than to have your appendix out. And then there's all the other operations. Ouch.

Best piece of advice of the day:

"also, get a little crazy and fall in love with a beautiful hooker.
sacrafice everything for here. buy here clothes and jewels. accept her
whoreish actions. forgive her for banging for money. watch your world
crumble as she leaves you when the money runs out. then you will feel total
freedom. you will have nothing to lose because you will have lost it all.
you will wander the streets of Phucket as another lost soul.

do that for like a year. then recover"
posted by Garreth at 11:36 PM

4/07/2002

:  Padh Thai for tea. And hard man crumble for desert. Nice.

Saturday night in Bangkok can get a bit out of hand. Which can leads to Elvis Delusions. I suffered one such episode. I blame it on the butch woman (?) (wo)manning the Karaoke box. Jim and his lady, Wan, performed a duet of one of Loso's finest songs, which went down quiet well. All I can say is that I think the fans were glad that 'Love me tender' is quite short.

Elephants - chang in thai. Lots of them. It's thai new year season, which is a thinly veiled excuse for throwing water at each other and drinking and crashing cars, bikes, trucks. I got caught up in predictable Bangkok traffic - it seems that there is never any point rushing here. The cause of this particular traffic jam was tangible though - a huge street procession, representing all 70+ regions. Several regions had brigades of elephants, and one of the groups was stalked by a hunter. His job was to halt stampedes and prevent too many chang-related homicides. For his duties, he was armed with a tranquilizer gun. And in case that failed, he also had a small knife in his belt. So that he could tickle the chang into submission I guess. Luckily the chang were in good spirits, and even taking part in water distribution, which was new to me. I have never been soaked by a chang blowing water out of its nose before. Hmmm - chewy water.
posted by Garreth at 10:09 PM

:  Tokyo is very tiring. So much so that people seem to fall asleep any place, any time, any position. My favourite sleeping Japanese encounters were:

• In the hotel: a guy who had fallen asleep standing up whilst using a public phone. His head was resting on the wall behind the phone, and he was still holding the receiver
  
• In the Sony Store: a couple had positioned themselves on the sofas in a turbo digital surround sound wega home cinema demo lounge. To the booming sound of aircraft bombing Vietnam, they were both snoring gently. Great promotional value for Sony I'm sure.
  

posted by Garreth at 2:12 AM

:  Bangkok is hot and humid, internet cafes are air conditioned. But still I never get anything written.

Perhaps that is the fault of one Mr Jim Short who is an excellent host, which means I struggle to get out of bed to get water quite late each day.



posted by Garreth at 2:07 AM

4/05/2002

:  Twenty Minutes With a Tokyo Scrubber - a geijin tale

A few days ago, I was in Tokyo, hoping to get to Kyoto and catch up with a school chum who is teaching english there, and, from his email, dressing as Santa Claus. We'd agreed to do all of the things that Japan had to offer - get cutesy photo stickers, play video games, croon some at a karaoke, and play Pachinko. We both agreed that we had no idea how to play or what the point was, but when the trip didn't pan out, I resolved to discover some of its secrets on my own.

Pachinko parlours are like Las Vegas slot machines only money doesn't come out - steel ballbearings do. Noisily. And you can't win money, only trade in the 5mm bearings for cigarettes, lighters, and sweets. So I got my 1000 yen worth of bearings, and sat at a machine in the cacophany of blatting steel. The machines are in rows, with a Japanese man or woman glued to a seat in front of each, with one hand controlling a powerflicker. The machine resembles a vertical pinball box without the flippers to control the dropping of the ball from top to bottom - the only control is the powerflicker, with which you can propell the balls faster or slower into the box. Unlike pinball the stream of balls is constant, with around four or five in descent at any one time. And in the middle is a screen which alternately shows slot machine reels,. and cute little anime scenes.

So my balls didn't last long - maybe 90 seconds elapsed before they were virtually all lost in the bottom of the machine for ever. I was about to save one as a souvenir, when the little screen showed 777 - lucky three 'sevens' - and an anime schoolgirl appeared. Balls started pouring back out of the machine, and it seemed to feed itself with new balls constantly. The schoolgirl went through various stages in her life - having friends, meeting businessmen in bars, getting married, and as she progressed, balls started flying out of the bottom too, in addition to keeping the powerflicker constantly fed. An attendant took pity on me and helped me catch the balls in trays about the size of a punnet of strawberries, only much heavier. The attendant also tried to explain what was going on with the 'sevens' but the language barrier proved insurmountable. He also helped me when the machine hung - perhaps the schoolgirl had grown up and croaked.

After this went on for a while, I figured out Pachinko. The shiny things and clacking noise are what you pay the money for - you don't actually win anything of value, but it feels like you're doing well, and people will come to look at the racket if you are sending the schoolgirl to college every five minutes (I got a very lucky eight 'sevens' at one point, and there was murmuring from the occasional onlooking fan). What I didn't figure out in the slightest was how the flow of balls out of the bottom was related to the poweflicker, the schoolgirl, or the number of 'sevens' on view. I'd massed about six punnets, and was getting a little tired of the game, when the attendant pointed out that "there was no challenge any more", which I kind of agreed with, and he advised me to cash in my punnets. I figured this was part of the mock casino experience, and we were enacting a scene in which the rookie gambler had just broken the bank. But I'd played for over an hour with 1000 yen - about 5 quid, so I was happy to go.

I had about 13,000 bearings, and this amounted to about 60 points. I was led to the little exchange booth, and saw that a pack of fags was about 20 points, and a box of chocolate coated hazlenuts was 23, so I got the nuts and was about to set off, trying to leave the remaining points - there's only so many hazlenuts a guy can take. But the insisted on giving me square pink tokens - each with a lucky coin set in the middle. I tried to explain that I was leavign Tokyo and didn't really want them, but they insisted, and then another attendant led me outside to a cashiers desk. The cashier promptly took my tokens and handed over a whopping 53,500 yen - about 280 quid. I looked in disbelief, exclaimed "fuck me" and ran off down the street laughing.

Did I go to Miss Kitty's and give back the money to the people? No. I grinned a fair amount, had a beer, and found my way to a capsule hotel. It was awesome - my own fibreglass coffin, and a pair of shorts and a robe. Kind of like a YMCA without the butch hairy people, and it had a sauna and steam room too. Bangkok was to be my next stop, so I tried to acclimatise in the steam room. It was sickeningly hot, and a few minutes sapped all of my post-jackpot exuberance, but I did notice that there were women and tables outside the saunas, scrubbing supine steamers. So I had a scrubber wash me down for 20 minutes, using scouring pad mittens, and the human equivalent of Jif - a really abrasive paste that helped to remove most of my dead skin, and a fair amount of live skin too. But I was completely relaxed and squeaky clean at the end of it, and fell into a relaxed slumber in my fibreglass coffin. Only to be woken up by a fair amount of snoring and drunken stumbling as Japanese business men fell out of strip clubs into the hotel.


posted by Garreth at 11:19 PM

:  Sweaty in Bangkok. Too hot to type. Nuff said
posted by Garreth at 7:15 AM

4/03/2002

:  Space. The final frontier. Life in London is pressured by money and time. In Tokyo, it seems to be space. It suddenly makes sense. People drum on drum simulators, thump on bongo simulators, strum on guitar simulators, and spin on turntable simulators in arcades. They rent "rest" in a love hotel in the Roses and Elvis room for 4 hours (as opposed to staying for a night - called a "stay") because they live three generations to a property and having sex and drum kits in front of your grandparents is probably too much like hard work.

Achievements so far today

• Stolen a robe so I can look flash on the beach in Borneo. Not an easy task, as the imperialist cleaning parties go room cleansing in packs, and they seem to keep an eye on the easily stealables on their cleaning trolley.
  
• Found a locker big enough for my gargantuan baggage. This leaves me free to seek out a capsule hotel for the night. (No Elvis Room)
  
• Remembered not to have curry for breakfast now that I have checked out of my nice room with accomodating toilet. I miss it already.
  

posted by Garreth at 8:36 PM

:  Oh, and the cherry blossom and all that spring stuff is going on and it only lasts a few days, and if you aren`t staying in your hotel watching "Food Battle, King of Masters", apparently Tokyo is quite pretty. 23 degrees Cee. Put that in your cheroot and toke it. Mongolian farmers make cigarettes out of newspaper and stuff. Put Marlboro out of business with their silly red cardboard packets.

And if Russia, Germany, Japan and maybe China too, if they had all ganged up on poxy Britain in the 2nd world war, we`d have polite people, no unsanctioned crime, one helluva organised crime system (cleavers, kalashnikovs, women named Olga), cute little cartoons and 79 letters in our alphabet. But at least the trains would run on time.

posted by Garreth at 8:26 AM

:  And just when you are about to conclude that Japanese people are shy, you`re minding your own business in a bar, and then some crazy chick comes and introduces herself. English not being her strong point, she seems to be doing more talking than listening. In a bar situation, this is quite new to me. But I listen, and slowly introduce the art of Pictionary for bridging the language gap. A few themes were strong in her conversation before she ran back to her "mother"; the first was "State. Utah. Salt Lake City." Okay. Japanese people give addresses in most significant place first. second was "Olympic". third was "figure skating". fourth was "Reiko Saito and gold medal".

So after an escape worse than ice-skating, I look up her up on the internet. And lo and behold, it seems the barmans pronouncement that she wsa crazy seems to hold water. Mind you, he was talking about collective consciousness and the power of writing, and the only principle he had was to answer all questions from the heart, so perhaps I shouldn`t have doubted him in the first place....

posted by Garreth at 8:23 AM

:  So what is Tokyo really like? Its like Blade Runner. Exactly like it. Only people yell at you when you go into a noodle shop. And they have jellyfish with ultraviolet lights illuminating their tanks. And instead of flying cars, they have cars which get shuffled about in vertical car storage areas by large hydraulic machines. And the hustlers trying to get you into topless dance clubs will actually help you figure out your map, and where you really want to go. And only if you make eye contact with them, otherwise they let you pass.

And then the addictions start. I have yet to play the funny ball bearing game, but I am addicted to bowing my head when addressing strangers. It really puts them out if you bow before and after they bow, and if you bow lower. It kind of gets into a limbo competition, with the loser touching his chin to the ground first. To hedge my bets, and protect my chin, I have entered into the side competition of "who can have the silliest beard" and left a sprout on my chin.


posted by Garreth at 8:08 AM

4/02/2002

:  Top Tip: Stay at work. Send email from there. That way, someone pays you to do it, and the internet access is free. You don`t tend to appreciate this until you have to pay 15 quid to say hello to a few folk.

I need a holiday.
posted by Garreth at 8:08 PM

:  Tokyo is the only place I have ever been where if you stand still looking at a map for more than 30 seconds, someone will come up and try to help you. And not ask you to look at their art exhibition / topless bar / puppies in the woods. People are so polite here. Even the underground ticket machines say thank you as you go through them to leave the station.

If you`re ever stuck feeling ill and sorry for yourself, watch Japanese TV (like Tarrant on TV without the irritating fuckwit presenter). Yesterday, I got to see "Food Battle - King of Masters". Those boys (and girls) can really eat. I remember being pleased with myself at college when a bunch of us decided to see how fast we could neck 3 pints of booze, and finished in about 90 seconds. These turbo nutters drink ten 180ml bottles of coffee in about 30 seconds. And being Japanese, they do it politely, making sure that one bottle is on the table before picking up the next one. And they don`t seem to belch either.

Which makes me think about all the runners up who don`t get to be on telly, but can drink 1.8 litres of coffee in 40 seconds - all that training, the expense of it all, all horribly wasted. Seeing the acrobats in China brought about similar thoughts. The runner up, who had torn all of her ligaments and muscles, but could still only manage to balance two trays full of glasses on her feet while standing on one hand. Desperatelt jealous of the star performer who could balance a third tray of glasses on her other hand. Makes me weep.


posted by Garreth at 7:21 PM

:  Cosmopolitan Diet of the Decade: First of all, scrap exercise - aerobic and anaerobic. Best achieved by confinement in small spaces, e.g. train cabins, planes, Tokyo capsule hotels. Second, scrap protein, or meat at least. Aim for a high ratio of carbs to fats, but don`t say no if offered lumps of pig fat. Constant alcohol consumption can help raise your carb quota. Third, try to take a course of anti-diarhhoea tablets for several days, to avoid any weight loss. Within a month, you are guaranteed a paunch, a pot belly, and the inability to walk up stairs. And did I see Britney Spears on the cover of Cosmo in China? What`s cosmopolitan about that lump of processed trailer park trash?

Top Tip of the Day: However flashy a video game appears in a Tokyo arcade, don`t be tempted to play. As soon as someone spots a gaijin playing, they`ll join in and kick your butt into the middle of next Tuesday with a secret character wearing a nappy.
posted by Garreth at 7:08 PM

:  Roger me with a ralgexed rhino, Tokyo is bonkers. All the usual superlatives apply: like someone drove a pitchfork into your spine and then started pouring tabasco onto your sight nerve endings, while taking a moulinex blender to your sound nerve endings. And its not all flashy lights and high pitched pleading voices like the end of some Manga-inspired video game ("Continue? 9,8,7,6,5,4"). Its the surroundingness of it all: things come at you from all directions. I like to walk around a place and soak things in. But you can`t do that here, as everything is so god damned vertical. You could spend more time in elevators checking out bars than plodding the street.

Having had a relatively easy time of things, getting around and getting into scrapes in Mongolia, Siberia etc, the decision to try to see Tokyo without resorting to using any guidebook seemed natural. The thing about guidebooks for me is that they seem to put you onto a circuit of hostels and such, where you meet other people on the same book and circuit. So Japan was to be done as a cold calling affair. I lasted about 36 hours before I broke down and had to get a book. Tokyo is immense and overpowering at first. I might as well have had `sucker` tattooed on my forehead when I got off the plane. I don`t remember a place which has assaulted me so much; my jaw hanging open, and my eyes wide open scanning left and right, then up and down. It only took a short while for someone to approach me and politely offer me a special massage, the selling point of which was that it would be "very expensive". No thanks, 70 quid a night for a hotel is expensive enough.

Which brings me to value for money (VFM), of which I used to be almost religious in my pursuit. Now it may be that my posterior has instigated a revolt in my body. It may be that it has become physically addicted to the "posterior cleanse" button of my hotel loo, and it has poisoned the rest of my organs into forcing me to stay in the hotel. But I reckon that my subconscious has decided that if I can spend more hours passed out in the room, then I get better VFM. In terms of spare floor space in my room, I`m getting pretty good VFM - I have it covered with my rucksack, and two pieces of paper. Or it could be that I`m lurking in my hotel because I`m genuinely ill, but I doubt that, as I was invincible just a few days ago in that bar at 3am.

And it could be my posterior`s addiction to Tokyo toilets, or it could be the VFM factor: I cant seem to avoid eating curry in the buffet breakfast, in addition to all the other cack. Aaaarrgh

posted by Garreth at 6:45 PM