Soper's Hole.

After that experience with US Customs and Immigration in Mayaguez, I decided to skip USVI altogether. They weren’t nasty or anything. It's just their general attitude towards the girls. Pity because I'd wanted to take a peek at Vieques. Sailed right past it anyway.

So here we are in Soper’s Hole, BVI. This is a very nice little Marina on the West end of  Tortola. ($1 per foot per night for monohull. Cable $5.) Suits us fine. Oscar’s island is just a short sail away but I’m not ready to go and see him just yet. He’s a crafty bastard is Oscar. I wouldn’t put anything past him and my instincts tell me not to go rushing over there. Plenty to do here anyway. E-mail, odd jobs on the boat, catch up on some reading.

This would be a good time to do some washing. There’s a laundrette in town but the girls tend to get lazy if you spoil them so I get the Buriram girls out on the jetty with a bar of soap. I like watching Thai girls wash clothes and it always gets the other yachties attention. Not that I want to piss anybody off but it gives me an opportunity to meet the neighbours.

I met a couple this morning. I’d just got the girls scrubbing nicely when some old bag on the next boat sticks her scrawny head up and says...

“Excuse me, you do realize that all the waste matter finds it’s way back into the ecosystem don’t you?”

“Well yes of course,” say I, “Don’t tell me you never pissed off the transom?”

“Hmmph,” she says,” that’s hardly the point. Urine is not the same as PCBs you know.”

“Ah,” says I quick as a flash, “that’s why we only use organic soap. We like the kind made with olive oil. Especially if it’s got a bit of corn meal mixed in. Helps get the tramlines out of underpants.”

I’m thinking of telling her how repulsive she looks in a bikini when her old man pops up.
“Hallo,” says he, catching a nice glimpse of Ning’s tits as she bends over, “spot of laundry? Good show.”
“Yes,” I say,” very good show. You should have seen her when she was dancing in Soi Cowboy. Blokes were lined up down the street to pay her barfine. Ever been to Bangkok?” He gives me a sad little smile, like he’s got my number, and goes back to whatever he was doing. Times crossword most likely.

Then a few minutes later he’s back and giving me funny looks.
“Excuse me but have I seen you before somewhere?” he asks.
“Wanted posters maybe?” I quip.
“I’ve got it! You’re Dick Headley aren’t you? The football chap.”
“Guilty as charged. Who might you be?”
“Julian Snagge Q.C. Retired. I used to be a magistrate.”
“Bloody hell! You’re the bloke that did me for acid! Small world innit?”
Well there’s bit of an awkward silence for a moment as we both think back then he says, “Look can I buy you a drink sometime?”
“That would be nice,” I say, “why don’t we meet in Bomba’s later on….er….just the two of us OK?”
“Bomba’s?”
“Apple Bay. Just up the road. Get a taxi.”

I think when the girls have finished the laundry I’ll take everybody to Pusser’s Landing. They do a very nice pie and chips. You can wash it down with a frosty pint of John Courage Draft Beer. The girls will go for the pizza I expect. Then we can sit on the patio with the other rich idle bastards and watch the boats coming and going in the harbour. Did I mention Pusser's Rum Painkiller? It’s a kind of special cocktail they have. Goes down a treat. Fancy running into Sir Julian!

Indica.

Chuck? That must be Chuck Woww the Bangkok writer. It was a few days after the snowstorm when he came into my bar. I’d heard about him of course but we’d never actually met. Nice looking bloke I must admit. Bit like George Clooney but not so smug. He ordered a beer and introduced himself. Then he came to the point. Would I keep a few copies of his book in the bar? We could go 50/50 on sales. I said sure. We got talking about literature and he made a suggestion. I must hear lots of anecdotes and meet lots of characters he said….why not write a book?

Bollocks to that I said. But it was flattering in a way I must admit. I did agree to do a bit of narrating for him.

Some of you may be waiting for Miss Perfect Part 3. I’ll post it in due course but before I do I notice I’ve left Simon and Arthur dangling back in 1966. They are on their way to Indica Gallery for an art opening. You won't believe what happens next.

They stroll together up Horseferry Road and across St. James Park to Mason’s Yard, a small square tucked behind Jermyn Street. The gallery itself is small, not much more than a shopfront, with people wandering in and out. Inside a Japanese girl has set up some exhibits. There’s an all-white chess set, an apple called ‘Apple’ priced at 200 pounds, quite expensive Arthur thinks, and a white board with nails in it with a sign inviting visitors to have a bash. Something is happening here but he isn’t sure what it is. Dashing young gallery owner John Dunbar, tailored Levis, collarless shirt, waistcoat and granny glasses, explains…

“Yoko is a friend of John Cage. She came over from New York with her husband to make a film about bums. Bottoms I should say. There was a happening here a few weeks back…she had some people cut her clothes off with scissors.”

“So they can see her bottom?”

“Not exactly Simon. More a case of communicating her internal suffering through her art I think. Or you could see it as a commentary on identity if you like. Gender, sexism that kind of thing.” 

“Sounds a bit heavy.” Simon has his notebook out.

“Not really. This new work is very playful. It’s conceptual, to do with events, Zen. Hang on, I’ll get you a press release.”

In the center of the gallery is a ladder leading up to a black canvas. Arthur looks up and sees a magnifying glass attached by a chain. What’s the idea he wonders. Are you supposed to climb up? Feeling adventurous Arthur decides to have a go. He climbs up the ladder until he can look through the magnifying glass at some small letters on the ceiling. The letters say “Y E S.” Yes. A very positive message. So why does some nasty little voice at the back of his mind say no?

Simon seems to know a lot of people at the opening. He obviously enjoys it. Arthur watches him in action, chatting with fashionable friends and other arty types, a Beatle or two. It’s all a bit much. He feels completely out of place. To Arthur it just seems phony and pretentious, nothing to do with art. He mutters something to Simon about being in touch then he’s off to Victoria Station to be reabsorbed into the anonymous multitudes.

Miss Perfect part 2.

I came to Bangkok to get away from England. After the big fight with the missus I couldn’t settle back down to lorry driving. My mind was wandering too much. A bloody great pile up on the M.1. was on the cards the way I was going. I needed a complete change and tell the truth I’ve always fancied Asian women. From afar like. But I’d heard stories about Thailand so I thought why not? I’m free now. Still got a bit of cash left after the divorce. Go for it.

Where was I? Oh yes. I was telling you about Nok. I’ve been paying her barfine for about a week now. We’re like an old married couple (just joking). We usually stay in bed till around midday then get some noodles somewhere and maybe do a bit of shopping. She loves shopping. Then she trots off and I see her again in the evening at the bar. It’s all right but I’m not sure where we go from here. And I do think about the money a bit too. Somebody has to be serious around here.

I do a few calculations. At the moment with the hotel and everything I can probably get by on a couple of thousand baht a day. Throw in a few drinks, barfine and what I give her….say 5000 a day. Minimum. You’ve got to be realistic so say 6000. About a hundred quid a day let’s say give or take a few quid. Quite depressing when you look at it like that. I’ll be broke in 4 months. I use the ATM too much as it is. And I seem to be handing out thousand baht notes like Santa Claus.

Life is funny. You think when you find someone special that’s the end of your problems yeh? But it’s the beginning too in a way. I get quite philosophical sometimes you could say. Or maybe Nok’s right. I just think too much.

The thing is I would never meet a girl like her in England in a million years. Let alone shag her. First off, English girls these days are all mouth. And fat. Fat noisy slappers that’s what you find in the pubs these days. A lot of blokes are amazed when they come to Thailand to find girls like Nok. Oh you get some rough ones here too but a girl like Nok can be working bar and still be polite and ladylike and make a bloke feel good. It just seems to come naturally to Thai girls. Funny thing is most of them don’t even know how pretty they are. It’s a mystery. I love Thailand.

The sex is great of course...best I’ve ever had but just lying in bed with her is nice too and watching her do things. I love the way she folds her clothes and rinses out her knickers and stuff. I love the way she lets me look at her body when we’re on the job but she still gets dressed behind a towel. Quite shy really. She’s always busy but never in a rush like.

Sometimes I wish I’d tried harder at school. Not that I’m clever or anything but it would be nice to write all this stuff down. It would give me something to do for one thing. Life can get boring even in Thailand and it’s good to keep your mind active. As it is I spend all day thinking about Nok. I wish I could explain it better. I ask her what she wants and she says ‘I want mally good man’ Strewth marry! One thing at a time Nok I say, I just met you. The thing is she’s not really a bar girl at all. Well she is but what I mean is she’s not really on the game. I’ve been through the options in my mind like…tell the truth that’s all I do these days. I can keep paying her barfine of course. But that’s daft. And how long can two people live in a hotel room anyway? What about her stuff? My visa’s up in a week too then what?

Am I making a big mistake? I keep asking myself that. This thing just started. I can’t blame her. If it hadn’t been me it would have been some other bloke. She was just sitting there like fruit on a tree. Or maybe I started it. I didn’t have to pick the fruit. And I could have taken a bite and walked away. So how will it end? There’s basically two ways. We either stay together or we don’t.

Did I mention her mates? There’s these two girls in the bar where she works…she might even live with them I’m not sure. I took them all out for noodles once after the bar closed and she did tell me their names but I can’t remember. Funny names they have. Anyway I go to the bar one evening and no Nok. I didn’t think too much about it but she still hadn’t showed up after about an hour so I mention it casual like to one of these mates of hers. ‘Nok she go village,’ says one and the other one kind of snorts. She doesn’t seem to like me much. Jealous most likely.

I met this writer bloke the other day. He was sitting in that Golden Bar. Chuck something. We got talking and I told him all about Nok and I could see he was interested. ‘Look,’ he says, ‘you can’t just leave it hanging like that.’

‘Well,’ I say, ‘the way I see it there’s basically only two ways this can play out. Either Nok gives up the go-go life and moves in with me for good like or I stop seeing her.’

‘Do you have money?’ Chuck asks.

‘Some.’

‘Enough for a house in the country? If not you better forget it.’

He’s the cynical type is Chuck. Most of these old-timers are like that. But he may be right. There’s no future for me and Nok. I can’t afford her that’s the truth. I could go back to England and work but what about Nok in the meantime? Suppose she meets some other bloke. Chuck sees me puzzling over this and he says, ‘You’re not the first my friend. What you want takes money. I’m just trying to save you some heartache down the road.’

What he doesn’t tell me is he’s making mental notes for some story he’s writing. Wouldn’t put it past a bugger like him to post it on some website somewhere complete with a picture. Nothing like a picture of some cute Thai girl to get blokes reading. 

Miss Perfect

Delicate readers may want to skip this next bit. It deals with sex tourism in Thailand. The exploitation of third-world women by Western men. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Arthur certainly isn’t the first to get the bug. Yellow Fever is what US troops in Vietnam called it. A fixation with Asian nooky to be blunt. I’d see it all the time when I had the bar in Pattaya. Blokes arriving in Thailand falling in love with bar girls on their first night out. Happens a lot. Maybe they’ve just got divorced or maybe they’re going through some kind of mid-life crisis. Thailand is tailor made for them.  Dreamers. Bar Buddhists. Thinkers with the Small Brain. All looking for Miss Perfect.

They’d come in the bar see a couple of dancers and their eyes were popping out their heads. You’d think they’d never seen a tit before. And they don’t bloody listen. Waste of breath telling them to be careful. Gone they are. Oblivious. Spend money like water. They think the bad stuff only happens to other people.

Which brings me to my next minor digression.

Mate of mine in London sent a bloke over. Nice fella. He’s just split up with his wife and my mate thought a couple of weeks in Thailand would help him get his mind of his troubles. Tells him about me of course. Good old Dick. The bloke with a bar in Pattaya. He knows what’s going on. He’ll see you all right.

So he wanders in one afternoon and introduces himself. He looks happy enough but that doesn’t mean much. We talk about this and that, have a few beers and off he goes for a kip. Fair enough. He’s back in the evening and I can tell he’s made a decision. He’s going to take one of the girls out…just to see how it feels. Nothing serious. I ask him if he fancies anyone in particular and he points to Nok. Good choice for a first timer. Nice girl is Nok. More honest than most and not as hard as some of them get.

I catch her eye and she joins us. I can tell he’s a bit shy so I suggest he buys her a Ladies Drink. It’s only Cola of course but we charge for Tequila. It’s a business right? Then I leave them too it. I can tell he’s hooked and Nok seems happy about it so I just wander off and let nature take its course. My work here is done. Think of me as Cupid.

So I think no more about it to be honest. He paid Nok’s barfine for 3 nights and I think they went bar-hopping or shopping or something. Or maybe they stayed in bed for three days. Not unusual in Pattaya. Good luck to him.

It’s an excuse to write a short story…..

‘MISS PERFECT’ A love story in 4 parts.


Don’t laugh. I never thought it would happen to me again to be honest. My mates tell me I’m a hard bastard and after I split up with my wife I just wasn’t in the mood. She got the house and the kids and I swore I was off women for good. And I’m not daft if that’s what your (sic) thinking. I’ve read Private Dancer and I’ve heard all the stories. Well after you’ve been in Thailand a few months you do don’t you? Blokes losing all their money, jumping off buildings or getting their dicks cut off. It won’t happen to me don’t worry. And don’t get me wrong. I’m not one of these miserable buggers that you run into all the time here either. You can call me cynical but I know how to have fun.

OK I know what you’re thinking. No fool like an old fool right? But trust me. This girl really is different. You’ll meet her in a minute.

It started in the usual way. I’m in NEP, one of those outside bars, and she comes to sit with me. Gorgeous little thing. I buy her a drink of course not really thinking much past that and she just sits there looking at me.

I’d just spent a few hours in one of them blow-job places so I wasn’t actually looking for action tell the truth but I didn’t have any objections either. Here we go again I think, another night in Bangkok, ladies drink, barfine, hotel, shower, blow job, usual stuff but when I actually got her lined up on the bed something strange happens. Nice tits, very nice bum, perfect pussy…but it’s the way she looks at me after that does it. I can’t explain. I just know I’ve found a keeper.

Next morning she says it, right off the bat. ‘You good man. I want stay with you.’ Hallo I think, here comes the bullshit. Let me guess, sick buffalo, old mum in hospital, Thai boyfriend round the corner. “I no hab family.’ She says, ‘no friend me Bangkok. I all alone.’ Right. So of course I do a little interrogation and she tells me she’s just arrived in Bangkok from Udon Something and she’s living with some girls who she doesn’t like and would it be all right if she stays with me for a few days until she gets sorted like. Naturally I ask her how much she wants and get the old ‘up to you’.

I’m not one to rush into anything. So I take her for breakfast in that place under Robinson’s. We both have the noodle soup and I watch her looking round the place. The way she’s taking it in I can tell she really is straight off the farm. I ask her if she wants to do a bit of shopping and she says no I go home now. And she still hasn’t asked me for any money. Not yet. Before we leave I pass her a thousand bath note thinking she’s going to turn her nose up at it but no. She gives me a little wai and tucks the money away somewhere like they do. After that I put her in a taxi and go looking for a game of pool which I change me mind about because I can’t concentrate. Anyway, long story short I had a bit of a nap in the afternoon and I wake up thinking about her. A part of me knows it’s stupid but another part says so what?

Right here we are now in Nana and as I get near her bar it looks like she’s already spotted me. Her smile has lit up the whole plaza. Look out she’s coming over. I give her a little hug. Nothing too obvious.

‘You OK Mr. John?’ she asks.

‘OK,’ I say.

‘I wait you.’ She says.

I’m definitely OK but there’s a problem. A couple of blokes down the bar are watching all this. One of them’s got his eye on her I can tell. This is what I don’t like. Any dickhead with a couple of thousand baht can fuck her. It ain’t right.

I’m not a bad looking bloke. Bit heavy round the middle maybe but not like some blokes you see around. Still let’s be honest I’m not exactly Brad Pitt either. I ask her why she likes me and I can see her little brain ticking away. I don’t think she really likes answering questions like that but she says ‘you same same father me.’ Fair enough. I’ll be dad. Whatever she wants. I’m going to barfine her again that’s obvious.

To be continued…

Frigging in the rigging.

Frigging in the rigging.

1/5/2015

Ah the days of sail! My own vessel is a modest 42 ft  ketch rigged cruiser and of course it has an engine. The sailing I do would be called island hopping. Which means most of the time I set it on automatic and let my mind wander.
As now for instance. I imagine myself sitting in a pub…North London say, or Margate listening to some bloke whining about the LibDem’s immigration policy…the usual tripe…when who should walk in but Lemmy Kilmister brandishing a pair of six-guns he nicked from the Old Vic props department. You don’t want to mess with Lemmy when he’s in a theatrical mood. Who’s he looking for? Not me I hope.
Or I’m in my Spitfire, diving out of the sun onto a pack of Heinkels….I give one a 2 second burst and watch his engine drop off.

Then suddenly, just like that, I’m on one of those old tea clippers…one of the big buggers with sails as big as football pitches, the wind is from the stern quarter and every stitch of canvas is up there…ropes and spars…one of those jibs could slice your head off.

How did those blokes do it you ask? How did they find their way through all that rope and wood and cordage? So for all you what’s been wondering about the difference between a main top brace and a mizzen royal stay here’s a chance to brush up on your rigging.

The Spars and Rigging of a Frigate. References are not repeated for each mast where the names and functions are identical 1, bowsprit; 2, bobstays, three pairs; 3, spritsail-gaffs, projecting at each side of the bowsprit- the ropes at the extremities are jib-guys and flying jib-guys; 4, jib-boom; 5, martingale-stay, and below it the flying-jib martingale; 6, back-ropes; 7, flying jib-boom; 8, fore-royal stay, flying jib-stay and halyards; 9, fore-top-gallant-stay, jib-stay and halyards; 10, two fore-topmast-stays and fore-topmast staysail halyards; 11, the foretop bowlines, stopped into the top and two fore-stays; 12, two fore-tacks; 13, fore-truck; 14, fore-royal mast, yard and lift; 15, top-gallant mast, yard and lift; 16, fore-top mast, topsail-yard, lift and reef-tackle; 17, foretop, fore-lift, and topsail-sheet; 18, foremast and fore-shrouds, nine-pairs; 19, fore-sheets; 20, fore-gaff; 21, fore-topmast backstays and topsail tie; 22, royal and top-gallant backstays; 23, fore-royal braces and main-royal-stay; 24, fore-topgallant braces and main-topgallant stay; 25, standing parts, or fore topsail-braces, and main topmast-stays; 26, hauling parts of fore-topsail-braces and main-top-bowlines; 27, fore parts of fore-braces; 28, mainstays; 29, main-tacks; 30, main-truck; 31, main-royal-braces; 32, mizzen-royal-stay and mizzen-royal-braces; 33, main-topgallant braces and mizzen-topgallant-braces; 34, standing parts of main topsail braces and mizzen topmast stay; 35, mizzen topsail braces; 36, hauling parts of main-topsail-braces, mizzen-top-bowlines and cross-jack braces; 37, main-braces and mizzen stay; 38, standing part of peak halyards; 39, vangs, similar on each gaff; 40, ensign staff; 41, spanker-book; 42, quarter-boat’s davits; 43, one of the davit topping-lifts and wind-sail; 44, main yard tack, 45, a bull-rope.


Happy frigging.