Global warming.

Global warming.

12/4/2014

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Gav and Kev were back in the bar one day. We were talking about this and that. Football, beer, sex. The usual.

Gav says “Funny thing though, we came here to do a bit of shagging like and we seem to have got ourselves involved in something of a dystopia.”

“Well I wouldn’t call it a dystopia exactly Kev,” says Gav, “More like a parallel universe you could say.”

“Oh?” says I.

“Yes. It started yesterday. I was bonking this Thai bird and she metamorphosed into my ex-wife.”

“That is strange,” says Arthur, “how do you account for it?”

“Might be the booze,” says Gav, “but I don’t think so. Same thing happened to Kev.”

“Yes,” says Kev, “this bird was sitting on my face and next thing I know she’s me bloody mum!” 

“Interesting. Must have been a bit of a shock.” I said, by way of conversation.

“Bloody right Dick. I thought me mum was dead and buried. Got dressed smartish I tell you.”

“Don’t mind Kev,” says Gav, “he is given to a bit of hyperbole. It’s his literary side coming out. He loves stringing words together don’t you Kev? Specially after a few beers. So what’s on your agenda Dick. We were thinking of popping down to Soi 6.”

Suddenly Kev says, “Bugger me look at that, it’s snowing.”

Indeed it is. I can hardly believe my eyes. Snow is falling outside…not just small snowflakes either, bloody great gobs of it are drifting silently down causing considerable excitement among the Thais across the road. Some of the motorcycle taxi fellows have started a snowball fight. “Something to do with global warming I think,” says Kev. “We better get moving.”

There has been a noticeable drop in temperature and several inches of snow are settling on Soi Diana. I decide to close the bar and go out for a look. Gav and Kev seem like pretty decent blokes and it’s better than talking to yourself all the time. Also Pattaya hasn’t been feeling too safe just lately and I’m glad to have a bit of company. Sometimes you can’t hear a Harley-Davidson coming until it’s right on top of you. There are lots of other hazards. I’d been taking a quiet slash in a bar once when somebody dropped a hand grenade through the roof of the hawng narm (water room). Being an old Pattaya hand I took no notice…I knew it was probably a dud…still it made me think.

The balcony jumpers are starting to get annoying too. Nobody minds the odd one or two but lately it’s become a cascade. It’s disconcerting when you’re on your way somewhere and you keep tripping over bodies. I nearly got flattened once by a massive Scandinavian, bound and gagged as usual, landing just in front of me! In broad daylight! “Oh well, that’s life,” I thought, but one wishes they’d be a bit more considerate about where and when they take the plunge. There should be designated landing zones.

“Watch it Dick,” says Gav as another body hits the pavement.

“Bit chilly for jumping today you’d think.” Says Kev, “some blokes just don’t care.”

“This is Thailand,” Says Gav as a team of uniformed Thais lift the huge farang into a truck, “you’d think they’d have ramps built on the trucks by now wouldn’t you? Save their backs.”

 We trudge across Second Road where cars and motorbikes are being abandoned in snowdrifts. I’m wearing sandals (with no socks of course) and my feet are feeling it. 

“This is serious,” says Kev. “Look….even Sharky’s got his shirt on.”

“Bugger this,” says Gav. We decide to cut through Mike’s Shopping where Thais are scrambling to buy sweaters and quilted Chinese army surplus jackets. We stop to buy a selection of soccer shirts. We put several on at once. “How do I look lads?” Kev asks. 

“Lovely,” says Gav, “not sure about Arsenal on top of Spurs though. Better hope nobody notices.” 

Just a few Russians are left on the beach. Some of them are making skis out of deck-chairs and the vendors are doing a brisk business selling battery powered Speedo warmers. Gav stops to buy one. Further out in the bay figures are moving on the ice-flows.

“Katoys,” says Gav, “They club the baby seals you know. It’s all wrong.”

“There should be a law.”

“They don’t listen.”

“If a pre-op katoy has a post-op katoy up the council gritter,” asks Kev, “is that gay?” Nobody answers, “Don’t mind me,” Says Kev, “just something I saw on a message board.”

The snow is getting deeper. We finally arrive at Soi 6. where some Americans are parking their skidoos. Groups of girls are clustered round charcoal braziers. “Evening ladies,” say Gav, “nao nit-noi?”

“Nao mak.” Say the girls. (Very cold)

We do what most gentlemen of leisure do on Soi 6….I’ll spare you the details. When we emerge the snow has stopped falling but the streets are a mess. Fortunately an enterprising song-thao driver has harnessed a team of soi dogs to a makeshift sledge and we all pile on.

The sun comes out as we head back up Beach Road and by the time we get to Walking Street the icicles are dropping of the palm trees. As we pay the sled dog driver off Arthur remarks, “He won’t be needing the dogs anymore.”

“Probably run them to death then eat the buggers,” says Gav.

“Bastards.” Says Kev, “there should be a law. They don’t listen.”

“You already said that.” Says Gav.

“Well it’s true. So what’s next for you Dick?”

“I’m a bit knackered,” I say, “That snowfall was surreal. Think I’ll go home and stare at the ceiling for an hour or two. Relish the moments. See if I have any thoughts.”

“Good idea.” Say Kev and Gav in unison, “might have a lie down meself.”

At the Tate 8/12/2014