Post-Pattaya

I should start by segueing in with the hair thing - I cut mine. Myself. With children's scissors. At 4am. While tripping on stilnox. Considering the circumstances, it looks quite OK. Aarron would politely disagree, but she's a perfectionist and I just saved myself a few hundred baht AND decorated my bathroom with small bits of hair that tenants for decades to come will be finding in their towels and stuck to the soles of their feet.

The music festival was good. Thanks to the usual Thai level of foreplanning and organisation, Stuart and I didn't manage to get our media passes, so we had to mosh with the masses, which was actually OK. Since we're about five feet taller than most Thais we could still see the stage and apologies to that girl behind me if she's reading this (she's so not) for me jumping on her feet over and over again in my Doc Martins. And to the girl in front for me screaming a) "THAAAAT'S MY BOYFRIEEEEND" a couple of times (six at most) and b) words to an entire set in a language I don't really understand. I don't really have Tourettes, I just honestly don't know what the words are, I can only copy the sounds and I'd had a few litres of Chang and jeez, cut me some slack it was a festival, if you don't want some rude, drunk foreign person either jumping on you or screaming loud shit into the back of your head, GO HOME, I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE ONLY 12!

Going away meant, of course, we had to drop the dog off at a friend's. We learned the hard way that Frankie gets reeeeaaaalllly car sick, especially after a big breakfast of fried rice and hair. Picking him up when we got home was just as bad; I have renewed respect for the phrase 'sick as a dog' as he was just puking the whole ride even though he'd had nothing to eat beforehand. On the plus side, he barely moved after we got home, like, for the next twelve hours, so we had some quiet time.

So Pattaya, it's generally a shithole. Apologies again to anyone who might take humbrance to that, but seriously, dude, if you don't think it is, you're part of the problem. And that problem is: massive, shirtless zeppelins of men who should TRY HARDER rather than just paying someone to ignore the fact that they are one all-inclusive buffet away from being airlifted in and out of bed every night. And I type that with all the yen in my jai I can muster.

Anyway, here is my pic of the stage and bf playing, squint if you must:














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