The case of the terrible twos

Monday the 7th of November

I understandably haven’t been allowed out of Carolyn’s sight since the case of the waving guard. The past week has been mainly me massaging her feet and grovelling which, has tamed her temper a little. Today I was afforded a trip to the shops on one proviso; I take Astrid.

This is no problem. Since arriving in Thailand I have taken great pride in spending more time with her, she is at the exciting age where everyday she seems to attain more skills and words, however, her new lust for enlightenment does come with a trying side; most parents refer to it as the terrible twos, I call it ‘the twat year’.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not calling my daughter a twat, just that sometimes she can act a bit twatty. For example this morning, after her not eating her breakfast and refusing to wear her school shoes we were late for school. We set off and were making good time, she then says, “Daddy… today is Tuesday” to which I say, “No darling today is Monday” she says “Wednesday?” I say “No darling, Monday” she screams “TUESDAY… TUESDAY… WEDNESDAY. TUEDAY!!” she then began to roll on the floor continuing to yell Tuesday, or Wednesday. It took me 35 minutes to calm her down and get her to school, even handing her over to the teachers she was sobbing Tuesday, or Wednesday. I think that’s a bit twatty.

In England I was told Astrid’s actions are borne of her parenting and seeing as I’m her Dad I feel a great responsibility in halting ‘the twat year’. I can no longer excuse her actions because of the ‘terrible two’s’, do they even exist or are we just being mugged over by clever kids? Either way with time on my hands and my detective status nullified by my wife today I decided to investigate the causes of this phenomenon.

I picked Astrid up from school at 1:30pm. She was cheerful and chatty. “How was your day?” I asked, “I did painting and played with my friends and singing and playing with my friends…” she talked most of the walk home, mainly repeating herself. Once we got back to our house I told her we were destined for the shop which Astrid loves, she carries her own basket and fills it with all sorts of odd Thai confectioneries, most of which I have to put back. We got dressed and headed out in the car. Lately Astrid has taken to rapping whilst I drive, something that can be equally endearing and annoying, based largely on the content she spits. Today was again a decent mixture of brilliance and pain but my mind was on other things.

All morning I had been racking my brain thinking of ways to accommodate the ‘two’s problem’. Solutions offered on the net cured only part of the ordeal and most insisted on remaining patient as it is only ‘a phase’. I couldn’t afford to wait, my covenant doesn’t allow for ‘everything will be fine in time’, a problem needed fixing… The answer was inevitably simple. To understand her I needed to heed at her pace, be a child with her, see things through her eyes, be a companion, a friend and do everything she says… It made for an incredible day. 

Once we arrived at the shops I decided to start my technique. I wouldn’t ask Astrid what she wanted to do or force her into a choice, I would simply follow her and do as she said. It took 15 minutes to get from the car park to the shop entrance, it should have taken 1. She studied certain car badges, “Daddy, this your car?”

“Nope” I’d reply

“This your car?”

“Nope”

“This your car? Robot at my party”. She began making robot noises and moving like a robot. I joined her. It lasted until she spotted toys in the entrance of the supermarket.

“Daddy, get my toys”, she hurriedly said as she rushed towards the store. Following, I was surprised by her awareness of other cars and the threat they posed - I didn’t have to intervene once as she dodged the obstacles to the toy department safely. We played with probably every toy in there for about an hour until she wanted to go elsewhere.  We briefly entertained the idea of actually shopping for groceries and things needed but settled for ice cream instead.

“Daddy I want to see flipping big golden Buddha?” asked Astrid once she had finished her ice cream. True to my word we moved on; it took a further 20 minutes to get back to the car due to various distractions, my favourite of which was Astrid talking to a small Thai boy about robots at her party which in turn lead to the three of us making robot noises and moves. The parents of the small boy were most confused but felt compelled to join in also. So the five of us just danced and made robot noises for a while.

The ‘flipping big golden Buddha’ Astrid made reference to is a landmark and tourist attraction just outside Pattaya. The Thais chopped a mountain in half and lazered a gold outline of Buddha -  it’s quite a bizarre spectacle but one of Astrid’s favourite places. Upon arrival she sang loud songs about Buddha and couldn’t wait to get out and make haste to the viewing field. I didn’t stop her. Watching as she made determined strides I realised that I was happy, really happy. A normal day with Astrid has about nine warnings before school – ‘put that soap down, NO, not that one, please sit down so I can put your socks on, SHOES, You’ve already had a yogurt, go to the toilet please, just have a piss!’ – today was simple, yes, going at her pace was neither convenient or productive but I was yet to regret failing to warn her about any of her actions; she was behaving amicably.

I figured I had solved parenting, solved ‘the twat year’. It was easy. Go at their pace, guide them without forcing situations, teach them morals in a way they understood, be a friend. I had learnt something from her today, this was a breakthrough and I was buoyed by its brilliance.

“Flipping Golden big Buddha Daddy… get my up?” she wanted me to get her to the top of the mountain. It was impossible, there were no steps or easy pathways and I had no climbing harnesses. I took her as far as civilians were allowed. “Golden Buddha, reach, reaccchhh”. Her arms stretched out, she pleaded with me to take her further. Who am I? - Mega Dad. What do I do? - I get it done.

I held Astrid as tight as I could and she clung on equally, I began to climb. It wasn’t easy, certainly with Astrid in tow, but I soon found my groove and before I knew it we were 200ft up – about half way. During the ascent Astrid sang songs of joy and I accompanied her when I could. Her face was the portrait of exuberance, a smile barely leaving her lips, a silence never fetching her lungs, we were one; father and daughter climbing the Buddha mountain.

As the sun went down we graced the summit and it was beautiful. Astrid was placid and as appreciative of the beauty as a sensitive teen. I on the other hand was knackered. The peak was kind and had a small shelf we could rest safely and I sat down to try and recover some energy- the view helped. We could see for miles around, the unique light omitted from a sunset illuminated the picture perfectly; it was stunning. We were in a stupor.

“Look Daddy, there’s Mummy.”

“Huh – What? Mummy?” I snapped from my trance. It was unlikely - however good Astrid’s eyesight was – the school was 30 miles from Buddha Mountain, but, it is my role to play along so I didn’t question her.

“Look, down there, Daddy, its Mummy, Daddy, down there, look!”

“Oh yeah, we’re so high” I’d play along.

Then, interrupting our tranquil scene was a familiar but exaggerated sound, the noise of helicopter rotors. This was exciting, as Astrid loves all things fly.

“Look Astrid, a helicopter!” lost in the clatter but yelled all the same. Astrid of course had spotted it and was turning in an animated flurry making certain I too was enjoying the scene. I didn’t dawn on me why it was so close to the mountain until the searchlight turned to us and fixed. I looked down and swarms of people, trucks and reporters had gathered in the car park. Where they there because of us? Oh.

I began to shout a plea of reassurance and innocence but it was no use, the chopper was too close and the rotors sucked up my voice. A search light from the ground then positioned itself on us from the right and soon after another from the left.  Shortly after a male voice overcame the chopper racket via a megaphone. It was in Thai and although my Thai has come on it isn’t yet good,  therefore the voice may as well have been talking duck. I needed to tell them everything was okay so I began to signal for the chopper to leave, after a while and a command from the megaphone man the chopper left – Astrid had fallen asleep. I began my plea.

The rest of the story I shall tell from the view of others as it makes more sense

Carolyn first heard of my ascent when a Thai member of staff ran into her classroom and breathlessly broke “Your husband, huh, huh, he’s on news, Buddha Mountain, he’s got hostage, climbing Buddha Mountain!” Carolyn found a TV set and tuned in. Sure enough there I was climbing the Mountain clutching on to Astrid. Carolyn as expected flung into action, burrowed the neighbours’ car and headed directly for us. She says she was petrified, “What the fuck is he doing? I’m gonna kill him” she screamed as she thumped everything.

Meanwhile whilst I was ignorantly ascending, a frenzy of activity was gathering in the car park below. Press arrived within minutes and began to tout the story as a hostage situation, as Carolyn saw. Soon they twisted it into a Terrorist attack recalling Taliban’s actions in Jordan. The army were called in, choppers were dispatched and a negotiator sent for. How I didn’t notice any of this I don’t know, I was concentrating on not dropping Astrid I suppose.

Carolyn arrived and bustled her way through the barricades to the negotiator, Thai authorities are scared of angry Western woman. She tried to explain I was her husband and it must be some kind of misunderstanding but it was no use. The negotiator didn’t speak much English and Carolyn’s Thai is worse than mine. When they noticed I was waving the chopper away they gave the order for it to leave and waited for me to speak. I gave my plea but it fell on deaf ears. Carolyn said she could just about make me out but the negotiator wouldn’t understand me if I was stood next to him let alone 400ft up a mountain, so he asked if anyone could translate. A young spunky reporter eager for a big scoop stepped up. He boasted of his three years at Sheffield University and was then given the Megaphone. He began:

“What your demands please?”

 I was able to hear him but they struggled to hear my replies and the reporter eager to encourage mayhem filled in the blanks. I will recite the negotiations here with what I actually said without brackets and what the reporter translated with brackets.

TRANSLATOR: “Your demands please?”

ME: “I have no demands!”

(I have plans)

TRANSLATOR: “Okay, what are your plans?”

ME: “I’m just going at my daughters pace today”

(I just need a Boeing to race away)

TRANSLATOR: “Jet is on its way, just give us girl”

ME: “I don’t know what your on about, this is my daughter”

(I could go by boat but I don’t like water)

TRANSLATOR: “Just stay calm, stay calm. Hand over girl and you get what you want”

ME: “I don’t want anything, THIS IS A MISUNDERSTANDING!”

(I’ll blow up everything, I’ll BLOW UP EVERYTHING!)

TRANSLATOR: “No, NO. We get jet, be calm. We on your side”

ME: “Its fine mate I don’t need a jet, this is my daughter, we fancied a climb”

(It’s my assignment; seize a jet, put you to slaughter, the perfect crime)

TRANSLATOR: “Please tell us what you want, why do this?”

ME: “I don’t understand…?”

(I only like dry land)

TRANSLATOR: “Ok, no boat, understood”

ME:  “Astrid! She wanted to climb up here, I am not a terrorist!”

(That’s it! We want to die up here. I am Scott the terrorist!)

TRANSLATOR: “NO, Scott, NO! Put girl down, nobody needs to die!”

ME: “Its alright! Nobody will die and we are safe. Who is SCOTT?”

(It happens tonight! Everybody will die for their faith. I AM SCOTT!)

Carolyn was on the ground trying to make sense of what was happening, she couldn’t quite hear me and was shocked by what the reporter was translating. Luckily at that point she remembered we both had a phone so she rang. “What the fucks are you saying to him! You’re not a terrorist, stop telling people your going to blow them up and leave on a jet plane. You’re going to get shot!” she screamed, confused. I myself was a bit taken aback “Oh um, Love, to be honest I don’t have a clue what’s going on. I got to the top and everybody started going mental”. I managed to calm her down and explain my situation and she explained to me what was being said on the ground.

Meanwhile the police snipers had taken aim and awaited orders to fire whilst a team  were dispatched to climb the other side of the mountain and snatch Astrid. I was obviously unaware of this but Carolyn could see the snipers and climbers, she knew I didn’t have long. She rushed and found the police chief. “Chief I have him on the phone, it’s a misunderstanding, talk to him!!” she panted. This saved my life.

“Who are you?” He spoke English thank God.

“I’m his wife, he’s on the phone, speak to him!” She handed him the phone and we spoke. He was angry but I was calm and reassured him of my innocence. I convinced him well enough so that the snipers didn’t fire and the climbers  even helped us down but he still  insisted I would be brought to justice for desecrating a sacred Buddha, he was ‘horrified by my actions’.

I was taken straight to the police station and interviewed. I told them the story I have told you - it didn’t wash, they were pissed, and now three or four more officers began to make threats. I was scared, were they actually going to beat me? Prosecute me? Put me in prison? Then as if a switch had been flicked the mood turned, I was free to go.

Carolyn had remembered a chat she had with a local a few nights before when she was told that if she was in trouble - money talked. She offered a bribe of 10,000 baht, which wasn’t acknowledged. She went higher and higher and reached 50,000 when the officers began to take note. That was all we had in the bank and she couldn’t go any higher but they wanted more. We were stumped. She then recalled something I had told her a month previous, “Thai’s just love plastic bags, more than anything!” Since we arrived we have kept every bag out of habit. In England you are told to recycle and scrimp but here they double bag for a hairclip! We have a cupboard at home filled with around 10,000 of all varieties. Out of desperation Carolyn offered the bags. They snapped it up. 50,000 baht plus 10,000 plastic bags confirmed my release.

Job done. I was free, I’d figured out parenting and became a minor celebrity (albeit a terrorist celebrity). Carolyn however didn’t see the positives as clearly as I.“You were only meant to go to the shop! What is wrong with you?!” I could only shrug and agree.

Case of the ‘terrible twos’ – Solved.   

Tale of the waving guard

Tuesday November the 1^st

Isn’t it strange that sometimes the most normal of actions can lead to the most absurd of outcomes. As I write this I am still unsure of my future but more certain than ever that I am just as strong and determined for the truth as I always have been, even if today was a bit of a pickle.

I will start from the beginning.

Waking today was normal - routine was sharp and with my house chores done I set about doing the weekly shop. Carolyn is ill at the moment and today she snuggled in bed absent from school. I told her my plans and she requested as many head ache pills and cough sweets as I could find. Off I went.

The normal action I mentioned above was that of a security guard working at the school. Now, I must explain that the school employ a security team of quite a few. There are four main entrance gates patrolled by one or two guards at a time with a roaming team of ten to fifteen taking care of the grounds. The place is well-guarded -whether any of them would know what to do in the case of any emergency is up for debate, I personally don’t want to find out. No. Any way, the back entrance I usually seize is taken care of by the same set of three men at different times. The guard in question of the normal action is the morning guy.

Since I’ve been here the school guards have taken great pride in saluting me. I don’t know why -  Thai’s traditionally greet people with a wai (hands together under the nose and a bow of the head exaggerated depending on status), but although the entire team is Thai they choose to salute everybody. No matter where I am if a guard spots me he/she will stop; place feet together, stand as if a broom handle has finally been inserted and put a hell of a lot of effort into a full-fingered salute. At first I was confused and thought maybe they were poking fun but I’ve since been told they are instructed to do that to make us feel - I don’t know – better.

I have grown fond of the salute, I enjoy mirroring their effort, and I think they appreciate that. However, in the last few weeks I have noticed one guard – the morning guy at the back entrance – has stopped saluting. At first I was happy with it, yeah, one guy, had enough of empty gestures, sticking it to the man, but recently it’s seemed out of place. Other guards still insist on 100% effort, is it fair that he doesn’t even bother? Something wasn’t quite right.

I don’t know whether it was the confidence from my recent quests or the four bottles of iced coffee I’d had with breakfast but today I followed the guard once his  shift ended. I had a few questions I needed to ask and he had a few answers I needed to hear (about what and what, I didn’t know, but my hunch needed dehunching).

His shift ended at 1pm, I knew this as my curiosity had stalked him for the last week. I had done the weekly shop and told Carolyn of my afternoon strategy. I always let her know my whereabouts in case events evolve beyond my control, she is very capable when calming a seemingly silly situation. I need that.

He left just after 1 o’clock on his moped, I followed keeping a fair distance. Tailing a suspect is difficult, tailing a suspect in Thailand is a different cow all together. Driving through a red light, undertaking, going the wrong way down a one way street, not wearing a seat belt, having passengers in the pick –up, having more than two on a motorbike, reversing up a dual carriageway and driving without a licence are all illegal and completely ignored here...  You need to be skilled at fitting into the scenery, blending with other vehicles, which in its self is hard as they are often used as tools of death. Weaving, maintaining balance, cuffed by potholes and sliding on the sand, yes, keeping wits and watch on a fugitive in Thailand can be a torturous affair.

We arrived (alive) at Beach Road via a few stops about 40 minutes past 1pm. It wasn’t obvious that he’d noticed my pursuit so I assumed he wasn’t aware of my voyeuristic presence. He greeted few peers on his way into what I would call a seedy bar. I’ve wiped the name from my memory but I’m sure it was called ‘The Slit Joint’ or something related.

I had to follow but before entering I hesitated. ‘ I can’t just waltz in there, that would blow my cover’... A plan grew. I had to utilise my strengths and I had to do it quick, the heat was cooling and I had no intention of letting him grease through my fingers. My experience in disguises made my decision easy, I needed to be an Italian Argentinean, fast.

Many people go overboard applying their camouflage where as I venture to the convenient. Why spend hours bleaching my skin, backcombing my hair, implanting breasts, shaving my eyebrows, piercing my ears, wearing a fake nose or swapping my fingernails when I could just put on an impeccable accent, squint my eyes and slant the corners of my mouth?

I entered ‘The Slit Joint’. The blacked out windows hid a sordid picture of twenty or so scarcely dressed women bopping to a beat so loud it nullified the tune. The girls were in the centre on a stage dancing around poles whilst a continuous seating area around the edge sat smatterings of old Western and Indian men groping ladies a third their age. This was no time for pleasure, I was here with a task and whilst the full extent of my mission wasn’t clear I was in disguise and had to consider what Diego (my Italian Argentinean alter-ego) would do. Turned out he loved it.

I conceived Diego three years back when stuck for work. I was on the dole and the pressure to find a job was hot. I wanted my next vocation to be something I would enjoy so I set about figuring out what would be perfect for me. Private Investigator. I have a way with accents and upon my interview for the role I decided to create an alter ego. The plan was to convince them of Diego’s credentials and then to reveal my true self at the end. I was sure this tactic would work, it did, a bit too well. Turned out they were impressed with Diego but didn’t see where I’d fit in.

Today Diego had evolved, so much so that once the transformation took place I was not in control of his thoughts or actions, he ran the show and he did that convincingly.

“Wha you wanna drink?” said the lady as Diego sat down and studied his surroundings.

“I tell you a what, why donta you get me a drink of bier, colda bier from your fridge, damn woman don’t make me a beg,” Diego slurred as he winked and brushed the ladies hand. The joint was surprisingly busy for the time of day but still, making a mental note of all the beings present proved no problem. To the left were two 60 year old plus Westerners (probably Russian) sat with four girls, opposite, five middle aged Indian men surrounded one poor women and to the right grouped the bar staff (all female) and the girls not dancing. On the stage the dancing girls did their best to attract the attention of the Russians as that was were the money was. No sign of the guard. Maybe he was in the toilet, patience was key.

“Thank you my a love, you do a your job a well, maybe too well.” Diego murmured as the lady passed him his beer. She sat beside him placing her hand on his leg, gently stroking getting closer to the groin as time went by.

“You stroka my leg like you tame the anaconda no? Damn, woman, you make my blooda boil and my crotch a poky.” He grabbed her face to look deep in her dark eyes, grew closer and in a midst of wild lust he whispered into her ear “Where is the man who came in before me?”

“You sexy man, I bang bang, big discount for you.”

“Damn woman don’t a you understanda? This man has a secrets, Where is he?” Diego pushed her head away, frustrated, where had he gone?

“Biiiig discount… You sexy, like bang bang?” The woman gabbed his hand and placed it on her chest and thrust her hips to his, Diego had no interest in this woman, his goal was the guard. It was clear she knew nothing.

“Listen a lady, I am not here for youra bang bang, please leave me with my, uh, how you say? Drink?” The lady smiled. “You very sexy man. Maybe I pay you?” Again Diego protested and refused, she left.

Something was a miss so Diego casually strolled the joint and looked for clues. He checked the toilets and even had a look in the rooms used for ‘extras’, there was no sign of him and after an hour of beers and sexual advances Diego had ran out of ideas. Aided by alcohol he decided to relax, this was after all his scene, maybe the guard would show up?

I’m ashamed to say Diego went wild, I can take no responsibility for what he did. The advances were no longer refused and he encouraged women with drinks and tips all perfectly lined with his Italian silver tongue. The reasons for being there were now distant, silly even, and Diego afforded himself a chuckle. “I’m here because that guard waved rather than saluted! I followed him because of a stupid WAVE! Ha, I’m a losing it!” By this time nine women, all performing acts of unspeakable delight, surrounded him, but Diego wanted what he didn’t have.

Sitting opposite a lady more elegant than the rest, taller and with larger breasts had smugly refused his advances all day, which in itself was odd. It was clear she was an experienced lady of the night and Diego knew he had his work cut out. He excused himself from his congregation and approached the mysterious lady.  Diego was a charmer, he was cheeky but courteous, always respected his surroundings whilst pulling out incredible wit. Girls fell at his feet, especially when they were prostitutes, but this woman was different. Did she have another client in waiting or did she simply not fancy a night with Diego?

“Well, I a noticed you a find it hard to a talk.” Diego said as he sat close next to her. She starred ahead, barely acknowledging him.

“That’s ok, I understand, it’s a tough to talk to a me, I’m sexy and a suave, you struggle, all girls do at first.” Still no response. Undeterred Diego grabbed her hand and angled his head so she had a face full of him.  “All the girls I a want to pay for the sex, I choose a youa. Why prick a needles in my heart? Why douse a my soul with a youra thunderous stare? We are a natural beings in the midst’s of love, lets a consolidate our existence.”

The lady contemplated and for the first time they shared a glance. Gripping his hand she whispered “I no sex with you!” It was like a weight lifted off her chest. “Oh I love youra voice, experienced and deep like the radio presenter. Oh woman, lovely lady of a my lustful dreams, share a my fury, bed with me” he pleaded. The lady gripped his hands firmly “ouch!” moaned Diego as he noticed the grip tightened. “You understand, no sex, but, I do…” She then made what is only known as a blowjob gesture. Before Diego could thumb up or down the lady had unzipped his shorts and began the process in full view of everybody. Diego paid no mind, he’d wanted this woman and a few spectators weren’t about to put him off. “My oh my, this is a fantastic, oh, your hands, a make my Willy look a small!”

“I have big hands” the lady muffled.

Few minutes later the transaction was done. Diego paid for his moment and set about leaving and heading home. He said goodbye to the ladies who had hosted his stay so well and reserved his longest farewell for the lady with the magic touch. As leaving the door he turned to her and waved, she returned the gesture. It stopped Diego in his tracks and he didn’t know why. He thought nothing of it and headed home.

I transformed back to myself. I was angry with Diego for what he had done but understanding all the same. Diego was single and sometimes that’s the price you pay for creating such a convincing alter ego.

To get home I decided to take the back roads, it had far less traffic and gave me a bit of time to think about the events of the day and what I was going to say to Carolyn. I got to the school and was greeted with the opening of the gate and a familiar salute. Damn. It started to make sense. A wave of clarity came over me. I stopped my bike, got off and let it fall to the floor. Sat, slumped I wondered if my clarity was ill conceived. No, it wasn’t !

Steps to the truth

One thing I have learnt in my years as an investigator is to accept probability. Today, maybe because of distractions in the bar detective work wasn’t my primary goal. I saw the guard go in, I didn’t see him come out and when I investigated I saw no route of escape or reason for it. Now, this means the guard was probably still there, probably.

I walked through my door at 7pm. Carolyn greeted me with her usual hug and kiss.

“How was today? Did you find the guard?”

“Sort of.” I said hesitantly. Carolyn knew instantly something wasn’t right.

“What’s wrong? Are you ok?” She offered her hand. I seized and inhaled a deep lungs worth of air.

“The guard gave me a blowie, well, not me, Diego, he, got, the..... blowie.”

“WHAT! Who’s Diego? What? What’s going on? Why? Who? Why?”

“Well, remember when I didn’t get that job because I pretended to be someone else? Well, I pretended to be him again to aid me in my case and he went completely out of control - before I knew it I was being serviced by what Diego thought was a lady but it turned out to be the guard, I think, yes, it was definitely the guard, her wave, it was the same, as you know, the guards wave, and the guard is a man, but also a convincing woman, very convincing, so I was, you know? Mouth raped by a lady boy?”

My hurried plea did nothing to calm the mood, Carolyn was beside herself with anger and my attempts at explaining the sticky mess were met with ground shuddering “FUCK OFF’s!”. Huh. Maybe I had taken my work too seriously, gone too far. Maybe this case was one where I was the whipping boy, the laughing stock, and an inexperienced rookie at the wrong end of a giggle. Carolyn certainly isn’t going to forgive me up any time soon, and who can blame her?

But I’m buoyant. Yes, by default I received a bit of lady boy loving but I’m a detective, I’ve taken one for ‘team justice’ and although this particular case will not go down as a fine piece of subtle investigation, it will be my greatest lesson ever learnt… Wont it?

Case of the waving guard – solved.

Shakespeare Tourettes

Sunday October 30th

The case of the missing cat peeled any hesitancy left in my mind. I pursue an eagerness for truth and a fulfilment of justice with bald bastard transparency. So far my time in Thailand has aided my call for guidance, I am free, I am here, I am willing to help and willing to solve.

Waking this morning was an ordeal as my sleep had been three short drunken hours. Still my responsibility outweighed any lingering thoughts of fun and Astrid did get her morning swim. The pool proved refreshing and to play with my daughter is a pleasure that can brighten the dirtiest of hangovers.

It was about 1 o’clock and I was just making thoughts of a sneaky afternoon nap. Carolyn and Astrid were playing hard and I felt my morning swim had earned me enough points to doze off uninterrupted for about 25 minutes. ‘I’ll give that a go’ I eagerly considered. Phone rings just as I’m about to drift off.

“Will, it’s Bob”. Bob was a Canadian war veteran (I assume) who moved to Thailand a few years ago. He had a Thai wife with which he ran his rental business and I have a truck and a moped rented from him at the moment.

“Bob…. How’s it going?”

“Good, listen, I need the truck, I need to tax it.” I knew this, He rang a month ago and told me the same thing but he never pursued it, just rang and told me he needed to do it. Today was obviously the day to tax.

“Cool, well when can we get that done?”

“I’m outside your school now!”

 I told him I’d be a minute. I liked Bob; he seemed a good man, spontaneous, in it for the right reasons, laid back and never too afraid to thrust a threat if needed.

Taxing took no more than 20 minutes and that is quick considering the Thai people love to take their time and fill in as many forms as are possible. Bob asked my plans for the afternoon. Being the ever adventurous man I pride myself on I replied by yawning “sleep”.

“Well, if you fancy it me and few of my buddies go to this open mic afternoon in East Pattaya just off the railway. It’s the only damn place I can find with any decent music.”

The music in Pattaya is horrible. There is plenty of it; most bars entertain but mainly with an out of tune Thai murdering an already hated song.  I’ve been here for almost three months and whilst my nights have been among the finest experienced, music has never attributed to that. So naturally I was intrigued, I knew Bob liked his music and judging by the posters (Pink Floyd, Clash, Jimi Hendrix) on his wall at his home, maybe this open mic gig wouldn’t be bad, fill my musical void? He gave me directions and times and I told him I might be there.

I was going. It started at 4pm so I had a few hours to knap, shower and prepare (with liquor). Upon hearing my plans Carolyn accepted my plea for her company and the three of us (Astrid included) set off to attend an open mic afternoon. What might we expect?

The room was dark, big and full of peeps. We arrived as a western man sat mid stage on a stool picking away at some ballad. I didn’t know the song but the 100 strong people in attendance didn’t make a sound and were obviously appreciative. I liked the atmosphere, in my experience it is so hard to find a venue and fill it with people who are there to enjoy the music rather than their own voices. The man continued to play, each song as well received as the previous. He was good. When he finished he spoke and introduced the night as compare. His name was Richard, I later got talking to him and he told me the origins of the event, borne from the same frustrations many music lovers may have living in Pattaya.

The afternoon progressed nicely, after Richard a poet held some pretentious readings, then a Thai comedian had a go. “They foun dead Israeli man in hotel room…… They suspect hummuside” was his funniest joke. He was followed by a band, then another band, then man with a guitar, then another poet, then a solo artist with a backing track, then a viola player, then boogie wodge on a piano. Diverse enough but I was still feeling more could be done and the alcohol had started to convince me I was the man for the job. I had put my name down at the start and had plans to either cover a classic and get the crowd going or do a funny song and hope they get the humour.

It was my time. “Can we have Milk on the stage please?” I was comfortable calling myself Milk at this point, which, means I was hammered. I took to the stage still unsure of what was best for the event. I wanted to present myself in a good light but had an unsurpassed urge to mess things up a bit. The performers had been so clinical and the audience so receptive, I/the beer wanted anarchy.

I started with a song of my own called ‘Husky Idea’; it is a favourite of Astrid’s and a nice little ditty but neither funny or that good to be honest. Still the crowd were happy with what was performed and greeted the ending as they had with all the previous acts – warmly. I didn’t want warm, warm frustrated me, and damn near pissed me off. I wanted boiling fucking hot, or freezing shitting cold, I wanted an extreme. After the generous applause calmed down I addressed the spectators.

“Ok, Ok, bit over the top eh?” Small chuckle. ”Right I’m thinking no matter what I do you guys will like it so I’m in the unusual position of considering what’s the best for me.” I deliberated. “Pssst, you.” Aiming the pssst at a drummer in one of the previous bands. “Do you mind coming up here and playing some beats?” before he could answer I introduced him to the crowd. He was clapped on stage giving me evils all the way to the kit. “Okay, drums, can you hit me with just a simple 4/4 hip hop Kinda funky thump?” It didn’t matter what beat he played I just wanted him to start, bide me a bit of time whilst I figured out what I was going to do. Surprisingly his beat was exactly what I had in my head, I filled it with a small guitar lick, and it was funk.

After a few bars I had to commit to something, sing or speak but my mind was blank. Then like a tide of certainty a flash of the unconscious burst through to spare my blushes. I have recently been studying literature, primarily Shakespeare and having been through his works with a fine comb my mind sought to regurgitate its finest parts. Brilliant. To the audience I beamed clearly.

“Thank you everybody, fantastic audience. I’m MC Shakesalot and this my band.” I allowed for a few more bars, then, began to rap with perfect clarity.

“Uh, uh, O, throw away the worser part of it, and live the purer with the other half. Good night: but go not to mine uncle’s bed; assume a virtue, if you have it not. That monster custom, who all sense doth eat, of habbits evil, is angel yet in this,-- That to the use of actions fair and good he likewise gives a frock or livery that aptly is mother fucking put on, uh.”

The audience were perplexed but tapping their feet. I could see Carolyn was clearly enjoying herself holding Astrid aloft. I then took advantage of another blast of inspiration.

“I would like to introduce my wife Carolyn, AKA Sue-tube. Sue-tube, get up here.” By this time Carolyn was as hammered as I and held no hesitation in joining me. I must tell you that Carolyn is an experienced performer and if you haven’t heard her sing before then let it be known she is good. Taking to the stage she grabbed the mic and belted straight in with a beautiful tune that complemented the guitar lick and beat. The lyrics varied but the general point of chorus was “You think you know Shakespeare, then let it be rapped in here.”

We were set. Astrid front row, Mother chorus, Father Rap master. We continued.

“ You dig Hamlet huh? There’s plenty more where that shit came from, huh, huh. Y’all wanna hear a little bit of A.M.S.N.D? Yeah? Yo, yo, check Lysander. I am my Lord, as well deriv’d as he, crinkled cut Golden Wonder, As well possess’d in my tight knight, love is more than his; My fortunes every way as fairly rank’d, if not with curdled rose fanny vintage, which is more than all these binocular bicep boasts can be, I am belov’d of that beauteous whore Hermia; uh, uh bring it in!”

Carolyn “T’was my Lord”

I “Is’t fair love, you faint with wandering in the wood; discharge, ass, and, to speak troth, I have forgotten our way; we’ll rest the fuck up, Hermia, shit, if you think it good, then tarry for the comfort of the mother fucking day.”

Carolyn “T’was my Lord”

I “O, take the sense, ripped Anglo dirt, sweet of my shit innocence; wrinkled spurge; Love makes the meaning in loves back passage, conference. I mean that my heart unto yours is knit like the egg suffering throat dancer.”

It got worse, my mind recalled fewer passages and my mouth replaced them with cuss words. The more I forgot, the more I swore. Shakespeare Tourettes. I managed to destroy parts from Hamlet, A Midsummer Nights Dream, Macbeth, The Tempest, As You Like It and The Taming of the Shrew, by which time the drummer had stopped due to sheer confusion. We lasted 15 minutes with him then dragged ourselves to a resolution once it was just the wife and I. On the whole the audience were baffled but a small smattering of younger people acted a little differently. They cheered enthusiastically and clapped generously, I gave them a knowing nod as we were ushered off stage. I think they liked it.

As it turned out we were asked back next week.

“Certainly something different and that’s why I started this.” Said Richard. “I mean, try not to be as drunk as that again, you scared a few of my regulars but by all means come back and give it a go.”

‘Give it a go!?’ Patronising sod! We just opened the genre ‘Shakespeare Tourettes’ to a world clearly in need of it. “Give it a go, pffft!’ I don’t think we’ll go back. As nice as it was to hear people play and to perform ourselves, my urge to mess things up and be the centre of attention doesn’t allow me to enjoy it. Maybe one day I’ll be able to sit and take pleasure from others and their unique skills but at the moment unless I’m bowled over my inclination is to do the bowling. Damn. Home and sleep followed.

Another fine day in Thailand and the case of the missing genre - solved.

The Missing Cat

October 26^th 2011

Blasted cat! It started whilst on route to the school restaurant, a reward poster with a grainy black and white picture of a missing black and white cat. The information was in Thai but the bit that mattered, the reward, was in bold ink - 10,000 baht (or £200 odd). A hefty payment for a seemingly simple task I considered. I wasn’t alone in my deliberating gaze to the poster; gap student George had a plan in motion. “Right, Will, I know your good at this sort of thing. We have to find this cat. 10,000 baht!’ He yelped as he jabbed his index at the deprived picture. “Sure, yeah, we can do that “ I shrugged. George sensed I wasn’t interested and the appeal waned. Little did he know, I had a little plan of my own.

This cat needed saving and the owners needed to know there was a man out there who cared and I did, deeply. Now I don’t like cats but I do like a mystery and this enigma was as odd it appeared simple. I had to consider the facts; cat – missing, owners – devastated, cat – black and white.…. I needed more facts. Where did it go missing? Where do the owners live? How long has it been missing? What is the cat’s name? I gave the number on the poster a call.

“Hewo” A woman answered.

“Oh Hi, My name is Will, I’ve seen you’ve lost your cat, I’m ringing to gather information so I have a better chance of finding it for you.”

“Wha’, you foun Ginger?”

“No, no, I haven’t fou

“You foun Ginger!!!! WHERE, WHERE?

“NO! I haven’t found Ginger!”

“Then why you call?”

“I’ve called for more information to assist with my investigation.”

“Wha? Where my cat? Why tell you got Ginger? You waste time!”

She hung up. The phone call didn’t go as planned and her manner was curious but I did gather the cats name, which, in itself was odd. Ginger? The cat in the photo was black and white, are the Thai’s that funny? I called my Husky Comb over but do Thai pet owners also have this streak of irony? I shall have to see.

I slept on the facts and awoke this morning with renewed optimism about the case. I decided I was going to split the reward money with whichever gap student offered the cheapest babysitting rates. Money has never driven me but the quest for truth, now that’s worth solving shit for.

I gave the number a call again around 9am. This time a man answered the phone, he was British and filled me in with details I needed. He explained that he didn’t really give a shit but his wife, the woman I spoke to yesterday, was suicidal. The moggie had been missing for 2 weeks and he knew that probably meant Ginger was dead, but, he said he’d pay the reward even if I found him dead as it would bring his wife closure. They lived about a kilometre away from the school and she had plastered nearly every street lamp and telephone pole with the same grainy poster. I headed over to close proximity of their home. They lived in a nice isolated house near a small pond. I had a look around but no clues. I foraged for an hour and was about to leave when a man approached. He was smaller than I both in height and build but walked with the confidence of a giant. He was in his 40’s and looked fit with still a full head of bright red hair and a day or two of stubble.

“Alright mate, You English?” He barked in an unmistakable cockney slur.

“Um yeah” I replied, a bit unsure of whom he was. It wasn’t the man who I spoke to on the phone, the accent wasn’t right.

“What you doin’ in these bushes mate? There’s fuck off snakes in there!”

“Shit! Is there?” I exclaimed as I casually marched towards the road.

“Fuckin’ Mental! What yer looking for? You been in there for ages I’ve been watching yous from my windah, mad bastard. Surprised you aint been bit already.” He said checking my legs as I made my way from the bush.

“I’m looking for a cat”

“What their cat!” He said as he pointed to the owners’ house.

“I believe so………Ginger. “

“Who you calling Ginger you little twat! You may be younger but I swear I’ll thump yer one!......”  He stared in anger, clenching his fists.

“That’s the name of the cat,” I said trying to calm him. His fists still poised he continued to stare, unmoved by my plea. A minute later and not a word noted he blinked, lowered his fists and turned.

“Even in fucking death that cat mocks me.” He whispered as he faced his house.

I was confused but aroused, this man knew something. I let him calm down then approached and said calmly “where’s the cat?”

He slumped his shoulders, let out a sigh and confessed-

“It started three years ago, we were best friends, like family. As ya can see we’re neighbours and we arrived a few months apart and ‘ad good ol’ times. Then they wanted to extend their house, fine I thought, why not. They did and if you look over there you can see they did a good job. Whatd’ya reckon?”

“Um yeah, it’s a nice house”

“That’s because I did the job didn’t I?.... Blood sweat and tears went into that build and I did it all for next to nothing, BANG! Know what I mean?... Things were fine, we went round for the unveil and they toasted me. Soon though, the invites stopped and I ‘eard through other mates that I wasn’t welcome there no more. That’s a bit off I thought so I went round there, they turned me away, no explanation…….”

“Why”

“As I just said kid, no explanation…. I went mad, after all I’d done for them and they just toss me aside……….. So a neighbourly war kicked off, I’d put shit in their letterbox, they’d poison our water supply, that sort of thing…. Then they went too far, they did somthin’ sick.”

“What”

“They got three kittens and named them Cockney, Ginger and Twat.”

I nearly died of inside laughter when he told me this but he was a hot head so I couldn’t let on. I tried to talk but I knew if I did I’d laugh so I just put an arm round him and looked sympathetic.

“A year and a half I’ve had to put up with them shouting ‘cockney ginger twat’ or ‘twat cockney ginger’ or ‘ginger twat cockney’. I could put up with the cockney twat but when people call me ginger I lose my mind, I’m not even Scottish, know what I mean?”

This was brilliant, I mean really cruel that a man could be so traumatised by something that blighted him so, but Cockney, Ginger and Twat, names for their cats, that was brilliant. Still I had a case that needed a solution and the ginger cockney twat was close to a confession.

“I couldn’t retaliate, they’d won. Or so I let them think. I’d leave ‘em to it all time, every night hearing the calls, I stayed calm and waited until things blew over. Then a month ago they stopped shouting the names. They came round, I invited them in and they apologised for what they had done. I accepted the handshake and off they went thinking we’d wiped the slate clean. They thought they won BANG, know what I mean? So I waited two weeks, things were pleasant but no one calls me ginger for that long and gets away with it, know what I mean?”

“What did you do?” I asked, feeling better about smiling.

“I abducted Ginger and drowned him in their water supply barrel! Ha, Fucking BANG, know what I fucking mean! He’s still in there, he must be. They’re running round looking for their precious and all the while THEY’RE FUCKING DRINKING HIM! Hoot shit that feels good.”

I was opened mouthed but cool, this was an astonishing tale and something I doubt I’ll ever come across again but the man was mad and volatile so I had to make an acute decision and tell him my plans. I turned to him and grew. My chest puffed out and my smile morphed into a frown, I started

“Right, I need my reward so I’m off to tell your old buddy’s what you did to their cat. You’ve probably poisoned them also but expect the police either way. I’m unsure as to why the relationship between you broke down and I will try to find out but this war went to far from the start. I suggest yo”

“I don’t give a shit if you tell em kid, that’s the whole fuckin’ point innit?”

He turned and skipped away back to his house, he was singing, I couldn’t make out which song but it was joyful. He didn’t turn back, it appeared he was ready for the consequences; in fact it seemed he revelled in them. Was it in his plans to suffer the penalty for such a cruel act? Who knows?

I knocked the door

“Hello we spoke earlier about your cat.”

He was a small man, older than the cockney and had a full head of white hair. He had a soft Yorkshire accent, looked fit and could well of been older than his appearance suggested. Thankfully his wife wasn’t in, so he politely showed me to the kitchen and offered me some water, I commenced with the tale…….

“…………..So if what I’ve just been told is correct your cat is in your water barrel.” I said gingerly.

He reacted the way you’d expect, like I did. He gawped. Sat there open mouthed he replayed the story through his mind; I could see it wasn’t adding up.

“Why would he do that?” He finally managed to blurt out, expecting me to have an inside clue. I had nothing. From the outside it was a mad tale and I expected this man to maybe shed some light on his neighbours actions, he didn’t. He was shocked. I decided to dig and go back to the start of their falling out.

“So why fall out in the first place? He says he built your extension, were you unhappy with the job?”

“No far from it, the job was good and he hardly charged us a penny, we are eternally grateful but…”

“But what?”

“He was dirty”

“Dirty? How so?” I probed.

“Well, before he did the job we had nothing against him, he was a bit weird but who isn’t? Then when the build commenced I started to notice that every day he’d take a trip our pond and take a dump. Every day. He pissed in there also. My wife found him one day and he acted as if it was normal. I just couldn’t see past it, I couldn’t bear the sight of him, he was dirty.”

“So you fell out because he shat in your pond?”

“Yes. By the time the work was done there was a mound of shit gathered to the side and I had to clean it up, he is sick. So I just stopped speaking to him or inviting him round…….. The job he did was great but I had to clean up his shit, you understand?”

I understood.

“Then because of our distant stance we started receiving parcels of shit through the door!”

What!

“I had to retaliate. We tried pissing in his water supply barrel but that was met with more shit so we bided our time. I remembered he had told us he hated being called ginger so we brought three kittens and called them Cockney, Ginger and Twat!” He afforded a smile, as did I. “Every night we’d call out for the cats and made sure he heard. It was subtle but really got under his skin. We didn’t bore of that too soon let me tell you. The parcels of shit stopped and we gathered he’d given up. We continued our fun for a while but we began to feel bad so we stopped and a couple of weeks ago offered him an olive branch, which, he accepted. When Ginger disappeared I didn’t think once to suspect him, I thought our duel had ended, I thought he was ok again, I’d almost forgotten about the parcels of shit!”

Head in hands the man was in utter disbelief. As was I, what a pickle this had evolved into. I asked him where the water barrel was, he showed me. Lifting the lid I noticed the stench immediately, even submerged in water a dead cat stinks. I fucking hate cats.

He handled the situation perfectly, taking Ginger from the water he marched with great determination and vigour to his neighbour’s house and damn near beat him to death with the rotting corpse! The cockney took the beating, half expecting it. Did he learn his lesson? Maybe not to drown cats but even then he still loves to shit in public, which is weird.

I got my 10,000 baht and was even invited back for a beer once his wife had come to terms with the events. Would she be able to? Who knows? At least she still had Cockney and Twat to play with I suppose.

Another fine day in Thailand and the case of the missing cat – solved.