I’m sure you’ve heard dodgy stories about toilets in Thailand. Yes, they are porcelain holes in the ground. That I can deal with. It’s the lack of toilet-tissue I have problems with. Because their sewer system can’t handle solid matter other than the obvious, they supply the user with a hose fixed to the wall beside the unit and the rest, my friends, is up to your hands and your imagination. A nation of drip-driers who most likely go commando? I thought it rude to ask.
That was all well and good until TAT and I visited a bamboo tattoo studio on our penultimate day and spent the whole day being tapped to death, but that’s for another post. The bog in that place was the weirdest of all. A tiny cubicle, no hose, no toilet paper, just a bricked-up shower cubicle, an enormous spider skulking the doorframe, and a huge batik wall hanging depicting Metallica crossing over through the doorways of hell. It was all very charming until I realised a day too late that this bathroom was also E-coli heaven.
Yes, poor K8 the Gr8 spent the entire 22 hour flight home with crossed legs and crossed eyebrows and curled toes, praying teary-eyed at regular intervals for the seat-belt sign to be switched off, and convincing perplexed airline staff that peeing during take-off and rough turbulence is easy-peasy. Bloody Nazis and their safety regimes.
So, other than the fact that it’s sunny in Ireland for a change and it’s a crime to spend time indoors on blogs, this here website has been quite quiet. Sorry about that. Normal stories of deep-fried maggots, strange tattoos and Ladyboys will resume shortly, as well as a wee anecdote about how I was propositioned by a lesbian hooker if you’re very very good.
In the meantime, here’s a dodgy photo just begging for a caption;