Sexytainment

After work on Saturday, which was a painful morning of attempting to throttle out even a grunt in English followed by an afternoon of pretending to be tigers and bears with 6 year olds, I song teawed it to Wororot Market, the one sandwiched between Chinatown and the river. It seemed everyone was closing up their stalls as I walked through, but I managed to try a steaming hot completely delicious banana with sticky rice wrapped in palm leaf, grilled to perfect sweetness and chewy texture. Sticky fingers on the street, I walked past stores selling incence, flowers and chillis in bulk, others hawking terrible frilly shirts size 6 only, "no try on." I found a barbeque on wheels setting up, and I haven't been so adventurous with scary-looking food (see reaction to fried bugs, previous), so I ordered a tiny white squid on a stick. It had a surprising inner texture of fresh mucous, and the outer flesh was a kind of edible fish rubber. I ate its crispy little tentacles and threw the rest away. Meanwhile, as I endured this experience, it was getting dark. The streets I had only just walked down, looking urgently for work clothes before they shut, were lit up and full of new vendors. I'm sure I walked the same four streets at least twice, they were changed each time. Cheap tat for miles, gaudy, colourful and glittering. I saw a man set up his stall by pouring out a bucket of enourmous plastic jewelled rings onto a cloth and spreading them out a bit.

I got some coconut juice, which made me suddenly in love as I looked over the bridge of the Mae Ping, seeing the bank lit up by tiny hanging lamps in the trees. There was even a clear sky. The taxi drove me back home the long way, down a dark winding road of bowing palm leaves hanging over garden walls, with the occasional light from a bar made of corrugated iron, plastic canvas and bamboo poles all roped together.

If you are reading this then we definately love each other.