75 days later

It has been quite a while since I swallowed the lump in my throat as the plane landed on the hazy Bangkok runway, when I sweated at customs praying that they would not ask what my specific intentions were for visiting the country, that IT WOULDN'T BE TO WORK, WOULD IT?

My enthusiasm for noodles has not guttered, though I know what I like, and I know I don't like the thick gloopy ones that all stick together in a shiny brown "gravy" goo. I could eat noodles all day, even just one long noodle, a day-long noodle.

I'd say I've got more streetwise, as in I look where I'm going so I don't fall into huge holes or fight battles with cranky dogs. And I tend not to walk under electric cables.

I miss ale, but I have fresh coconut.

I miss pubs, but I have bamboo huts by the river.

I miss Norwich, Leeds, Brighton, Bristol, Stroud (for the autumn smells), London (ya cunt), I miss watching reruns of Mighty Boosh under a blanket with a mug of brown tea after a chilly walk through a muddy field. And by gum do I miss the mass unemployment, the seething hatred of the establishment, I miss the fight fight fight!

But I found a punk show, a tiny room full of Thai boys with 3-foot long mohawks and studs all over everything, jumping around like bingo balls in their DMs. I got some excellent bruises from dancing (shoving and getting shoved about), and I let out all that pent up energy that comes from walking pretty and talking about yoga, noodles, and how cheap coconuts are.

I think I have found a nice balance of activities to keep me sane here for a while, ie sipping wine at the Riverside vs not going anywhere near or even climbing inside abandoned buildings; chatting Chekov at book swaps vs. howling along the street in Critical Mass.

I may be here until March 2013. So book yr tickets, mai?