‘You know when you’ve been Thatchered’

I’ve been pretty busy of late looking after my terminally ill wife during the day and working at night.  I’m starting to think she may have caught something from my pee.

I’ve started a job as a waiter at night times, it was originally to keep myself busy while Holly was doing her dive course.  I didn’t really think I would get work so easily so I started immediately and have been working every night for pretty much pennies. 

The way I look at it is, what else would I be doing between 6 and 12 at night apart from spending money and getting drunk in some bar.  I might as well offset that with a little bit of money, a free meal and free drinks.  I don’t know if you’re aware but it is illegal for me to work here so you always have to be on the lookout for the polis.  Although I’m getting paid hee haw, the thais get even less and work harder hours than the Farangs.  It has to be said though, the amount of nationalities that come through the door are hard enough for me to deal with and English is my first language so I don’t think it would work too well with the Thais front of house in this place. 

If they had such lax laws at home I think it would be a much better place.  In the UK you need a licence to fart and even then you have to specify which type, silent but violent, eggy and runnin’ doon’ the leggy or at the very worst throwing your boxers out of the bathroom window!  I think all the controversy started with Tango and Shell Suits. 

A bold Statement I know but please give your protagonist a minute to explain.

When I was young there was outrage and uproar about the wearing of a shell suit (google it if you’re under 20) in the vicinity of a radiator to the point that we had to change how the school assembly was laid out.  We all sat on the floor you see and if you were near the sides then you were of course, near the radiators and if you were unfortunate then you would self combust and it would be an investigative matter for Mulder, Scully and probably Jimmy Saville. 

I was rocking a JJB Sports or a Naff Co number at this point, as were most of my cohort’s pre 1990 and we liked to ‘lean’, just like in Grease when the T-Birds are wearing their leather jackets, look closely, they are always leaning.  I guess it’s just a thing guys in cool outfits do! 

So, the shell suit thing already gave me an idea of how the world was turning.  Thatcher had already taken the free milk away from the classroom but that didn’t bother me and now I come to think of it, that may be the reason I’m barely pushing 5’6”.  Actually fuck you Thatcher, I always thought you were OK cos’ you made me last that extra minute or two but now it’s game over. 

Some years later there was the issue with Tango, not only a spirited dance but an orange flavoured beverage favoured by the youth of Scotland back in the day.  They had an advertising campaign that stated ‘You know when you’ve been Tango’d’ and you certainly did as unsuspecting children were slapped directly on both ear drums by all and sundry followed by a ringing in your ears and a faint ‘Tangoooooooo’d’ from every kid in the playground.  The press went bananas over all this, which in my opinion should have made them bring out a banana flavour and the act replaced with throwing bananas at folk but, as controversial as that is, the racists had already used that one I suppose.  Back on topic, the world is crazy!  As much as I love home I really don’t like the way the government are getting new money for old rope with all the new exercises in licensing laws and the like.  The whole world looks like it’s falling apart and that’s the main reason I wanted to escape.  While I’m here all I see on the news is ‘Iffy Cairo’, earthquakes in New Zealand and the cost of everything going up so the recession will hit even harder.  Too depressing for this blog.  D.U.N – Done.

Last night I made a wee mistake with the Thai lady manager/chef and she took the complete nip with me.  There are certain boundaries that Thai people have,  like touching their heads, showing the soles of your feet or slagging off the royal family.  It’s basically the equivalent of calling someone’s newborn baby a prick…you just don’t do it!  Anyway, the lady in question has a boyfriend, a big Swedish lad I think that looks like he would split her in half.  My boss commented that she was walking funny, maybe because she was tired or even drunk. That one flew until I commented that it may be due to the extraordinary (as in, not ordinary for her 5’ frame) girth that her muscle bound partner no doubt had and then done my best John Wayne impression. 

She didn’t really get the comment until I performed ‘the walk’ and then once it sank in, all hell broke loose.  Menu’s flying everywhere and crying in the toilets and the like.  I’m pretty used to mad lassies as I’m sure you can imagine but this one just wouldn’t accept my apology then when she did she got drunk and let loose her vendetta once again, although this time usually with her Hulk of a boyfriend in tow.  I was already in a mood from the horrendous patter coming from some English guy whose birthday it was so arguing or scrapping wasn’t an issue (especially as I had met an American Marine with the frame of a smart car 5 minutes prior). 

To be fair, he brought some persons to the bar but my instant impression was that I would like to take a bar to his person.  The island is full of these types, you see more species’ of, for want of a better word…’shite’ guys on this island than you see of fish in the reef. 

You get the just turned 18 traveler types who are as high on buckets as they are on daddy’s money, the slightly more refined travelers who are here to dive (they just can’t put ‘Scuba Muff’ on the signs), the ladies men/model types who come here to work on their tan and cunnilingus before returning to London Town looking like the opposite of their paler peers.  Now, imagine all these types, from all corners of the world and all the shades of tan in between and then think about the worst. 

The most refined, the consummate gentleman, the educated and the over 30 but not quite 40 specimen.  He spends his days at the beach competing in team sports, draping his manhood over his shoulders and if that’s not enough there’s always a gym workout to sweat out last nights decadence and tone up their last Christmas dinner.  To me these guys are the worst; how they can spend so long here is beyond me…actually it’s not.  These guys get laid every night, swap numbers, facebooks and emails then converse at board meetings after fat free dinners flaunting photos and swapping sex manuals.  Maybe I just don’t like them because they have no interest in talking to me (a wee hint of boob but just a bit too much boab) as I’m the only married man under 30 on the whole island.  I can’t really hold it against them though, I imagine the winter of their youth has been more fun than my actual youth was and as everyone knows…men get better looking with age and chicks just dig an older guy.

Before I talk myself into divorce and a career in Beach volleyball I’d better change the subject.  Sleeping has been a bit better, still sweaty as always but you can buy Valium over the counter here for 10p so if you’re really struggling, like I was last night, then it’s an easy option.  That stuff gives you crazy dreams though. 

I woke up feeling like Allen Ginsberg but less gay.  Or maybe not actually, I just remembered that I was dreaming about being hugged by Manta Rays, but they had heads like angels with dreadlocks!  That’s pretty lavender I suppose but by no means the strangest of the dreams I’ve had of late.

That was a 15 minute brain fart and I need to start work now.

Adios.