During my 2 week break from the blog while touring Thailand, I received 12 death threats from fanatical fans for my failure to update it. 12 Death threats, that’s pretty cool. When reflecting on the tour that was, there are many words/phrases that spring to mind, the forefront of which being… tumultuous, sordid, crap, shit, Thai security guards are deranged, kill all Monkeys now, kill me now.
There were many ‘highlights’, among them:
One night, the Swiss Miss thought it would be a great idea for she and I to take a midnight dip in the pool. It’s an ok idea I thought, but not a great idea. Anyway, I didn’t see the sign saying ‘Anyone caught enjoying a midnight dip in the pool will be savagely clubbed to death with a baton by security’. I wasn’t quite clubbed to death, but he smacked me good in the jaw and leg, the latter cracking my Tibia. Have you ever been beaten with a baton? Don’t, it really fucking hurts. LESSON: Don’t ever assume that a deranged lunatic with a baton won’t savagely beat you with it if he has absolutely no reason to… he will. Don’t speak. Don’t collect your belongings. Just run. I can still hear the crunching sound of the baton as it severed my skull and the scurrying footsteps of the Swiss Miss as she cruelly abandoned me for safety. With my last ounce of strength I waved my fist at her… Curse you Swiss Bitch, curse you.
One day I was attacked by wild Monkeys. I love animals more than anyone, but these were not animals. They were savage beasts, products of the mass tourism factory that is Thailand. I can still hear the humiliating laughter of the monkeys as they feasted on my body, my face grimacing in pain, tears streaming down my cheeks, interested on lookers filming and photographing my ordeal.
One night my drink was spiked. This left a 4 hour blank spot in my night and the days that followed saw me nudge ever so closer to the brink. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t raped because the last time I was raped I knew straight away.
Exploiting my pain
Many people have been exploiting my ordeal and humiliating me since my return. Colleagues have been emailing me pictures of monkeys with guns and stuff. Yesterday after returning from a meeting, I found my desktop picture had been replaced with a monkey peering back at me. They laughed. I cried. The more I cried the more they laughed, until the whole studio came over to see what was causing the commotion and I scuttled away in tears. Adrienne was the showstopper though, she left a dead monkey in my bed.
These stories are not embellished, for they need no embellishment (except the part about the dead monkey in my bed. In reality I told my stories to Adrienne, she gave a nonchalant laugh and went back to preparing her lunch in the kitchen… ‘A hug would be nice’, I said. She pretended not to hear). Although my body is now safely back in London, up here (pointing to head), I’m still there (pointing to Thailand). The nightmare continues. In light of this, I have decided to end it all. To top myself. To close my account. I’ll be having a farewell party this Friday at The Cambridge where I will regale the sordid tales one last time before taking my own life in spectacular fashion, right before everyone eyes. Then, and only then, will the laughter will stop.