Open Writing

One Baby or Two, Sir?

Well, hello again.

We got up to Valentine's night, did we not? This we spent at a corny Italian restaurant in Banglampou, eating a hybrid mix of Thai and Italian nosh, very nice.

I didn't have a Valentine's battering ram to bear aloft, so Yves got me a mini jewellery box, shaped and coloured like a large strawberry, so I was appeased.

Eva then went to an internet cafe, and we two set out to take the half hour walk home. On exiting the restaurant we were met by what felt like a solid wall of hot moist air. The hundreds of street vendors were still in full swing at 11.30pm. We fought our way through the flower and fish market. A few stalls had closed and some stall owners had nodded off on their counters, but otherwise it was business as usual.

As we declined the services of sundry drivers of tuk tuks (weird little three-wheeled taxis with open sides and gorgeous fairy lights) and hopped up and down the enormously high kerbs, we both agreed that we were having a wonderful time.

Eva looked in on us on her return to make sure that we hadn't got lost, and all went to bye byes.

Next morning we sallied forth to Dusit Park, the centre of Thai officialdom,and visited Vimanmek Mansion, a teak palace. The security was unbelievable, guards and soldiers everywhere. We were herded into little groups by determined guides. Eva and I donned our temple shirts. Yves had to wear a bright blue sarong with a fish design as he was wearing shorts! Yes, we have photos.

'Come here,' said the soldiers. 'Stay there,' said the guards. 'Put all in locker,even water,' said the scary lady guides. With guns only inches away, we didn't argue. We got chivvied round the Mansion - which looks very like our Royal Pavilion - and out again at top speed. Then we found the Abhisek Throne Hall, (again heavy security), which is magnificent and richly ornamented with soaring, painted ceilings. The Hall was constructed by an Italian whose name is very similar to my maiden name. I wonder.

The Throne itself was a bit of a surprise, quite small and nearly lost in the colossal Hall.

It was so boiling hot, and so strictly controlled, that we decided to leave the Park for the moment. Yves talked to one of the security men, who explained that during Jacques Chirac's visit on the following Friday, he would be having lunch with the King in the Royal Palace, which is next door to the Mansion. Aha, we now understood.

We knew Chirac was coming, as a policeman told us when we visited the Grand Palace, and Yves got very excited about this. The French flag has to fly for 17 days prior to such a visit, and for three days after. There were, alongside many of the enormous portraits of the King which adorn the city, a fair amount of portraits of Mr and Mrs Chirac beaming down at us.

We then caught a river boat to visit Wat Po, the famous temple which incorporates a traditional medicine centre and the renowned Institue of Massage. Eva and I decided to have reflexology, Yves a Thai massage. The reflexologist shrieked when she saw all my inflamed mosquito bites and tried to count them, but there were too many. She then proceeded to viciously punch and pummel my calves, with fists and a wooden implement, smiling sweetly and cooing throughout.

I could hear Yves guffawing, and his masseuse was laughing. On exiting we asked what was going on. He explained that the masseuse was much taken with the rotundity of his stomach, drawing the attention of a fellow masseuse to it.

'May we touch it?'

'Of course!'

'Are you waiting for a baby?'

'No, no,' was the reply, 'I am waiting for two babies!'

'Why, would you like a baby? I can help!'

More shrieks, then they said, 'How many children do you have?'

'I have three.'

'And how many wives?'

'Er - one.'

'No, no, is not possible. A man like you should have three wives....!'

Eva and I found this very funny. Eva said that Thai men are allowed a major and a minor wife. If the official wife is busy, she gives her blessing to a minor wife, who can help out..... Good God, I can see that catching on at home.

Yves was happy. Apparently she couldn't stop rubbing his tum while doing her stuff. We decided he'd had enough excitement for one day, and caught a boat home, back to the In Love Restaurant.

I was nodding off, as I had had very little sleep due to nasty mosquito bites, and was looking forward to bed - when disaster struck. Eva read out a text from Lou: 'Phone Barclays fraud number,urgent.'

We hotfooted it back as fast as the humid heat allowed. Eva whizzed to the Seven Eleven to get a phonecard. The first phone was hopeless. Much swearing. The second phone was no better. An American tried for us, using every number combination he could think of. We tried using 0, tried leaving it out, tried 89, tried 98. No good.

Back to Tavee's where we asked reception, 'Is this phone OK for England?'

But she was very sorry, she no have. Phone was broken. Hmm hmmm hmm.

'What about your internet cafe nearby?'

'Yes yes yes, is good.'

We left Yves in the care of Cooper, an American guest and told him to entertain him while we hurtled next door to the cafe, through the massage parlour, through the back and landed up in the restaurant of Tavee's second guest house.

'Can we use the internet phone for England?'

Puzzled looks all round, 'No, no, we no have.'

Hell! Back to Tavee's. Then Eva zoomed out to catch a taxi to Banglampou. She knew of an internet phone cafe there. She would call Barclays and tell them to call me on Tavee's normal phone.

This, Barclays did 20 minutes later.

'Hi, can I take you through security? Yes, yes, yes, that's fine.'

'Eh? Is that all? Where's the fraud bit? ID theft, etc?'

'There isn't any fraud. Just checking because there are lots of cards in Bangkok at the moment.'

'So that's why I had trouble using my card today; you blocked it. But I phoned Barclays ages ago to tell them I'd be in Thailand. The chap told me they couldn't put a marker on it, which I found strange. I did ask him to make a note of it!'

'Er, oh dear, I'm sorry. You were misinformed. We can mark debit cards. He should have done it. Oh dear.......'

Ggrrr and boo to Barclays. Night night.