Steaming Heathen

On occasion I have been known to spontaneously morph into ‘The Tin-spector’. I will undergo a technical can-alysis of containers accommodating extra special wrong-life foods.

Product Name:  Fermented Mustard Green

Manufacturer:  Pigeon Brand

RRP: £0.65p

Weight: 140g

Best Before Date: 11th March 2014

Address of Purchase:  Thai Market, 7 Brewhouse Yard, Gravesend, Kent,  DA12 2EJ

TASTE CHALLENGE

Now, Wood Pigeon is a firm favourite of mine and I was lusting over a good old gnaw on a tiny bird’s limb.  Furious and in disbelief, I had opened my purse to discover an insufficient amount of guineas upon arrival at the Asian boutique.   Luckily I’m quick on my feet and opted for what I was certain to  be the next best thing: ‘Pigeon Brand’s – Fermented Mustard Green’.  “This must be Squab”, I confidently thought to myself and after managing to prize open my infamously tight fists, I handed the chirpy, pint-sized  gent 65 pence and gleefully exited the establishment.

To be honest, the whole ‘Fermented Mustard Green’ vibe had baffled me a little but I trusted my gut.  Expecting at least a neat portion of Pigeon carcass, my mood sunk way below average when all that lay within the walls of the alloy compound was a wilted, browny-green, miniature lettuce type phenomenon.  I popped the leafy duo out and embraced the pea-like whiff.  I wounded the veg with my pearly whites, but the sudden realisation that the rank object I was suckling on did not belong inside a mortals gob, immediately dawned.

Pre-consumption Fear: 4/10

Post-consumption Well-being: 10/10

Aftertaste: 6/10

General Misconception: 5/10

Repeat Purchase: 3/10

On occasion I have been known to spontaneously morph into ‘The Tin-spector’. I will undergo a technical can-alysis of containers accommodating extra special wrong-life foods.

Product Names:  

Sainsbury’s Basics – Meat Paste

Pigeon Brand – Fermented Mixed Vegetables

Drosed – Luncheon Turkey (Turkey Bacon Flavor)

Winiary – Danie W 5Minut (instant mash potato with peas & carrots)

Winiary – Rosół Z Kury  (Chicken Broth)

RRP:  Total combined meal price : £3.09

TASTE CHALLENGE

I’m absolutely riddled with yuletide merriment.  It’s Christmas and I’m deeply hungered.  For me, the big day is usually spent feasting on a festive banquet, but boy oh boy, this year things are a hell of a lot different.

In desperation, for a good week now, I’ve been trying to wean myself off tinned produce.  My strict long-life diet has had an awful adverse effect on my digestive system and I simply cannot consume any grub that hasn’t been perched on a shelf for years, prior to being shoveled into my kisser.  The most common consequence (if you must know) is a powerful, high-pressured, brown tsunami.

So against my will, this annual supper I’ve been forced to dine alone, companionless, in solitary, a holiday hermit.  Scouring the pantry with my remaining good eye, I smoked out and assembled a wholesome medley of international cuisine to nosh into (listed above).

The Entrée

Traditionally in my household, the starter consists of prawn cocktail (shrimp salad – for my brothers across the pond) or paté on toast.  Luckily I managed to pick up some good quality Sainsbury’s Basics Meat Paste as a substitute, unable to locate canned toasted bread though, I used the ‘double phalange – dunk, scoop ‘n’ gag’ technique (pioneered by yours truly).  Initially I retched a little on the rank flesh relish, but eventually I managed to go the whole nine yards and thrust the dregs down my deep oesophagus.

Meat & Two Veg

Excluding the tried and trusted ‘Pigeon Brand’ for my Fermented Mixed Vegetables, for main event, I harvested each other element from my local Lithuanian supermarket.  This north-European vault of splendor yielded a vast array of mouth watering pickings and I gathered a select few to feature in my supper.

For protein, I obtained some ‘Turkey Bacon’ flavoured luncheon meat.  Reminiscent of Spam, and with my gangrene ridden anatomy, I knew exactly how the trench bound infantry men must have felt whilst dining on this: God-awful.

“Reconstituted meat and fermented vegetables taste a treat” states the famous Japanese proverb, and so bearing this in mind I paired up the combination on my plate.  Unfortunately, the veg tasted like it had been contaminated with dog muck, so I carefully poked the crud down my gullet making sure not to caress a single taste bud.

A Polish instant mashed potato/pea/carrot concoction occupied the top-right third of my platter.  With it’s water-logged consistency and powdery punch, the subtle, delicate overtones of this rehydrated spud married together the other members of this dish exquisitely.

Finally, to moisten the load and help the medicine go down, I doused the lot in a bold & overly salty chicken broth.  I wish I hadn’t.

If I can’t shake off this unforgiving intolerance, I pray that I do not survive until next Christmas.

Pre-consumption Fear: 6/10

Post-consumption Well-being: 2/10

Aftertaste:  2/10

General Misconception: 0/10

Repeat Purchase: 1/10

On occasion I have been known to spontaneously morph into ‘The Tin-spector’. I will undergo a technical can-alysis of containers accommodating extra special wrong-life foods.

Product Name:  Poultry Pâté

Manufacturer:  Profi

RRP: £0.59p

Weight: 131g

Best Before Date: Don’t read Polski

Address of Purchase:  ASDA, Thames Way, Gravesend, Kent, DA11 0DQ

TASTE CHALLENGE

Doubting whether to continue blogging about my true passion for tinned goods had left me in a dark, damp & lonely place.  I was hoping for a sign, a burning bush, anything to guide me through this bumpy patch.

Just as I was ready to give up all hope, I witnessed a truly incredible sight.  Having heard chocolate helps depression, I hooked my pinky under the Quality Street tin lid and crow-barred it off.  Rubbing my eyeballs with utter disbelief, inside the receptacle lay a tin of poultry pâté, picturesque, snug on a bed of motley confectionary.

This must be it.  The sign.  The sign I was praying for from baby Jesus.  Well, either that or an unfortunate Polish employee at the Nestlé factory had accidentally mislaid their lunch.

Ignoring the golden sea of Toffee Deluxe, I snatched it out to closely examine the ingredients.  ’Mechanically separated chicken & goose meat 14%, chicken & pork liver 12%, eggs, chicken hearts 3%, paprika 0.8%’.  The content was slightly disappointing, on the whole I generally like a higher volume of wholesome heart & goose by the shed load, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers, I put on a brave face and told myself that I’d have to grin and bear it.

I peeled back the foil top and knifed a good-sized blob onto a rogue melba toast I’d found milling about in the larder.  Shockingly, for once, the fodder that The Tin-spector had deposited between his gums was actually pleasant.  In need of overnight refrigeration, I enjoyed a tad more, before transferring the remains to a tupperware container, to hopefully avoid Lloyd Grossman’s choice poison: Botulism.

Pre-consumption Fear: 1/10

Post-consumption Well-being: 10/10

Aftertaste:  8/10

General Misconception: 1/10

Repeat Purchase: 9/10

On occasion I have been known to spontaneously morph into ‘The Tin-spector’. I will undergo a technical can-alysis of containers accommodating extra special wrong-life foods.

Product Name:  Grandpa’s Sunday Lunch

Manufacturer:  Cow & Gate

RRP: £0.68p

Weight: 125g

Best Before Date: 10th October 2013

Address of Purchase:  Sainsbury’s, Wigfield Bank, Gravesend, Kent,  DA11 8JH

TASTE CHALLENGE

I’m distraught to say the least.  In no way, shape or form does this ghastly food source resemble my Grandpa’s Sunday lunch.  Do NOT be fooled by the packaging’s courageous statement, by no means does it live up to any expectation.

Inside the pot, I was shocked to discover not even a mere morsel of my forefather’s favourite: curried goat with rice & pea (black-bean style) present.  Through sheer anger & intense frustration, straight away I could feel my eyes rapidly filling with salty solution & a bulbous vein throb on my brow.

The stench leaking out of the jar boasted similarities to Maris Pipers, petit pois & carrot.  Not being rude, but what kind of savage, uncivilized human being eats this muck?  You’d have to be barmy, I wouldn’t feed that to my dog, let alone eat it on a Sunday, God’s day of bleedin’ rest.

Anyway, I knew I was going to have to be a big boy and stomach the muddy broth.  My hands were trembling as I swiveled off the cap and at that moment I knew what must have been going through Dean Gaffney’s head before he scoffed Kangaroo anus in ‘I’m a Celebrity…’.

I baptised my spork in the grotty slop, digging out a tolerable helping, just enough for a balanced experiment.   To be honest though, with the gunky state Cow & Gate have left this in, I may as well have used a Wimpy flexi-straw.  I can’t believe an adult human would buy and nosh on this dung.

Right, I’m sick of talking about this now, it’s completely raped & pillaged the rest of my week.

Pre-consumption Fear: 0/10

Post-consumption Well-being: 1/10

Aftertaste:  1/10

General Misconception: 10/10

Repeat Purchase: 0/10

The Tin-spector

MID-POST UPDATE:

Craving a boiled pea treat, I’ve headed down to my local J Sainsbury to pick up some Pease Pottage.  I’m utterly disgusted by what lay before I.  If only walls could talk.

But which one do I go for?

On occasion I have been known to spontaneously morph into ‘The Tin-spector’. I will undergo a technical can-alysis of containers accommodating extra special wrong-life foods.

Product Name: Grass Jelly (Gelee D’Herbe)

Manufacturer: Wuzhou Double Coins Health Canned Foods Co., Ltd.

RRP: £1.25

Weight: 540g

Best Before Date: 16th March 2012

Address of Purchase:  Asian Mini Market, 284 High Street, Orpington, Kent, BR6 0ND

TASTE CHALLENGE

Obliterated animal flesh, bones and delicious connective tissues are usually the guts of my jelly du jour.  But not today.  Today I’m feeling saucy and the urge to do something completely outrageous is overpowering my gelatinous judgement.

It could have been the overwhelming beauty and sophistication of Orpington High Street, a higher power or some sort of cosmic energy that altered my path of Saturday last, either way the outcome was incredible.  I was chaperoned into the nearest Asian mart and ushered down the second aisle until I was looking my destiny directly in the bulging eyeball.

‘Grass Jelly’!  I pinched myself, was I dreaming? Had all the Stinking Bishop I’d been chowing down on before bedtime had a detrimental effect?  With all my might, I tried to restrain myself from clasping the tin with my blistered phalanges.  But faster than you could say “connective tissue”, in a zombie-like state I had penned a cheque and was outside the premises cradling the  merchandise.

I can’t fib to a brother, I’m not going to try and tell you that blowing the lid on this bastard wasn’t tense.  Because it was.

I de-rimmed, then knifed the internal circumference of the tin.  The solidified inky innards slid out into my concave container on a pillow of murky juice, like a new born human in a shallow pool of afterbirth.  The musk was medicinal and hardly appetising, but after a few good humoured bicep curls and a comical bowl swirl, I dug right in.

Tasted dirty.

Pre-consumption Fear: 7/10

Post-consumption Well-being: 8/10

Aftertaste: 1/10

General Misconception: 5/10

Repeat Purchase: 1/10

On occasion I have been known to spontaneously morph into ‘The Tin-spector’.  I will undergo a technical can-alysis of containers accommodating extra special wrong-life foods.

Product Name: Bombay Sandwich Spread

Manufacturer: Natco

RRP: £1.19

Weight: 280g

Best Before Date: END July 2012

Address of Purchase: Spices Cash and Carry, 2 Peacock Street, Gravesend, Kent

TASTE CHALLENGE

“The pulsating taste of Natco Bombay Sandwich Spread captures the essence of Bollywood.”

If there’s one taste I savour the most it’s ‘pulsating’, so I had humongous expectations for this glamorous condiment.  It was definitely the bewitching appearance of the spread that originally sucked me in.   Majestically emerald in colour and decorated stylishly with a technicolour dream label, a truly exquisite masterpiece.

The packaging serving suggestion depicts some sort of club sandwich hybrid involving the spread, little gem lettuce and what seems to be a Swiss cheese.  Alas, a deep lactose intolerance forced me ditch Namco’s recommendation and proceed with the all-time British family favourite, Bombay Sandwich Spread on toast.

I popped the cap and fully immersed my  spoon into the murky sauce.  Thin in nature, distribution complication was nominal and I was over the moon with slice coverage.   A meager helping was more than enough to lightly glaze my wedge of bread and branded as ‘hot’ I knew it would have the minerals required to pass the taste challenge with flying colours.

The reek of Coriander was forceful and conquering but the global character of the relish wasn’t too naughty.  I scoffed the portion down and I’m not going to fib, a violent kick was ever present, but I bravely handled it (wept) like a real man.  If this indeed captures the essence of Bollywood, book me a pew on the next air bound craft out of here!

Pre-consumption Fear: 9/10

Post-consumption Well-being: 8/10

Aftertaste: 3/10

General Misconception: 5/10

Repeat Purchase: 5/10

On occasion I have been known to spontaneously morph into ‘The Tin-spector’.  I will undergo a technical can-alysis of containers accommodating extra special wrong-life foods.

Product Name: Peking Vegetarian Roast Duck (Mun-Cha’i-Ya)

Manufacturer: Companion

RRP: £1.29

Weight: 285g

Best Before Date: 9th March 2014

Address of Purchase: Asian Market, 6 Queen Street, Gravesend, Kent

TASTE CHALLENGE

After the mad dash back to Steaming Heathen HQ to examine my recent preserve purchase, the small print on the tin’s reverse immediately put my nerves at ease.

“White-coloured wheat juice found naturally in freshly pressed gluten is 100% vegetarian and safe for consumption.”

I was apprehending some monstrous fodder, ready and waiting to ambush my delicate pallet.  This time I got lucky.  God only knows what I was praying for deep in the bowels of the container, but it sure wasn’t a helping of top notch gourmet chow fitting this synopsis.

I snatched at the nearest can opening device, attached it and began to enthusiastically gyrate the synthetic handle.  An acute odour escaped in a flash through the puncture and quickly claimed refuge in my respiratory system.  The beast inside was off putting to say the least and I wasn’t looking forward to plopping this into my elongated kisser.  The microwave gave an awe-inspiring performance warming the pseudo scran through, followed gracefully by my alluring arrangement on a dinky platter.

Excluding the artificially machined skin impurities, the overall texture unexpectedly somewhat resembled waterfowl.  Although, soon after a hasty gobble, the sudden realization dawned on me that inserting this into my cake hole was among the worst mistakes I have ever made.  Yuck.

Pre-consumption Fear: 7/10

Post-consumption Well-being: 10/10

Aftertaste: 1/10

General Misconception: 5/10

Repeat Purchase: 0/10

On occasion I have been known to spontaneously morph into ‘The Tin-spector’.  I will undergo a technical can-alysis of containers accommodating extra special wrong-life foods.

Product Name: Pure Honey

Manufacturer: Tesco

RRP: 69p

Weight: 1 lb/454g

Best Before Date: 11th October 1986

Address of Purchase: Tesco, 72 New Road, Gravesend, Kent

TASTE CHALLENGE

Upon unscrewing the stiffened cap, the pungent whiff of decay immediately caressed my unready nostrils. Still residing in the womb, I’m not accustomed to honey’s natural appearance in 1986, but I’m quite certain that a grit and tar combination isn’t right.

I dunked my weapon of choice (cheese knife) deep into the depths of the vessel and probed about to collect a satisfactory helping. The entity’s consistency had obviously been warped over the past 25 years hibernating in the kitchen larder, but who am I to judge?

Shockingly, the compost spread over my extra thick hunk of loaf like a dream. I wrapped my laughing gear around the bap and relished the mature appetizer. The musky odour, tart aura and gravelly body en masse made this an unremarkable but pleasant experience.

Pre-consumption Fear: 4/10

Post-consumption Well-being: 9/10

Aftertaste: 5/10

General Misconception: 8/10

Repeat Purchase: 0/10 (excluding the 3 jars in my cupboard, this product must be extinct on planet Earth)

Guk : International Man O’ Mystery 

I once believed Guk to be a humble handy man employed by Apache Bar, however this miniature man’s twisted and sordid story has slowly begun to unravel over my six week sentence on Koh Phangan.

Our first encounter was riddled with confusion.  He introduced himself to me as “Plan”, Sidt (Apache Bar CEO) later on laughed and corrected me saying his name was “Guk”.  If this wasn’t bewildering enough, when he presented to me his official Thai massage certificate, the name on the prolific award read “Mochit”.  I often say “watch it, Mochit”, he giggles.

Thai people claim that eating a shed load of chili is the secret to retaining a youthful chassis.  In my wildest dreams, I never would’ve imagined that this simple, pint-sized, polite, young man, wood varnishing and smiling his days away, had already roamed this earth for thirty six years.

After this initial shock, I knew it would only be a matter of time before the next corker was unleashed.  It was common knowledge that Guk had to take a week off to visit family in the south of the country, close to the Malaysian border.  Still under the impression that he was a young whipper snapper, I naturally assumed the tyke would be visiting a mother, a father etc.

NO.  He has a wife AND child.  After this scandalous revelation, I delved into the murky depths of this unfathomable kid’s life.  Mina is the biggest gossip in the whole of Haad Yao, I B-lined straight to her.  She willingly dished the dirt, revealing that this pimp has a hareem of wives evenly sprinkled around Thailand, with other women regularly ringing the bar, aggressively claiming to be a spouse and demanding confidential information of his whereabouts.

I’m sitting at the bar eagerly anticipating my next serving of slander infused soup.  His delicate little ears must be on fire.

OTHER GOINGS ON ABOUT TOWN

A batch of English, fresh off the boat from Bromley, had arrived.  For one night only I brushed aside my assumed position of ‘Bar Man Sam’ and only gave response to my new self titled ranking, ‘Quiz Master Sam’.  Along with three Kentish teams of contestants an Argentinian couple, Bernado and Sarolina, also accepted my once in a lifetime challenge.  Being from South-America and not fluent in the official language of ‘Pub Quiz’, they were at a slight disadvantage, but I sure tried my hardest putting my Espanol GCSE course into practice.  I failed, so did they.  The competition was heroically championed by team ‘Pooh Finger’, with if memory serves me correctly 32.5 points.

Caroline and I ventured off of Koh Phangan for a few days in search of some cheap thrills.  We hopped aboard Seatran and made head way toward Koh Samui.  Our first place of interest was Chaweng Beach to dine on a banquet of nominal Indian curry.  My God it was a taste-tastic sensation until the torrential downfall caused the dilapidated roof to leak rain water onto my demoralized face and Central Asian tuck, turning my curry into a cordial and my heart into mush.  The next morning we journeyed to the north of the island.

After combing the mean streets of Bo Phut fishing village, we stumbled upon a guesthouse which accommodated our shoddy budget.  At first glance this tucked away establishment appeared good value with what seemed a fairly unsoiled dwelling.  Remember the scene in Ghostbusters 2 with the pink slime glooping from the bath tap?  No doubt they borrowed the concept from Khun Thai Guesthouse substituting the pink colour for original turd brown.  The cherry on the cake was the unlockable front door, we lodged for one night only and then headed back to the promised land.

One night, a day or two after our Sunset Bungalow homecoming we were faced with a still unexplained mystery.  We’d supped on a few Changs, gargled on some local rum before returning to our quarters to stumble upon a shock discovery.  An intruder! An intruder in the god damn bathroom.  As I was seated on my throne, through my peripheral vision I sighted movement.  My head jerked 90 degrees and my good eye locked onto an obese brown frog casually entertaining the corner of the room.  His bulbous body, plump with flies, put the fear of Christ into me.  Where did he come from?  How did he get in?  Had he been through my personal belongings and found out the truth about me?  Donning a bigger pair (enormous), Caroline wrapped up Froggy in a dirty garm, ET style, and transported him outside.  The only explanation for his arrival is through the toilet, this worries me (turns me on), sometimes I sit on that.

One of my favourite traditional Thai foods is Kuaitiao, a noodle soup dish.  A dutch duo and ourselves were treated to a meal of said soup by Mina at a local eatery in a near by village.  It often contains noodles, vegetables like mushrooms and cabbage along with a protein of your choice, I went for beef.  Although, as well as ordinary recognisable cuts of meat, a number of spherical shaped meat items were also bobbing around in my colourless broth.  I spontaneously gnoshed into a ball having been informed it was simply moulded cow flesh.  The texture was rubbery, I’d know this texture anywhere.  I quizzed Mina in order to learn its true origin, pointing frantically at my nether regions whilst desperately grinding what was obviously a testy with my blunt molars.  She maintained her original explanation but with a now mischievous smirk.

If anyone, you would have thought that Thai people may have an issue pronouncing or remembering western names.  Luckily my name is relatively simple and Thai people have had no difficulty, just the motley crew of European diving instructors from the shop next door.  Ringleader of the tormentors Jessy, a Dutch lad, started a chain reaction six weeks ago, addressing me as “Si”.   This has since spiraled dangerously out of control with every Tom, Dick and Harry jumping on the bandwagon.  I hate my life.

I’m due to fly home soon, you may never hear from me again.

Eternally yours

Si

When we were discussing which inoculations were necessary before coming to South-east Asia, I quote my Dad in saying, “Rabies? What are the chances you’re going to get bitten by a rabid dog?”  Obviously older and wiser, now certainly debatable, I generally trust what he says.  Not even Michael Fish could have got this so wrong.

On the beach, in the road, pretty much everywhere, slaloming through swarms of disfigured, gurning hounds, mouths foaming at the sight of a fresh healthy white man, is an essential part of everyday life.  All I can say is thanks pal, no really, thanks a bunch.  You’ll be getting an extra special Christmas present this year (a flaming missile of neat human waste through your letter box).

The past nine days of my adventure have become somewhat an R.L Stine ‘Goosebumps’ novella.  Upon my departure from Koh Phangan to meet Caroline in Bangkok, a horrifying series of events began to unfold.


A) Godawful Guesthouse Gundown

I ensured the first stop on Caroline’s Asia to-do list was Khao San Road, Bangkok, knowing that it would mean a quick departure from Bangkok the following day.  We checked into a hostel, mooched about stalls selling dozens of meats on sticks, the whole shebang.  It had been a long day for us both traveling so we decided to turn in, take an early bath.

Suddenly to our disbelief we heard gunfire…well either gunfire or a relentless Catherine Wheel/Roman Candle marathon.  We retreated rapidly to seek refuge in the wet room, the safety of the pop ‘n’ lock privacy system on the balsa wood door we knew would protect our cowering frames.

Turns out there were no gun men, but that didn’t appease my phobia of fire crackers and/or hand held sparklers.  We remained white-knuckled gripping one another’s trembling hands until the mayhem was over and it was again safe to exit the makeshift bunker.


B) Wet Willy Rampage

I had been on my official mission for approximately five and a half weeks, my barnet was beginning to gain a mind of it’s own and my Uncle Albert imitation facial hair had grown way out of control.  I was in the provincial hub, Krabi and ventured to the nearest native Krabian hair stylist to request a precision trim.  She instinctively pulled out the clippers, I bricked it and she continued the job with scissors.  I breathed a guttural sigh of relief and the remaining duration of the shearing procedure was very delightful.  That was until it was time for the post-snipping wash and blow…dry.

This woman (I would hardly call her that after this ordeal) fingered my ear holes so profusely I was convinced she had drawn blood.  I had been a wet willy rampage victim in it’s rawest form.


C) The Cockpit Lolocaust of Flight AK 804

Now, I’m not an overly nervous passenger but what happened on this fateful day will shape my high flying lifestyle forever more.  We boarded the craft and soon after witnessed what can only be described as tomfoolery during the pre-flight safety panto.  I was flabbergasted by the lack of professionalism shown by the the Kabin Kru.  As if this wasn’t bad enough, just before we hit blood curdling turbulence the pilot’s announcement had to be cut short, disrupted by his own continued chuckling.  This didn’t fill me with any more confidence for the remainder of the flight.  We landed safely but I will never fly with Air Asia X again, for the giggling pilot and down to an entire packet of Bombay Mix smashed into every crevice of my seat.

EXPLOITING WISDOM IN THE YEAR 2554

We went to Kuala Lumpur for two nights where nothing really happened.  We came face to face with a few roaches, endured endless racial slurs, acquired a new visa and indulged in a mountain of biryani and puzzling grey curry.Thailand is not 6 hours ahead of GMT as I was initially informed.  Turns out The Buddhist calendar is 543 years and 6 hours in front, but it’s OK don’t worry, to pass the time we have made a joint purchase of ‘Interesting Connect 4′.  I wasn’t sure that this would be the right game for me until reading the caption ‘Exploiting wisdom game’ then I knew it was right up my street.  The current score is 53-21. I’m sure you can guesstimate who is winning .

This installment might be a bit premature, the story of my life, but there is only so much Thai dubbed ‘Stuart Little 3: Call of the Wild’ one man can take and the heat here is blistering.  I dare not leave the shade through fear for my milky epidermis.

Tonight I’m planning to attend my first Muay Thai bout, pop my Thai boxing cherry.  Even though gambling is apparently illegal, my main man Sidt tells me that you can openly place bets at the arena.  Also as well as betting on Muay Thai it is also possible on Koh Phangan to gamble on cock fighting and…Siamese fish fighting…?

Since becoming a regular employee at Apache bar, receiving potatoes as payment,  and taking on the authoritative title of ‘Bar Man Sam’, my patch has shown host to a broad spectrum of nationalities.  Most recently I have had to bid an emotional farewell to Japan, America and Holland, so now yet again I’ve found myself lonesome and on the hunt for grade A fresh friend meat.

While some travelers are on a quest to find themselves or maybe to decipher the meaning of life, i’m searching a hell of a lot deeper.  ’Double dutch’, what does it really mean?

Naturally having met a number of dutch nationals, they were my obvious first port of call.  But inconsistent and often down right sordid descriptions of this phrase have left me none the wiser.  Explanations from all corners of the globe included; talking non-sense, a jump-rope game, stretching a coin into a wire and a few more that I wouldn’t even be able to repeat aloud for their sheer despicable nature.  I’m still seeking the answer and will get to the bottom of this mystery.

I have already infiltrated the kitchen, learning Thai recipes by the dozen.  My friends from Die Schwarzwald, Deutschland, who departed some time ago, were invited to cook a traditional German meal, which they did whipping up a mouth watering feast of Kartoffelsalat, Schweine and knodel.

I was asked to knock up a bit of English scran, but in all honesty I feel as though I would embarrass myself and the entire United Kingdom with our bland British stodge.  Having thought long and hard, not sleeping for days, it hit me.  Apple crumble.

Upon my epiphany I headed straight to the nearest Tesco, 20 minutes away, to purchase the necessary imported goods.  The return journey to Sunset Bungalows HQ was dramatic.  Transporting the block of unsalted butter in my pocket in 32 degrees heat, whilst perched on the back of a moped and travelling on hilly terrain was intense.  There was more pressure on me at this moment than any organ transporter had ever experienced.

Miraculously the butter was delivered unharmed.  I made the crumble and it fed approximately 10 people and falling on most of the bar’s regular’s final night, from now this will forever be referred to as the exodus crumble.

Funnily enough i’m sitting at the bar right now with some people that I’ve just met talking about my gastronomical adventure.  Word had spread like wildfire and they had already heard of my crumble at their resort’s swimming pool today from a random French passerby who had been blessed by my culinary skills last night.  I feel like such a big man right now.

Today I have tripled my daily caffeine intake, i’m so up for writing this blog it’s unreal. There is a dangerous amount of enthusiasm/powdered stimulant (I am referring to coffee not any sort of class A illegal substance) pumping through my veins, artery explosion is imminent.

Right, I’m going all out. I’m going to mix up this blog like a steaming bowl of Tom Yum soup, a new format, extra spicy, more dried chili flakes than any mortal can safely consume, smash the boundaries of blog writing to smithereens. I hope I don’t go too far, I could really hurt someone, physically blow someones mind.


For the next 14 days I’m still going to be chilling the fuck out in Haad Yao, Koh Phangan.  Why would I leave somewhere you can purchase a toasted cheese and ham sandwich/toasted cheese and ham sandwich flavour crisps around the clock for a measly 50 pence?

HOMICIDE AT ROOM 11


I live in room 12.  My neighbour ‘Gordy/Andy/Sandy/Mindy’ (I never quite understood in our introduction) was a long stay guest.  Mysterious chap.  Intelligence I have gathered tells me he was here a little while before me and was meant to be staying for approximately 1 month.  At first a few chums and I made the assumption that he was one half of a homosexual couple due to a male guest frequenting his boudoir.  Much to my disbelief a few days back, what was as clear as day a female prostitute exited room 11.  This is when it began to get a tad fishy.

He was meant to be checking out of the guesthouse three days ago now, but there is no sign of ‘Gordy/Toddy/Rodney/Sanjay’ and he hasn’t been sited in a long time.  He could be dead.  He could have been murdered in the guesthouse with the chopsticks, cluedo style.  Either way there must be a corpse in there, perhaps I should break the back doors in…the guesthouse back doors not the corpse, I don’t find this erotic…not anymore.

My attempt at a high octane Jack Bauer style forced entry will inevitably end up a Reg Hollis-esque affair.  I should leave this one for the professionals, the tourist police, they must deal with dead holiday makers everyday of the week.

Only when a foul stench diffuses into my room will I report my suspicions, for all I know he could be off his tits on mushroom shakes somewhere having a whale of a time, living the dream, I wouldn’t want to piss on his parade.  But lets not beat around the bush, he’s definitely dead in there, possibly hung, drawn and quartered.

LIZARDS: GeckOK

Initially I wasn’t big fan of Geckos.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they are and always have been down to earth all round nice guys, but when they’re dashing around your bathroom wall at the speed of light on a feeding frenzy when all you want to do is use the facilities in peace, it’s a wee bit unsettling.  Believe it or not though, i’ve grown to enjoy the little rascals’ company.

I was almost certain that there was a gecko vibing out in my idle air conditioning unit.  Besides the rooster, six metres from my door, a daily wake up call was also coming from directly above my noggin.  A few days later when throwing my curtains wide I stumbled upon the critter…but he wasn’t alone, he had a family, a whole clan of the slippery fellas had been residing on my french doors.  Three or four pelted it out, by jove they were quick!  I couldn’t count them in time, I’d be useless at Philip Schofield’s ‘The Cube’.

My emotions at this point were all over the shop, did I feel let down by the deceit, the dishonesty?  But I decided to let them stay.  We have a verbal agreement, but if I get even an inkling of a mosquito in my room, I will hunt them down and destroy them all.  It’ll be a cold-blooded blood bath, i’ll go ape shit, it’ll be a right mess.  The last thing we need at Sunset Bungalows is more murders.

7-Eleven


These are everywhere.  Approximately one minute from my local haunt stands a 7-Eleven, a proud treasure trove of poorly imitated and manufactured western style delicacies.  Some of my favourites include:

- Raspberry and butterfly pea juice
- Sausage cake sandwich
- Crab stick pizza bread (unrefridgerated)
- The infamous ‘Paul Squid’ crisps

But as well as stockpiling a mighty fine array of products, this juggernaut of a convenience store boasts a sandwich toaster that is in use 24hours a day (this has deserved the double mention), many women with uni-brows and young men with beautiful mullets.  After a beer fueled evening, the 2am 7-Eleven warm frankfurter run is an essential part in combating the following day’s ‘Chang-over’.

THE LOWDOWN


An average day can be terribly strenuous. Sitting in Apache bar with my new pals from Wyoming discussing important issues including, the Morman population in Cambodia, what species of animal was getting skinned at their resort and the American prawn cocktail potato chip drought (a matter that deeply concerns me) .

Sometimes when the restaurant’s busy I serve a few tables, recommend the ‘Massamun Curry’, the usual stuff.  I’ve managed to blag an axe as well, so sometimes I jam out a few skats, fret some riffs.  Also I’ve heard through the grapevine, that I’m to be someone’s plus one at a wedding on the main land next week, I just do what I’m told now.  I think I may have been adopted as the token European man by the family, this could be fashionable in Thailand nowaday, I could be the south-east Asian equivalent of Paris Hilton’s Chihuahua.

A storm is brewing I have to put the Laptop away.

Before writing this blog I was sitting in the car thinking of comical occurrences from the past week or so. Pretty much right at that moment a motorbike drove past with a baboon passenger.

Anyway…

I got the first class night train from Bangkok to Surat Thani. Paying the little bit extra for a first class overnight sleeper I wasn’t expecting to find a cockroach in my bed. I frantically stomped on the bastard, but apparently if you crush a cockroach they lay their eggs, the joke was on me.

The actual journey was quite pleasant, I shared bunk beds with a Thai man, we didn’t speak really, I don’t think he was the talking type…whilst awake. I managed to get a few hours sleep only to be awoken by this chap whistling and clapping his little Thai heart out.

In the morning a camp train assistant entered my sleeping quarters, he looked me in the face and said “kiss?”, I said “excuse me?”, he said “would you like breakfast?”. I didn’t like this much as you can imagine, but I was extremely hungry so I ordered the ‘toasted cheese and ham sandwich’. This sandwich was not toasted and also included tomato and some sort of yogurt based spread. There were cold chips and apple slices on the side, it is a dead cert that whoever prepared that monstrosity will go straight to hell.

On the coach from Surat Thani, heading towards the pier to catch the ferry to Koh Samui, the other passengers and I were lucky enough to be treated to a soundtrack of Thai cover versions of classic tracks, including Daddy Yankee’s ‘Gasolina’ and Sean Paul’s ‘We Be Burnin’…some of my all time favs. The immense power of these masterpieces made this journey a very emotional one.

Apart from repeatedly apologizing to a girl getting a tattoo done regarding the English rule of Ireland, nothing really happened in Koh Samui. I made some friends who asked me at 5am to go to Koh Toa with them the next day. They said they were leaving at 6.30am and I foolishly agreed to tag along. There is no scientific explanation for how I managed not to chunder on the ferry, but i’m pretty sure not wearing any sun cream is the reason for my crisp, 100% English tan lines. I now have to undergo a strict tactical sun blocking procedure in the hope of losing this constant T-shirt.

Koh Toa was very busy due to the ‘Full Moon Party’ (google this if you don’t know what it is, it was ridiculous) and the only accommodation that fitted my budget was a ramshackled cabin. When I first arrived it was horrendous to say the least, but when I returned late the same night, I could barely step through the rickety door for the obscene amount of wildlife occupying my bed. I didn’t sleep here.

At present I’m chilling out on Koh Phangan, it’s glorious. I have spent the last few days with my new German friends playing the popular beer drinking game (more like a sport) ‘Fluriball’, apparently a favourite in the Black Forest. Although it doesn’t involve any sort of spherical object, just a stick and an empty bottle.

I’ve managed to worm my way into the family of the guesthouse/restaurant where i’m staying, attending a little girl’s birthday party and all sorts. Earlier on today, I somehow found myself in a graphic designers/print shop translating and designing the new menu. Sometimes i’m rewarded with a free Chang for these sort of grueling tasks, which I appreciate, although when a bowl of duck is served up and you are unknowingly are chomping on a ducks head, it’s not that great…only when I reached the bottom of the bowl did I clock the brains.

Lastly, I shouldn’t forget to mention my outstanding performance playing in goal for FC Forrang in their heroic 10-2 victory against an all star Thai soccer team at the local High School.

After the 12 hour trip from Heathrow to Suvarnabhumi, understandably i’m a little sleepy. Having been served a spinach pasta and chicken sausage ‘breakfast’ at 10.15pm (English time), a tad disorientated. The flight was average, the highlight of the journey was watching the fussy vegetarian man, the row in front, unknowingly eat a chicken sandwich.

I stroll out of the terminal and hop in the first taxi. Pretty much the first thing we discus is ‘ping-pong boom boom’, obviously as well as current political issues regarding female government etc.

It wasn’t soon after we had pulled over on the motorway, so that my driver could relieve himself, that I began to realize that maybe this chap was a bit of cowboy. If it wasn’t frantic beating of his pocket in my direction, his eyes full to the brim with pure excitement, knowing that he was practically bending me over whilst slowly emptying my wallet of all my hard earned Baht, stopping and sharing a joke at my expense with pretty much every Thai citizen on route to my accommodation gave the game away. Not until my next taxi journey did I clock that the meters here go up by 2 Baht not 20 Baht, schoolboy.

When I finally arrive at my hotel I’m overwhelmed with joy that it’s down a back alley, in the heart of the Bangkok meat packing district, I love the Bangkok meat packing district.

On several occasions now I’ve had the pleasure of finding a vast array of different creatures hiding on my person. Upon feeling a slight movement on my leg one evening in a restaurant, I look down expecting to see a fly or worst case scenario a spider, nope, a lizard. Being the big man I am, I gave it a casual brush off, but this moment will haunt me until my eventual demise.

Generally speaking the cuisine is nice, I still haven’t plucked up the courage to eat the deep-fried insects, apparently they taste like popcorn…what sort of disgusting popcorn must these savages be eating?

Having consumed copious amounts of noodles and vegetables, I thought I was ready for the next step. I purchased the barbecued pork on a stick, knowing that it had been sitting raw in the sweltering heat all day. This pork resembled no food group that I had ever experienced, a crumbling sensation. I took a risk, it didn’t pay off, there were disastrous consequences. Now I understand the logic for the hose dangling besides the toilet.

I slept in a hostel in Khao San Road, the Magaluf of Bangkok, for a few nights. Even here in south-east Asia Adele and Michael Buble’s back catalogues are inescapable. This is a bizarre place, but slowly things like watching AFC Wimbledon vs. Stevenage from last season, whilst chomping on a Jungle Curry seem become the norm. The Thai newspaper today shows Robbie Fowler’s move to the Thai football league, a least he’ll be retiring with some dignity(?).

In the absence of William Hill, it was a given that the next best thing would be the challenge the little girl selling dead roses in street, in the early hours of the morning, at rock paper scissor for her stock. Inevitably she won…a lot of my money, I think I was hustled.

In a bar I met a man who had been a victim of a vicious lady boy attack. From what I gather an Australian gentlemen gave her/him a wee pat on bottom and she/he went ape shit, removing her high heel, and clubbing/ spitting on anybody within arms reach. He had a wound on his hand and saliva on his face but apart from that he was in good health.

Lastly, I bought the compulsory counterfeit Ray Bans upon my departure of Khao San Road. Right now I’m Sitting in Hua Lamphong Railway Station, Bangkok waiting for my overnight train to Koh Samui via Surat Thani.