The “Home” page is my daily blog. The remaining tabs contain previously blogged, episodic ‘stories’, which are now re-published in chronological order.
Still sober – 13 days today.
Yesterday wasn’t one of my more productive days. I woke up very late and met up with an old drinking buddy in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day chatting to him in several bars on the ‘Darkside’. He was getting drunk – I was on Diet Cokes, orange juices and water. I know this is not an advisable activity for someone newly sober, but he is a very good friend and we sat in very quiet places and the hours flew by. I enjoyed chin-wagging with someone who I can relate to. We have much in common – are of a similar age, have both been senior financial managers in a variety of international businesses throughout the world and both have a propensity for charming young Thai ladies, to put it bluntly.
I also met a couple of potential ‘live-ins’ but it is very early days and only time will tell how these relationships will develop. I am taking it extremely slowly and carefully.
My psychotherapist is in town so I will see him tomorrow in Pattaya and will not have to make a trip to Bangkok.
Nid (Part 8 )
I was saved by the ‘boys in brown’ – the wonderful Thai police. Somehow, someone had called or passed a word to the local constabulary that an affray was occurring on their ‘watch’ and along they came in ‘paddy wagon’ to stop the ‘Mobi-lynching’.
(I should add that to those who are wondering, that this was long before the days of a street market in Patpong Road. In those far off days Patpong was a regular, pleasant road in which two -way traffic was the order of the day – and Patpong was much the better for it. In my opinion the decline of Patpong as the premier ‘red-light’ district of Bangkok can be directly attributed to the suffocating, horrendous street market which now blocks the road from end to end. Greed by the owners created a serious decline in their overall business.)
The police put a stop the marauding mob, who were taking it turns to kick the grounded Mobi in the head and stomach, picked me up and half carried and half threw me unceremoniously on the floor of the police song tow. Nid was told to accompany me, and she climbed into the front, next to the driver and off we sped to the local cop-shop.
I appeared to be surprisingly free of serious injury – just a mass of cuts, scratches and bruises, but the copious blood made my wounds appear more serious than they were. In any event the police paid scant attention to my physical condition and were listening to a long tirade in Thai from my wife, who kept pointing at me animatedly and was no doubt putting the verbal ‘boot’ in. I inwardly dreaded what may follow, as it appeared that I was well and truly outnumbered and to make matters worse, my Thai in those days was extremely basic. I feared that it may be difficult to even find a police officer who spoke passable English.
Upon arrival at the station, I was bundled into some kind of ‘holding cell’ and left lying on the concrete floor, in a mass of dried blood, nursing my wounds. I have no idea how long I was left lying there, but eventually the cell door was opened and I was pulled to my feet and was led into an office where there was a sergeant together with what I took to be a more senior officer.
The sergeant started talking to me very loudly in fast Thai. I could not understand a word but he was clearly very angry with me. He finally ceased his tirade and I looked at him in despair – not comprehending a single word. The officer turned to me and spoke in broken English.
“You hit Thai people. You do very bad – we not like farangs hitting Thais – you must go to jail!”
I was horrified. “But….but…. she is my Wife!” I blurted out in reply.
This only seemed to make matters worse. The officer translated what I said to the sergeant who then responded in more angry Thai: “You farangs must have more respect for Thai people. Hitting your wife is very bad. You must go to jail”.
Then he continued: “We have statement from lady. She tell us you very bad man. You always hit her – no reason – too much drink and hit her.”
“That’s not true!” I protested.
I suddenly remembered that when Nid climbed into the front of the police vehicle, she was clutching her cherished photographs – the ones that had caused all this mayhem.
In a last desperate plea for common sense, I implored the officer to look at the photos that my wife had been holding. At first, he didn’t seem to understand what I was saying, but after I repeated myself several times, and then, by some miracle, I suddenly recalled the Thai word for photo, he barked an order at the sergeant who immediately left the room.
The door remained open and I could hear the strident, protesting tones of Nid in an office nearby. A few moments later, the sergeant returned, holding the vital evidence. Nid followed him, still protesting the apparent seizure of her property.
The sergeant and the officer then spent several minutes poring through the photographs, looking at each one closely. Occasionally, a dirty smile would fleetingly cross their lips. Nid was stunned into silence by the turn of events.
When they had finally finished their ‘review of the new incriminating evidence’, they put the last photograph on the table and looked up at me. I quickly jumped in and told the officer that I hadn’t seen my wife for many weeks and that she had been in Europe all this time with another man. The officer clearly got the gist of what I was telling him and started shouting angrily at Nid. My Thai was so basic that I couldn’t follow anything of what he said, but judging by the gestures that the sergeant made when he subsequently spoke to the officer, I think he was saying that if Nid had been his wife he would have strangled her.
In any event, the tables had been successfully turned by the arrival of the revealing, almost porno-graphic photos, and the police realised that Nid had been lying to them, and that I had a very good reason for hitting her – something that 99% of Thai husbands would have done in similar circumstances without fear of censure.
The upshot of the whole business was that we were both released with a warning as to our future conduct. Nid went back to the marital home, now bereft of furniture and I, Mobi,went back to my humble room in the Bangkok suburbs.
I thought that I would be unlikely to see Nid again as our relationship had been blown apart in the most dramtic of circumstances, but I couldn’t have been more wrong.
There soon followed a period where I renewed my familiarity with the Derby King as I had come into a bit of cash which had been owing to me from some time from my last employer in Libya. I had been chasing my final salary cheque for several months, without any realistic hope that they would pay me – after all I had taken off without any prior notice. But one day, only about a week after the debacle with Nid in the Derby King, to my total surprise and pleasure, I found that the missing funds had been deposited in my bank account.
This turn of events was probably a curse rather than a blessing, as I often ran into Nid on my trips to Patpong and she slowly started to work her magic and ‘worm’ her way back into my affections. In spite of everything that had happened, I was still head over heels in love with her and my twisted mind didn’t need too much persuading for me to take her back and make another go of things. “After all”, I convinced myself at the time, “She is still my wife, so I owe it to her and myself to give the marriage one more try.”
She urged me to leave the room where I was living and return to the apartment building in Patunam, where we had once shared a room together. I agreed to this suggestion, especially as Nid had recently secured a new room on the roof of the 7 storey-building – a sort of Thai-style penthouse – which had a huge balcony and an incredible view of the Bangkok Skyline. I used some of my ‘windfall funds’ to replace the furniture I had previously sold and within a month of Nid’s return to Bangkok from her European odyssey, we were back together again.
Who knew what the future was going bring for this marriage ‘made’ in a girlie bar, and ‘consummated’ in a short time motel room?