Postcards from Thailand

Generally, dogs have a pretty miserable time in Thailand. All too often a family will buy a cute puppy and after a few months abandon it at the local temple (if it’s lucky) or on the street. Either the puppy has lost its cuteness, or it’s developed some sort of behavioural problem. Dog training isn’t the norm here. There’s no “sit” or “heel”. They do what they want. In Ayutthaya the family opposite had three dogs that would bark pretty well non-stop throughout the day, set off by anything that moved. The family, apparently, thought that was OK.

In Ayutthaya there are dozens of dogs by the railway station. People take them off the island, thinking that the dog won’t be able to find its way back home across the bridge. Many of these dogs are in an atrocious state – mangy, scabby and scarred, often with broken limbs. There are people who think nothing of beating them with wooden sticks or pouring hot oil over them. It’s heartbreaking. The dogs are rarely starving, though. Kind people put out food for them – I guess it’s a kind of merit-making. (I believe there’s a Thai tradition that naughty temple boys will be rebirthed as dogs.) The food is usually mostly rice. Not the best of diets for a dog, but it keeps them alive. It also keeps them docile; it tends to be the starving strays that are aggressive.

There’s nothing I can do to solve the problem of Thailand’s street dogs, but I can do something, and that starts today. Meet Whisky:

He was born a couple of months ago to one of Bangkok’s street dogs, one of a litter of seven. He was found, with the rest of the litter, living close to a busy expressway. From today he’s got a new home, living with me.

[520]

Today I went shopping for a fan. I walked away from Tesco-Lotus with what the manufacturer calls an “oscillation air circulator”. Call a spade a manually operated earth-moving implement, why don’t you?

[519]

A few months before I left Ayutthaya a family moved in next door – a grossly fat Dutchman and his foul-mouthed Thai wife. The Dutchman had a penchant for sitting outside his house shirtless. The sight of his hairy, pendulous belly was enough to make anyone wretch. He’d then drink beer to ensure there was no danger of his hirsute pride-and-joy would shrink to more natural proportions.

His wife was equally repulsive. I’m guessing from her language and demeanour that she’s a former prostitute and that’s how he met her. (And, how shall I put it? I somehow doubt she married him for his good looks and charm.) Anyway, these two and their family made my life a misery.

Almost the first thing they did on moving in was to put up a large screen made of green plastic sacking which obstructed the view from my front door. It looked so cheap and vile (much like the family).

Then they installed a massive satellite dish immediately outside my landing window.

Then the building work started. They extended the house at the back, putting in a new kitchen, to one side (fortunately the side away from my house) and at the front. The building work went on for weeks and was hardly quiet. But then, neither were the youths who used their front drive as a makeshift motorcycle garage late into the night.

Once the building work finished they started on the front garden and turned it into a water feature resembling nothing so much as a public urinal. Once finished they’d leave the water running all day just to ensure that their annoying noises were incessant. (Of course, they shut all their windows so they couldn’t hear the torrent.) I’d hate to think the state I’d be in if I had a bladder problem.

Their offensiveness wasn’t limited to sight and sound. On occasion the fat Dutchman would park his pickup truck outside my gate so I could neither leave nor enter. I’d end up blowing my car horn for a good few minutes before he’d deign to appear and move his vehicle. Never an apology forthcoming from him, though, for the inconvenience caused.

There’s more – lots more – but I don’t think writing about it is too good for my blood pressure.

Anyway, in my new place the neighbours behind have managed to prove a tad inconsiderate even before they’ve moved it. This was the view from my dining area when I opened the blinds late this morning.

(Just to clarify, the breeze block wall wasn’t there last night.)

Room with a view? Don’t count on it – not in Thailand.

[514]

Billie Joe Armstrong may have imprecated us to “live without warning”, but there comes a time when I feel I must warn the world of a terrible, terrible danger.

Now, I’m not one much for high-end toiletries, though I do love my L’Occitane en Provence Citrus Verbena Shampoo and rather wish that I had enough hair to warrant buying the corresponding conditioner. I also love my Kiehls Ultimate Man Body Scrub Soap – quite possibly the best soap in the world. That said, I still love my Boots Amazon Forest Brazil Nut and Vanilla Shower Gel too – it smells just like being in a wonderful bakery. However, one high end product I recently tried has proved a bit of a disappointment. It’s Lab Series Maximum Comfort Shave Cream. It claims its “advanced formula softens and prepares beard for a close and comfortable shave. Rich, concentrated texture allows for excellent razor glide and protection.” Does it heck as like! Each time I use it my face ends up looking like it’s had an overly close encounter with Freddy Krueger. To make things worse its “patented formula system provides immediate relief of irritation and stinging” really means that it numbs your skin so that you don’t realise that you’re slashing yourself to shreds until you notice the blood torrenting down your face. This has to be one of the worst shaving products ever! Avoid!!! As for me, the tube is going in the bin, and I’m going back to my cheap and cheerful Nivea Shaving Foam.

Picture provided for warning purposes only.

[513]