Rock agus Roll

I have discovered that I am better than everyone. Princess lured me to Bangkok by promising to put me up in a 5 star hotel for a couple of nights. Nothing like a 5 star hotel to give one a little persective on life, an In-the-rooftop-pool-spitting-down-on-the-proles kind of perspective.

I, in turn, treated the little lady to a McDonalds meal. I even offered to supersize it (fortunately she turned that down, which is good, no one likes a fatty.)

The hotel is one befitting my new found sense of self importance, the kind of place where "Roast Peasant" on the menu is not a typo. The lobby takes about 15 minutes to cross, a cathedral of space with a deep pile carpet running down the centre that you cross like a humpback bridge.

At the reception I lay down the law from the outset. Between my mohawk and Princess' tattoos we look like a rock star couple and I reinforce this by singing a couple of bars of The Summer of '69. They ask me to stop, please sir, you are scaring the other residents and I say dat's what I'm talkin 'bout. I also let it be known that I am not above wandering the corridors in a wife beater and a pair of y-fronts if my demands are not met. The receptionist nods silently, the fear of God in her eyes.

The room is magnificent, everything is leather bound, with a tv as big as a small car. The toilets smell of christmas aftershave.

Being a not insensitive soul I am aware that perhaps my McDonalds does not quite represent a sufficient level of reciprocation for all this grandeur and so I offer to buy Princess dinner. We thusly picnic on the bed, on food bought from the local Carrefour behemoth. She eats gone off "Pre-packaged sushi" and I eat "Duck in sliced bread" washed down with a wine that tastes like it started life as a sock dye. She, being of common roots, is inordinately impressed.

I buy a dvd player in Carrefour, hey big spender. Then I take advantage of their No Quibbles return policy to return it for a full cash refund two days later. Again, that is what I am talking about.


Call logged 20.43
Yeah, this is room 303. One of my slippers appears to have fallen off. I suspect it is somewhere off the end of my bed. Please send someone up to retrieve it.

Call logged 21.07
Hey that last idiot you sent up left my reslippered foot in such a position as it impedes my view of the tv. Please send up someone to rectify this mistake and ensure the offending party is fired or shot.

Call logged 21.39
Your last garcon made eye contact with me. The next employee to do that will feel the blunt end of my bottle of Brut. Do you know who I am you foreign dog? You better start treating me with a bit of respect or I'll put the tv through the fucking window...

Call logged 22.43
I have hurt my back trying to put the tv through the fucking window. Please send up a chiropractor immediately, and two of your most strapping young men to finish the job.

Call logged 00.57
I want another tv, you bastards, and some of that Peasant Kebab with Mint sauce.

Breakfast is a buffet spread across acres of tables. People sit casually spearing melon pieces from their plates, reading newspapers from the world over. I adopt a Last Orders at a Free Bar approach and barely make it back to my table under my platter. On the plate a five course meal jostles for my attention, bacon and eggs, roast potatoes, spanish omelette, danishes etc. I glare around, daring anyone to catch my eye, but they are well trained, these blue-bloods, and maintain focus on their grapefruit juice and Le Monde. Before leaving I stuff my pockets with rare breads and cakes and fill a plastic bag with orange juice. I own you people, I scream, eyes twitching dangerously as I flee the room, a trail of soggy baked goods in my wake.





Rock agus roll. Princess is the one on the left.