Who Let The Dogs Out
It could have been how I swaggered up to the Costa Coffee Bar outside Terminal 3 at Heathrow airport that finished my hopes. I was squinting into a promising early English morning like a western gunslinger looking for the Texan rustlers who’d abused his sister, 24 hours without sleep can make you look like that. Heathrow was deserted and in a one horse town news travels fast. I didn’t get an Etihad upgrade, I sat with the cowhands.
He slipped the catch on the high wired compound gate and tossed the red raw lump of meat high into the air. It landed with a thud, blood scattering everywhere. The quickest dog got there first, the rest of the pack followed, the strongest dogs overpowering and pushing aside the weaker ones. One minute passed and the meat was devoured, just a thick bloodstain remaining on the dusty compound floor. The pack hurried through the open gate, they had the smell of blood. Who let the dogs out.
No sooner had I passed through immigration when they attacked, taxi drivers everywhere, I was the meat, this was their compound. She arrived draped in shining white armor, astride a galloping white horse, Wonderful Wi came blades flashing, gunfire tongue to rescue me and the pack reluctantly moved away. Thailand I’m so pleased to be back, your warts and all.
I had travelled 6000 miles and wondered if we had circled Heathrow or weather wise perhaps Manchester for the last 11 hours of them, it was raining. Coronation Street, a Manchester derby and a brogue tongue were soon distant memories burnt away by a fierce afternoon sun. 6000 miles but I unpacked the tiredness brought on by five months work and 150 days want.
We have checked into the Marin Place on Soi Buakhao, a brisk walk from the wild life thankfully so. A lazy afternoon spent with the welcome voice of Wilai and quite a few Tiger beers. Pattaya is quiet with very few tourists around, a welcome sight for my heavy eyes and thus far reluctant smile. Pattaya, young ladies paraded by old men and a strong scent of trouble and strife.
Football is a game of two halves and our evening restaurant table was much the same. Spicy vegetables and sweet beef curry looking inviting in one half and sausage, mashed potato and onions almost embarrassingly lining up in the other. Two days, a few cities, many different spoken tongues and a free guest lounge bar bill that could have choked a horse….my journey has ended in Pattaya, far from the Costa Coffee Bar……Hey cowboy, you raped my sister and spilt her blood….You son of a bitch.. draw.