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Laph managed to get out of Don Muang's Airport arrival lounge, getting through all the taxi touts with the ease of a seasoned Bangkok traveller. It might have something to do with the Scottish Walking Crook with thistle design that he was brandishing, given to him by ever faithful sobbing Agnes. A few of the taxi touts did not like the idea of this strange Farang whipping that stick around their shins, so discretion was the better part of making 50 Baht.

Laph was not having any part of this limousine antic; he would take the train like he had done since school. So with his back pack, and 1950's style suitcase bound by 2 aging leather belts and his walking crook swinging, Laph set off in the direction of the railway station. After some time, he realised that holding up his stick for the traffic to stop was fruitless. He had exhausted his Scottish tap water supply and decided that his flannel shirt was not the best apparel. As now he took on the colour of a baboons bum with his hair plastered down with sweat.

An eagle eyed taxi driver spotted Laph and stopped either out curiosity or pure sympathy, who knows, but he was Laph's life boat. Once depositing himself, his baggage and his red and white legs in the aging Toyota, it quickly came apparent that his problems weren't over.

Geng, the Isarn taxi driver fresh from Korat could not believe his luck, after getting kicked out of the taxi queue at the airport for not paying the person that should be paid, he has stumbled across Knun McTavish, with a face like a baboon's bum and his aging baggage. Geng thought he would try this again tomorrow and trawl for another Farang, hence no taxi mafia fees and larger profit. Geng's mind wandered about the things he would spend his money on, maybe that beautiful girl at Nok's bar, and definitely not the buffalo he pum pummed last night in the taxi under the sapan (bridge). Whilst thinking how many bottles of Spey whiskey he would buy to impress the young girl, he was brought back into reality by this noise coming from the back seat.

Laph had just relaxed in the taxi and managed to hand over the address of the person he was going to board with, one Doug Walker. Doug's name and address was given to him by the president of the Royal Society of Quantity Surveyors, Prof. E Aardvark. The kind professor had arranged with Doug to take Laph in, to show the ropes as to say. Doug was the Professor's ex-student, who he was amazed by how Doug graduated through an alcoholic haze and several knee tremblers with the local girls on the university grounds. Doug had left for Thailand some months back under a certain cloud of owing money or getting one of the MacDougal girls up the duff. No matter which, Doug would teach young McTavish a few lessons in life.

As Laph mopped is brow with his only remaining hankie, he managed to glance up at the taxi crossing three lanes at break neck speed, narrowly missing two buses, a funny three wheeled contraption and a handfull of motor cycles. No matter how hard he tried, first politely with "Occh aye driver", "I say driver", getting louder each sentence, until he let out a loud "FECKING HELL!" The driver managed a rally type swerve and re-crossed the three lanes he just previously crossed, narrowly missing two pick ups , another one of those three wheel motor cycle things and a couple of scruffy looking dogs , who never batted and eye lid!

"Can ya slow doon a wee bit!" Laph exclaimed. Geng stared blankly through the rear vision mirror at Laph, who had now gotten redder but in different shades. Geng thought quickly that what ever he was babbling, definitely wasn't English, as he had heard English on Aunty Ple'sTV. So therefore it must be a mad man's gibberish, which he backed up with Laph's appearance now resembling a rabid baboon's bum, and that big stick he kept shaking!

So, seeing his bottles of Spry reducing to Santhip, he decided it was better to step on it and get this guy to where he wanted to go. Even thought he didn't have a clue at this stage where that was, he would take the bosses advice and ask someone.

So over the next twenty minutes of, "Whooh up there China!" and a few "Fecking hells!", from Laph, they arrived at Sukhumvit road. Where Geng preceded to asked Tuk Tuk drivers, motor cycle boys and a few somtam sellers directions. No one had a clue how to read Laph's note and the ones that did, like Mrs Nakon the somtam seller, told Geng to 'clear off'! as the crazy baboon faced farang in the back was scaring the customers. The consensus of opinion, especially from the motor cycle boys, were to dump him near a bar and flee the scene.

Now Geng's Santhip bottle thoughts had reduced to his normal sup of Lao Kao. At least the farang had stopped making noises like a strangled parrot, only because Laph had gone hoarse with fear. Geng had spotted a familiar place where he had picked up a Farang at last night, the 'Thermae Coffee Lounge' and came to a screeching halt, with Laph ending up between the seats, sconning him self on the hand brake.

Geng exited the taxi with all the speed of a frightened Ling (monkey), as it seemed to our little Korat lad that the Farang was making some attempt to bite him. It was the least desirable thing Geng wished to happen, he was not going to end up being rabid and begging for the rest of his life all because of one crazy farang.

So with some difficulty Geng managed to get Laph out of the taxi, limping to the boot as the crazy Farang had caught him between the short change and the hankie with that weird stick, which possibly ruined all chances of a bit of pum pum with the buffalo girl at Nok's later on. Having deposited Laph all and sundry on the foot path , he fled the scene as instructed, missing one flower seller, 2 tuk-tuks and a large Mercedes with blackened windows.

Once more Laph had tripped, this time as he tried to extract his baht from his 'bum bag' to pay the taxi, spilling all the contents of his back pack on the pavement. Looking up through a sea of legs, he spotted the sign, 'Thermae Coffee Shop', quickly re-depositing all items into the back pack, except the Kaomagma, which never survived the spill and had oozed its contents over the hot pavement. Laph scurried inside as fast as his red and white blotchy legs could carry him, down the steps with his Scottish Walking Crook tapping every step as he dragged it behind him.

Till next time.Stay tuned as McTavish of the Glen enters the house of the children of the damned.

 

© Zob65. All rights reserved by the author.