YOU CAN RUN, YOU CAN HIDE BUT YOU CAN'T ESCAPE MY LOVE.

And here was me thinking Enrique's career had died with his mole, but no it is alive and flourishing on Koh Lanta. Too bad there's nobody visiting here to hear it, it's flourishing amongst the pervert parade working at our hotel. The main culprit is a young man with a smile that, at best, could be described as cheeky, at worst as murderous. Luckily it seemed his grimace was reserved for kangaroos, his favourite animal. That was until he slid over to my bezzie Ciabattz, 'I tell everyone one hour ago when yo go to Seven Eleven, I tell everyone, I say to my friend, I say 'She looks like kangaroo'. They are my favourite animals, I love kangaroo, I really love them.' Oh shit.

The hours that followed were some of my favourite, and her worst, of travelling. Choice quotes:

'Your teeth, your nose and your face look like kangaroo'
'You have to marry koala'
'A lot of people like kangaroo, NOT ALL'
'Yes kangaroo can snorkel'
''I want to bring you back to the jungle, you have to mate with koala. And tomorrow you have to jump to where you go.'
'A lot of people like koala, NOT ALL.'

Unfortunately he likes them so much that he follows us home and receives a kick to the crotch for his efforts. But not before he issues an ominous premonition, 'Kangaroo cannot ride moped.' No Kangaroo cannot. Kangaroo crashed into a poor Thai lady's washing rack. Kangaroo goes flying, knickers and bras everywhere, prompting my most intelligent friend Sir Podge's response, 'Why did your bra fall off?'

SEE, IT'S SHIT.

Turns out no one lives or comes to Koh Lanta. Sir Podge, the little party animal, and I, HATE it here. #megafirstworldproblems. Let's hope Phi Phi lives up to it's rePHItation, geddit.... nevermind. Alriiiiiight, as Ciabattz insists Koh Lanta's PROBABLY the most beautiful place we've ever been, but WHERE'S THE PARTY?

HALALRIOUS.

We packed our bags and said 'Goodbye' to Bangkok, off we went with a trumpety trump trump trump trump, the head of the herd was calling from far, far away... STOP IT HARRIET.
Off we went (possibly with a trump. My God, Thai street food is delish) to the Tiger Temple, Church of Tigers, filled with Tiger Lords.There were Rajah's everywhere, there was Papa Rajah and Mama Rajah and Baby Rajah and Fat Rajah and lots of dozy Rajahs and Monk Rajah (an honorary human member of the pack) and Angry Pacing Rajah. APR was clearly the real Rajah, his eyes spoke of a Whole New World, one where tigers were free to roam... on a magic carpet ride... Where's the gift shop? I need a tiger skin rug. Phuk-et we're off to Phuket.

 

SAME

In a wonderful J.M.Barrie Neverlandish (totes a word) fantasy we stopped on our way to play in waterfalls at sunset, sliding down rocks in plunge pools whilst the local children played in the streams winding through the forest, their parents washing clothes or cooking at the edge and watching on. I can't even being sarcastic about this it was so wonderful, no photo could do it justice. 

However. Phuket, or Benidorm-en-Thailand was not wonderful. As much as the bar in Patong in Bangkok was the playground of the paedophile, this is where they come for Spring Break after graduating college. A lot of Israelies. Who knew that a nation that gave us the Bible and Uri Geller (well..) could be so seedy. Luckily we have a great opener for those boys a touch (too) sleazy; 'We hate football and Jesus, what we gonna chat about?'. Halalrious. I don't think we're having the greatest time here in Phuket; on our evening jaunt to the Bangla Road - AVOID AVOID AVOID - I seem to have texted 'I hope to have sex with someone who is not disabled' (CLEARLY I meant emotionally) and my bezzie has responded '...And who is not over fifty.' Whether this reflects badly on the night or on us I am unsure. You're travelling Harriet, try new things. This perfect evening was completed with one of my 'faves' cleaning the alcohol and (always) fish flavour crisp spill she'd made on our room floor with my duvet; 'You said I could.' Yeah cos that sounds like something I'd say. 

Bum explosion, however, is something it seems I'd say. Queuing at the WHEATY WHEATY GLUTEN ALLERGY HELL FEST pancake stall I announced to my nearest and dearest that this was definitely about to lead to 'the biggest bum explosion the world has ever seen', thank God no one speaks English here. Glares galore. Oh wait they all do. You classy, classy English girl. 

On to the next one. 

DON'T BANGK ON ME RETURNING.

Thai boys (you'd think they'd be 'men' if they're boxing, but uh uh not in Thailand and certainly not in the Patpong area of Bangkok) have great bods. Since I've just established this as fact, the boxing's where we're at. I've got to get Muay Thai boy.

After lots of sexy gyrating - who doesn't love a good short man gyrate - and rolling around on the floor in the best shorts a groin has ever worn the fighting kicks off (ooh nice pun).

 
I GOTTA GET ME SOME OF THESE


We are the official sponsors, jumping up 'me... me... ME!!' to pour water down the washboard that is their abs. The match (Game? Fight? Fornicating? Sports lingo's beyond my fashionfoodfashionfood train of thought) ends before you can say say paedo. A pole appears through the middle of our table and the venue turns into a strip bar for the playground crushes of the prepubescent. Glazed baby faces and eight year old's limbs grinding to Neo whilst their Caucasian grandfathers watch on; 'Tonight I want all of you tonight...' Time to retreat.

To cool down after this excitement we went and tested our underwater cameras in the rooftop pool of our hostel. NOT WITH THE CHILDREN.

COOL HUH?

Some lovely American boys invited us to come sit on their 'balcony' (electricity generator strapped to the side of a building overlooking the Gangnum Stylings of the Koh San Road), so safe sat their in our dripping bikinis - no the American boys weren't THAT sexy, they were dripping from the swim. It seemed vital at the time to sit here until 6am (No.1 rule of life; when they're playing the Marshall Mathers EP across the road you can't leave), attempt to go to bed for tens mins then get up at 6:30am A M to see TIGERS - there's not a lot I'd get out of bed at this time for but later's Bangkok I'm off to be Jasmine. Over it.

GOD ♥ STRAWBERRY FANTA

BUDDHIST SHRINE, THAILAND

He must also love us as it’s roses galore in Bangkok, we're strolling flailing down the Koh San Road under a confetti of long-stem reds. I present my bunch to the only black gentleman in a club (this is not to imply that he was the only one who was a gentleman, merely that he was the only black man in there and was a delightful human being). Don’t worry mate you’re the ethnic minority but you got a violently-drunk fan in me and now you’ve got a thorny weapon with which to bat me away (euphemism might be intended). Been in Bangkok for four days

McDonald's eaten: 4

Local delicacies eaten (does Pad Thai count?): 6

Local delicacies eaten that I haven’t said SAWA DEE (‘hello’ in Thai you oaf) to again 5 mins later: 0

Hours of daylight seen: 0

Important to gift ourselves with a few days months of high rollin' before we start to slum it, reckon it’s deserved after years of hard saving (inheriting). Went here

SKY BAR

BED SUPPERCLUB

Hitting Supperclub we stashed our filthy Vans and got ourselves all settled into bed with a bottle of Goose, gawd that baby goes down smooooooth. Wiggled our way into Model Corner, blame it on the Goose, gotcha feelin' loose (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rfjtpp90lu8). All gettin' low among Bangkok’s finest. Including this erm... glowing chap who is the star of HIS OWN BOTTLE.... but kissed like he was drinking from one.

Babe, stop kissing me and take your top off.

We are fooling everyone; everyone’s loving our moves and our chat, even our bare, gnarled hooves are glowing like Achilles' (orright you think of someone with nice feet) in this blue, celestial light. Shit, maybe we BELONG here.

“Excuse me, er excuse me love? Just because your teeth are white doesn’t mean you’re cool.”

I’m sorry WHAT? It doesn’t? Huh? The trail of roses at my feet would beg to differ sir, look at them wilting in the glare of my teeth. Sigh. Back to Maccies where we belong, come on Ronald babe I’ll buy ya a Strawberry Fanta. 

♥

Harry x

WHO'S GONNA BANGKOK?

On the Koh San Road it seems the question really is: Who's going to notice that the cute thang chatting you up all charming with her bangin tits, hips smaller than The Boy With The Striped Pajamas' and tight little arse is actually packing a dong bigger than your own? (The Boy With The Penis). According to a bright young chap doing his bit to rep the upstanding US Military, sometimes a lack of cervix is the only clue. Welcome to Thailand.

We are flying the flag (really fucking) high for denim underwear (http://www.facebook.com/pages/I-didnt-realise-that-underwear-came-in-denim/249290131763621). The reasoning behind this is sound and twofold:
A) It's sexy; I've just had a wax ya know?
B) If you can see our Tampax string y'all know we got ovaries in there. Bona fide bitches. 

Come at us boys. 

Harry x